Scene 12
The road ahead continued to be dappled by spots of rain as, steadily, it began to pour out of the darkening heavens. Clouds overhead seemed to speed unnaturally through the sky, swirling backwards as the wind tore at the company's clothes. For a moment the wind picked up to being so strong that Lawman had to shield his eyes as he pushed his way forward, dust and sand blasting into his face, and sending his travelers overcoat flailing in the gale. The others paced behind, Carter and Katherine seemed to pair up together, keeping close and not losing their mark on either Lawman or the guide who walked slightly behind him. Vance trailed behind slightly with Vyatch who had his gun still holstered, but with his hand resting on its handle. Carter still had his gun trained on Lawman.
Lawman figured there must be some loose wires on this protectron as normally the damn things react if you have a gun waving about. 'Barry' the Protectron, however, advanced while paying no mind to the guns or to the heavy gale as he plodded his way forward. To the protectron the company were just a friendly band of tourists that came to see the sights at Sunshine, a place which, with every passing second, gave Lawman the creeps more and more. It was probably just the protectron. Something about the smooth glare of its screen perturbed him. Lawman felt it was probably one blown fuse away from blasting them all to kingdom come. Lawman never did like protectrons. The trouble was they had no face to read, no expression or emotion, and that meant you never knew what the tin cans were capable of. The Old World before the bombs fell used to make technology their plaything; it was a marvel. Now…now it only existed as a reminder of human failure, ambling along, haunting the streets, as though the silent town was still bustling with people, as though the buildings hadn't crumbled to ruins, as though the lights might suddenly spark back to life and the last few centuries might become a bad dream. The town would never see that life return to it though. It was a graveyard – just like every other Old World town. Lawman shifted uneasily whenever the damn thing – the protectron – 'looked' at him. For now at least its gaze was fixed on the road ahead. Its crimson lights dimly lit the street in the encroaching darkness, sending shadows spilling away from it.
'Barry' the protectron's strange cowboy hat was glued to his head and he wheeled off line after line of tourist info about the town and how it prospered since the age of Vault Tec into a bustling hub of curiosity regarding the great Wolstencroft – whoever the hell that happened to be, Lawman wasn't sure what he thought of a man whose ego was large enough to buy up a town and make it a shrine to himself. Jesus, Lawman thought as he advanced through the eerie ghost town, I've counted at least six statues of the guy standing throughout the place, not to mention Barry was purpose wired to be so chronically admiring of his 'master'. The fuck?
They were lucky to stumble upon Barry, Lawman thought to himself. But only so long as it actually took them to the vault before it blew a circuit board.
The rain grew heavier.
"Where the fuck is this trashcan taking us?" Carter yelled over the howling wind.
"It's showing us around," Lawman called back. "It's showing us the town…"
"Well tell it we don't give a rat's ass about its stinking town. We need to get to the vault. Now!"
The storm was picking up. Rain fell in torrents throughout the town as streams of water gushed into the drains and cracks in the road, filling them till they swelled and overflowed. It was now almost like walking through the marshes again, and all the while Barry had stopped in front of a house and was wheeling into a speech about how it was Wolstencroft's former childhood home. It went into a programmed reverie about the bastard's top childhood moments.
"…Giles Wolstencroft had a passion for underground complexes ever since he was a curious and passionate child," Barry the protectron recited proudly. "He was once given a goldfish for his eleventh birthday. He no sooner got it from his doting parents then the next day he flushed his new pet down the toilet, took the fish tank and began filling it with compost. He then collected tiny ants, trapped them inside and watched them burrow their way through the soil, fascinated by their community and the way they worked together to build their new home. He'd often experiment with them, such as seeing how they'd react when he fried their queen with his magnifying glass. And even today this quirky hobby of Giles Wolstencroft has fed into the company's working ethos, building cozy vaults for the good of every American community – with absolutely no ulterior motives whatsoever…"
"Barry, hey buddy. Look we love the spiel and all but when are we getting to the vault? It's getting kinda wet out here," Lawman interrupted. The more he heard of this Wolstencroft the more he got goosebumps all down his arms.
Barry seemed to look up for a moment at the thundering clouds overhead and Lawman heard a perturbing series of clicking sounds and whirring as this seemed to be processed by his computer matrix. As it turned out it wasn't Lawman's words it was processing.
"Weather report: blustery gales with heightened rainfall…" it stated as though reading off the results of a computer scan.
"Yeah, pal, we know! Can we hurry it up here?" Lawman shouted over the wind.
"…Humidity: sixty percent. Rainfall: chronic. Likely outcome: intense flooding and possible hurricane." Barry whirred and clunked his way through its report. "Would you like to hear how Giles Wolstencroft got his glasses?"
"Woah, woah, woah. Hold on there. Did it say hurricane? Did you say a fucking hurricane?" Carter snapped at the thing.
"My Mayweather!" Vance cried out.
"No one gives a damn about your fuckin' Mayweather!" Vyatch retorted.
"It's the only way out of this hell!"
"Not to worry Mr Carter," Barry answered. "In the eventuality of a hurricane my faultless state of the art progra-progra-progra-progra-programming is set to guide you to a safe desi-designated area. Currently the probability of a hurricane is improbable. By my calculations you can rest easy with only thirty-five percent probability of a fatality…" Barry made a noise like a computer's dying death rattle, sort of like the sound of two nightstalkers fighting in a sack. The company just gaped at the thing.
There was a pause.
"Would you like to hear how Giles Wolstencroft got his glasses?" It reiterated.
"Fucking shit! The damn things broke!" Carter exclaimed.
"We need to get to the vault now, before we're swept up in this storm," Katherine called out as the wind lashed at her ponytail. "You," She pointed her gun at Lawman. "Tell it to show us where the train station is. Now!"
"Please keep your toy Vault-Tec guns in your pockets at all times," Barry blurted.
"Fuck's sake!" Lawman turned to the centuries old bundle of wires and ancient computer code that was Barry the Protectron. "Hey. Hey, Barry? Barry, we need you to show us where the train station is. Can you do that for us, buddy?" Christ, the damn thing freaked him out.
"Sure thing," It chirped. "The train station's right at the end of the tour. If you like we could go there right after I've shown you…"
"No. no. Barry, we need to get there now. We've got – We've got a train to catch," Lawman struggled to get his voice heard over the howling gale that roared over him. Wind and rain whipped into his face. "We gotta go, Barry! We gotta go now!"
The protectron struggled for a second. There was more whirring as its fans worked overtime. Eventually it turned to Lawman with its blinking motion sensors. "Alrighty partner. I'll guide you there now. But just so you know, you're missing out on…"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm sure its spectacular Barry, I really am. But we're busy and we really need to get moving here."
"Well then buckle up, buckaroos." It turned on the spot and began to plod its way forward up the deserted street. The rain fell hard now, falling in torrents that washed over everyone. Rainwater cascaded from what remained of the roofs, and rivulets of the stuff constantly streamed down everyone's garb.
Lawman didn't have time for the protectron's leisurely amble though. How could something that darted over to them so fast before move so slowly now?
"Barry just point us the way," Lawman instructed, pulling ahead of the others so that he could talk to the thing. "Just tell us which direction to go and we'll take ourselves. Okay?"
"Well, ain't someone in a hurry," the thing answered back as it fixed its gaze on Lawman. Lawman's face was bathed with the glaring red light of its screen. It seemed to hesitate a moment, and for a minute Lawman almost believed he'd offended the thing, almost believed it was going to lash out in retaliation. Lawman's hand intuitively idled over his right hip – before he realized his gun was in the hands of that son of a bitch, Carter. His palms were sweaty.
"The train station is located near the end of this street. Turn to the right at Betty Boop's Make Up parlour and it'll be on your left," Barry said at last. "You can't miss-miss-miss it."
"Thank you, Barry," Lawman replied gratefully.
"No problemo, partner."
"Stop talking to the fuckin' thing and get a move on!" Carter hissed by Lawman's ear as he pressed the gun into the small of his back.
Lawman wondered, for a second, if he could somehow get the protectron to respond to Carter's threats; if he could get it to attack and maybe allow him to make his escape. Lawman considered it as he took in the gathering storm, as the demented protectron stood in front of them, whirring and clunking its way through processing what Carter said, the lights of its motion sensors flickering alarmingly. Lawman considered it.
Then Lawman moved on. He marched ahead of the group with Carter close behind, gun never too far from Lawman's back. The others followed too. They all advanced as speedily as they could through the gale, down the winding street, passing shattered shop windows with shards of fractured glass jutting from their rotting window frames, and more strange statues of Wolstencroft. How many of those had they now passed? Seven? Eight? This one had the Vault Tec logo engraved on its bronze lapel. It appeared to watch him like an eye.
He didn't like the odds – the chances of escape were marginal to say the least. He didn't know if the protectron would have responded. That was problem one. Problem two was if the thing did respond it might shoot him in the process. Problem three was Carter might shoot him as he made his escape. And problem four was the biggest one of all: where the fuck was he gonna run? He had no food, no water and no gun. Even if he could escape Carter, where would he go?
He looked back for a moment at the guide. Her face revealed nothing. She didn't seem worried about the storm, or about being held at gunpoint, but there was something about her that seemed…prepared. Lawman wasn't quite sure but she looked like she might be alert, looking for an opening, an opportunity, to kill them all.
She met his gaze and he didn't put any of it past her. She's the one you have to look out for, that's what Vance had said. Lawman began to think he might be right. Despite trying to save her, despite being locked up together, her eyes betrayed no hint of compassion. Her eyes were the eyes of a coyote.
They rounded a corner where there was a dilapidated building with the faded words 'Betty Boop' along the front sign, and eventually came upon what must have been the train station. Lawman heard the gushing waters of the Mississippi before his eyes latched onto the station. The river was swelling, closing in on the town. It already spilled over to the train tracks, flowing underneath the gridded metal walkway that went from the station to a tram that waited outside a dark concrete tunnel that plunged its way deep underground. The river didn't froth and gurgle its way up to the mouth of the tunnel yet; its opening and the tram that rested on the tracks leading into it were both elevated above the ground. Lawman's sharp eyes also spotted something else. There was a surveillance camera looking over the tunnel entrance, another watching the inside of the rickety wooden station, and yet another watching their approach down the street. Lawman didn't expect they were on; the milky white lights in the tunnel weren't powered up after all, but it still gave him chills. He was reminded of the plaque just outside of Sunshine – the one with the 'smiling' people under the Vault Tec logo, caught forever under it, their smiles turned through age to looking like screams.
The company made their way into the shelter of the wooden train station, rows of seats stretching along its expansive length like tombstones in an empty graveyard. The walls were painted white, but the paint was peeling and the whole thing looked like it might not be left standing after the storm. The windows rattled as the wind blew against them and the walls appeared to shake, the planks of wood that formed them creaking under the strain.
Further on, the walls had already collapsed where the gridded metal walkway made its way up to the tram area. Railings caked in rust that rattled in the gale clung to the sides of the walkway, which hung over the gushing waters of the swollen Mississippi up ahead. Waves frothed and clashed against the concrete base of the tunnel, the waters swirling dangerously underneath, and beyond that trees waved violently in the gale. Some had fallen, uprooted by the raging river. However, the roof of the station, unlike the trees, had clung on, arcing over the tram and the walkway before collapsing the other side and forming a barricade that buffeted against the wind, but rocked slightly as it was tugged at by the waves of the Mississippi.
"My Mayweather is gonna be fucked," Vance breathed with a small and forlorn voice. "Over twenty years. Twenty years I've had her. Fuck. It's all gone to pot now." He slumped himself down on one of the nearby chairs and resigned himself to the situation, to the fate of his vessel, and to what Lawman knew was his dwindling life. "I always knew I'd die down here, in the South. My gut always told me so. Coyote's sometimes return to their birthplace to die. This wasn't where I was born, maybe, but it was where I became a man."
The others stayed silent as they caught their breath, rubbing their hands together or rubbing their shoulders to keep warm. Lawman's face felt numb, frozen by the harsh cold wind and the rain that had stung like ice. They were warmer now, though their clothes were still dripping, but they weren't safe. The wind was picking up, and the windows rattled more fiercely.
"There," Carter whispered, almost to himself, his voice feverish as he licked his lips with anticipation. "Over there." He pointed to the tram and to the tunnel that lead the way down, down and further down into the impenetrable darkness beyond. The milky white lights glimmered like eyes blinded by cataracts, before being swallowed by the inky blackness. Who knew what waited for them down in its depths. "Somewhere down there is the entrance to the vault. Has to be."
Suddenly, he barked out in laughter, slapping a hand over his thigh. He jabbed a finger at the tram. "We've found it, boys! We've only gone and fuckin' found it! Ha ha ha," he swung Katherine round in an embrace and kissed. "We're one step closer to that cold hard cash."
"We're finally gonna make it, baby," Katherine cooed. She ran her fingers through Carter's grimy hair. "At long last, after all those contracts, this is the big one."
"We better get moving," Vyatch rumbled, as he looked around at the rickety interior of the station. "This place doesn't look like it's gonna hold out for too long."
"Relax, Vyatch. It's all in the bag now." Katherine shot him a grin.
"Hardly," Vyatch replied. "This ain't Lost Orleans. I dunno about you two, but until my fingers close around that tech file, and we're flown the hell out of this place, I don't count the job as a done thing." His shifty eyes looked suspiciously over to the guide. His grip on his gun tightened, his knuckles turning white as bone.
"Vyatch," Katherine huffed. She strode over to him and grasped him by the chin, turning his face towards her. Vyatch's cruel eyes glared back at her. "Stop being so pessimistic and find something useful to do. Okay hon'?"
She turned her back and strode away, leaving Vyatch messaging his chin and his hurt pride.
Carter turned and leered at Lawman, pointing his gun towards him and motioned him to step forward. "You're up, scavver."
"Is there ever a moment when I'm not?" Lawman replied drily, though he stepped forward anyway. It was a choice between the storm, which was gradually picking up into a hurricane, or the foreboding tunnel that lay ahead of him. Although he had misgivings about it he chose the tunnel.
The company followed as Carter shoved Lawman ahead of him, once again holding Lawman's own gun behind his back. "I want to say, Lawman," Carter spoke softly, his voice dripping with malice, "that you're gonna make me one rich, rich man."
"Money makes strange bedfellows," Lawman recited, eerily echoing Oswald's words from so long ago, before he'd agreed to go on this crazy venture. He didn't know why he said it either. Something deep in his core just spoke the words without fathoming why, or understanding what for. He felt de ja vu for some reason. Although why he should feel that way he had no clue. Yet the feeling irked him, itched at the back of his mind like his lust for liquor.
Carter gave Lawman a strange look, and then just grinned; a big, cocky and nasty grin that stretched over his face. "Not for too long, Lawman." Carter patted him on the shoulder. "Not for too long."
They all made their way out of the train station and along the walkway, ambling along the gridded metal path, clinging to the shaky railings as the waves of the Mississippi crashed beneath them. They were shielded from the rain but the wind once again snatched at their clothes as it whistled through the passage. The guide followed behind Carter, pushed forward by Vyatch, then Katherine and finally Vance. The froth and spray shot through the gridded floor, soaking Lawman's trousers as he tentatively stepped forward, cautiously stepping over the gaping holes where the metal had rusted away to nothing, and made his way around to the tram's entrance: a set of folding metal doors at its side.
He looked inside through the tram's murky windows and caught sight of the control panel, putting his hands either side of his face as he peered in. A familiar socket was situated beside the controls; a place for him to plug in his pip-boy and start the engine. He might have to hack into the computer terminal by the side as well to gain access. All in all, it was a thankfully easy task, no different to countless other times he'd found a use for his pip-boy, and used it to scavenge areas others couldn't get to.
He pressed his hands against the glass pane, and felt it chill his fingers. He thought desperately for a moment, pressing his forehead against the window, trying to think of any way out of this predicament. He thought of his aching stomach. He thought of how long he might still be useful to Carter and how much time he might have left. He felt failure haunt him.
"This is no time to rest, Lawman," Carter intoned. "Can you work this thing?" It was a question spoken with a deadly tone to it, one that suggested more than trouble if the answer was 'no'.
"Of course, I can. Just as soon as you crack this thing open." He pulled his head back and considered the tram. It was a great big steel coffin leading to the unknown.
"Good."
Carter reached for the handle of the folding doors, and no sooner did he do so, than a resounding voice boomed over them, as though emanating from the intercom, as though the Old World had suddenly woken with a vengeance. They all spun around…
…And were cast in the red glow of a glaring screen. They all froze in terror as Barry the protectron's motion sensor lights flickered alarmingly and it pointed its laser arms directly at the company. It blared the same message from the foot of the walkway over and over: "TRESPASSING ON VAULT TEC PROPERTY!"
Its fans hissed like cobras as they whirred into overdrive, and its blinking lights flashed with unforeseen menace.
"FATAL ACTION: IMMINENT!"