It took Sigma five days to reach Thunder Bay from the highway at Arbor. On the sixth day, Bradley took Wade aside and showed him the area, marching him to a higher spot of elevation about six hours away. While Detroit had been hit the hardest by the atomic bombs, the surrounding areas were not completely free of radiation or damage. Wade had never been north of the small towns surrounding Detroit. Trees were abundant in the area, many more than even Portage or Camp Custer, and he was reminded of the Green Bay area when he found some smaller berry bushes loaded with mutated blueberries.
He still missed his childhood home in Detroit, sometimes. Even though the sun never shined on the city, he could recall the familiar lullaby of the manufacturing plants, clanging and scraping in the darkness. The acrid burning smell of the city was not to be missed, however. Or the giant rats that forever plagued the slums. He cringed at the memory.
"Thunder Bay," Bradley said, and cast his left hand out over the water southeast of their position. "Where the mercenary transmitter was broadcasting. No safety on land; the crew had been camping in the town on the shore." He extended a finger to the open half-circle of the town. With his right hand, he gestured to the landforms to the southwest. "This area contains the local population. That is why HARD Protocol was enacted."
Wade could not tell if anything existed in the tangle of trees and rocky outcroppings that composed the spot where Bradley had pointed. He scrutinized the distance for a moment, then turned back to Bradley.
Bradley detailed a tentative plan for the mission. As a rookie, Wade had never taken part in an amphibious operation. Bradley warned him of the danger that the water could hold for any person, armored or not, as they returned to the mercenary camp located inside the town. Mayer had returned from his own scouting, and passed out rations when the two soldiers returned.
"Locals are calling this place On-the-Bay," Mayer said. "Most say they don't come near. About three years ago, the place was abandoned by the residents, or they were otherwise taken away. No one can really say why, but some of the locals think it was that irradiated band of junk outside the town gates."
Bradley nodded. The radiation had registered fairly high on their meters, passing in and out of the town gates. "We can assume that the town either lacked the equipment to remove the junk, or that they were using it to deter raiders from the area."
"I thought the mercenary crews took care of that sort of menace," Wade said.
"Occasionally one of the locals gathers up a few ne'er-do-wells and goes on a spree," Bradley said.
"The locals are terrified of us, too," Mayer said. "Apparently, a while back, some other soldiers with our colors rounded up people and drove them south. I had to use all my charm to get the locals to talk to me." He chuckled suggestively, and it echoed through his helmet from one side to the other.
Angus stomped into camp, tossing his helmet to the side and eagerly grabbing up the rations Mayer offered him. "Report, Angus," Bradley said, patiently.
The ruddy man looked up and shrugged. "No one knows a thing. This place is being avoided like it's on fire," he said, and chewed voraciously on a piece of jerky.
"Keep your gear up, Sigma," Bradley said, before retiring to a corner of the camp, thoughtfully examining his prompt.
Muffled explosions, in the northeast, had been a topic of conversation for some time along Highway 75, and even Lionel's pet project with a spark-gap transmitter wasn't enough to keep Celia's concentration. "Are you even watching?" he asked, throwing down a pair of pliers.
She looked down at the mess on the table and sighed. "You don't even know the names of the parts," she said. "How am I suppo―" Lionel gave her the meanest glare she'd ever seen him muster, and she looked away, quickly. "Okay, no, I wasn't," she muttered.
"Whatever," he said, and stalked out of the room.
Celia put her chin in her hands and poked an induction coil. How did he do it, she wondered, if he never really knew what he was doing? She supposed he'd learned it at one point, but forgotten.
Lilian was visiting Jen for a few days. Lionel had not said much about the visit, but Celia understood that it was something that Lilian had decided to do on her own. She supposed it was a way for Lilian to get away from the grump, without completely running away. Celia had come up to visit and had not realized he was alone. She should have just walked back home the minute she found out.
"Lionel?" she called, leaving the shack and looking around. No answer. "Fine, I'm going to go get shot, then!" she said, in case he was near and not answering.
She stomped back to Stockton, and dug out the tiny backpack she'd been given on her very first trip into the wastes. She still had a few odds and ends in it, mostly junk that she'd found rather curious on her exiting the Vault but now realized carried little value. Celia had kept some of it for sentimental purposes. She saw the little metal L-beam that she'd picked up from the dead ghoul on her second trip out. Turning it over in her hands, she wondered what kind of machine it belonged to.
Everything went back into the pack, and she grabbed her caps from the post she'd hollowed out to hide them. It wasn't much.
Celia sat down slowly, on her tiny cot. She counted out the money, then closed her fist tightly around the last piece. "Maybe," she said to herself. If she just up and went now, who would miss her? Maybe Lilian. No one else, though. She stood, stashed everything away, and opened the door to the bunkhouse.
Two Brahmin lowed at her from the fencing. They'd be fine, she knew. Mr. Woods usually fed them before she could even drag herself out of bed in the mornings. She wasn't as concerned about the people. No one even waved at her, anymore.
Silly old Celia, not even worth a hello. She sighed to herself, shouldered her pack, and started walking east.
Celia had spent time away from the town, before. A night, here or there, at Lionel's shack with him and Lilian, occasional trips into Grayling, one short two-day trip south to sate her curiosity about the other location that Lionel had mentioned to Calhoun. She didn't think it would hurt to try a longer trip.
She walked along the highway, and stopped in at Grayling to purchase medical supplies. She had some food, but she didn't want to risk injury without having something. She still recalled how painful that saw had been, in her back. She mentioned to Dr. Jen that she was heading north, just along the road and back. Jen raised an eyebrow, but didn't say a word.
The trees grew further together, the more she moved north. She consulted her Pip-Boy and found the right road, then hightailed it east. Picking her way across the broken highway, she looked up at the patches of blue sky in the gray clouds and breathed in the dull air. She plucked a few blueberries the size of her palm, but found they were a bit too unripe to eat. She ate very little, because she had very little.
She'd been practicing with her hunting rifle for ages, now, picking off small game in the trees and an ant or two, down by Lionel's shack. The top of the rock wall was easy to get up onto if one climbed his shack at its facing. She could lay on her stomach and take out an ant from almost seventy yards away. She felt somewhat proud of that.
On this trip, she noticed an odd lack of creatures in the area. To be safe, she dug a small hole on the side of the road and slept under the dirt, her nerves alive to the sounds of the nighttime. Or the lack thereof. It was very strange.
She pushed herself too hard, the second day, and could feel her chest constricting with every step. It wasn't uncommon for the former Vault dwellers to come down with bronchial infections from time to time. Dr. Jen had prescribed steroid inhalers. She used one now, and tossed it to the side of the road.
Celia thought a lot about her life. Everyone treated her like she was much younger than she actually was, she'd found. In the past year, she'd been subject to a stream of insults about her intelligence, which she'd ignored. Because she didn't talk much or try to make friends―she stopped in mid-stride.
Oh, crap. She'd been acting like Lionel! He came across as self-absorbed, sometimes, especially when he didn't bother to talk. Lionel didn't talk when he didn't know what to say. Mostly he didn't talk to her.
Never mind how she'd been acting, in the past. She was on a trip into the wastes, by herself. She didn't have time to think about why people didn't like her.