Wade thought that this ant mound stunk more than the other. He took care of the ants, but found a metal door set into the muck of the tunnels. This led to an airlock, and a console at the back of the room.

He checked it out, and was impressed. Someone code-named 'adamZad' had gone through the system and written a program in it, designed to utilize an existing signal to broadcast short-wave infrasonic pulses. It repeated once every three weeks, deterring the ants from using the tunnels as a home. The program was full of errors and Wade set about fixing it with his limited knowledge.

He logged the information in his Pip-Boy, and looked through the rest of the data entries on the console. This Adam fellow had been prolific in his journals, filling the scant memory of the console with a litany of information. Wade skimmed some of them briefly.

While he was engrossed, he didn't notice his surroundings. It wasn't until he heard the familiar clicking of a prod from behind him, that he realized he wasn't alone. He pulled out his pistol and turned.

The girl, of course. She was bound to meddle with Sigma, again. She had taken his prod from his belt and had turned it on.

"Give that back," Wade said, aiming his pistol at her head.

She glanced up at him, then asked, "How does it work?" She touched the contacts with her fingers.

Wade sighed and removed the prod from her, disarming her of the rifle, while she was flailing on the floor. "What the hell do you want?" he asked.

"That's my rifle," she said, sticking her finger in her mouth.

Wade dropped the rifle to the floor, placing his boot on top of it. "And?"

"Don't!" she said. "Jeez! You've been in here for over an hour. I came to see what was up."

Wade lowered his pistol. "Get out."

"Can't. You've got my weapon." She crossed her arms over her chest.

He kicked the rifle over to her. "Let's go."

Celia grabbed up the rifle and slowly proceeded to leave the ant mound. Wade was tempted to prod her when it took them ten minutes to get to the surface.

"Get on back to your hideout," he said.

She stopped mid-stride and turned to face him. "Please," she said. "Don't tell Mayer where I am."

"Why shouldn't I?" he asked.

She rubbed her arm and stared at his pistol. "I'm not a bad person," she said. "I don't know why he treated me like that."

"I'm not, either," he said.

"But you do bad things. Say bad words to people." She looked up at his helmet.

Wade holstered his pistol and removed his helmet, and held it under one elbow. He held out a hand to her. "Hello," he said. "My name's Delbert Wade."

She snorted a little chuckle. "What are you doing?"

"Introducing myself," he said. "That is not something that bad people do."

She scoffed. "Why would you?"

"To prove to you that I'm not a bad person," he said, simply.

"You're not very bright, are you?" she asked, squinting her eyes at him.

"If you're going to insult me," he said, reaching back for his pistol.

"You don't like when Mayer makes fun of you, either," she said, quietly.

He paused. "No, I don't. I'm the rookie, you know."

She searched his face with her big brown eyes and he felt himself flush. "Why are you a soldier?" she asked, finally.

"There are things that are worse than living in your Vault," he said. "I read your entries. It sounds terrible."

"Sounded," she corrected, absently. "Doesn't exist anymore."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I won't tell Mayer where you are."

Celia sighed and ran a hand up her forehead into her hair, pushing back her curls. She was rather pretty, he thought. "I'm not asking for trust," he added.

"I won't give it," she said. "I hate you all." Her face suddenly screwed up into a grimace.

"You can hate Sigma all you want," he said. "But you'll never be able to fight us. I can't tell you what is going to happen to your town, but I will warn you." He put his helmet back onto his armor and latched it. "You should run away, Celia. And do not come back."

She frowned. Wade pulled his pistol and walked away, back to Mayer and the radio tower.

It seemed like forever, before he was able to climb his way out of the dark haze. Ash was falling, mingling with the rain, as black as the deepest cave. It burned away his skin, burned away his muscles, burned away his bones. He took a breath in the nothingness of the black world, and the air was so hot that fire filled the place where his lungs used to be. He screamed, and a mushroom cloud erupted from his mouth, a gaping hole of atomic fire in the blasted-open earth.

The sky blossomed into a nova of light, blinding him. When he could see again skeletons were rising from the ground, their skulls locked into horror grins. They marched, across the darkened earth, into the bay. He followed, until the mud squeezed between his toes and the water rose to his ankles. A siren wailed. The skeletons marched onward.

He stopped. The water lapped at his feet. He looked back at the world he was about to leave, and started in surprise.

Lilian walked back toward the land, away from the water, away from him. He called out, tried to run after her. He slipped in the slick mud, fell to his knees. He howled in frustration, but the wind only ripped the words out of his mouth and carried them away.

The wind sped up around him, blowing dust and rocks into his face. The bay began to bubble, burning white-hot in the forever night, and fire leapt up his legs. A hand reached out, and pulled him from the fire-water, leading him to the dry earth. He stood, and was hardened against the fallout.

He looked to see who the hand belonged to, but the light was too bright around the person, and he raised a hand to shield his eyes―

Lionel woke with a start, and immediately checked to make sure he was real.

Never, never again. His shoulder might hurt like a chainsaw was butting against it, his mouth felt like a wad of cotton was in it, and his bladder was about to explode, but goddammit―that fucking dream!

He went right for the door but didn't make it to the tiny outhouse away from the shack in time. He leaned against the shack wall and relieved himself. A wave of pain seesawed across his chest muscles and into his shoulder.

How did he get home? He didn't remember much after injecting the med-x. That had been a bad idea, and he'd known it. He put a hand to his shoulder and grimaced.

Lionel changed his clothing, cursing freely. Every day was going to be like that, he thought. Every single goddamn day. He stared at his revolver. He'd have to learn to shoot right-handed.

Lionel went outside and examined the blind that someone had put up over the entryway. That was new. Looked like it had taken a while. How long had he been sleeping? He looked up at the sky.

He remembered Lilian, walking away from him, in the dream. He shuddered. Hopefully she was still in Grayling. He touched his arm stub. She wouldn't be happy with him.

He ate a little and sat outside, staring at the rock wall surrounding the shack. A noise from the top of the rocks caught his attention, and then footsteps on the shack roof. Celia poked her head out over the edge of the roof. "Lionel!" she almost yelled.

"Where's Lilian?" he asked, as she careened off the roof, landing with a tumble into the berry bushes. Why was she so damn excitable?

"At Jen's, I hope," she said, and stood up. "I'm glad you woke up."

Me too, he thought. "I'm going to Grayling," he said, and went to the door to the shack.

"No!" she yelled. She flushed deep red. "Uhh... No. You're under house arrest."

Lionel stared at her for a moment. She avoided eye contact. "You wanna run that by me, again?" he asked.

"You can't leave the shack," she said. "Mayer―"

He opened the door with a jerk and went inside. What a load. He knew what she meant. He snorted. The day he was afraid to set foot in the wasteland was the day he would die.

Getting soft, he told himself. Too many flighty women around me.

A vague memory floated to the top of his mind. Pre-War, some fine blonde woman on a ship, hair flying in the breeze. He didn't remember her name, just that body. Lionel laughed at himself, stupidly. You weren't made to be a bachelor, he told himself.

Celia entered the shack, looking like a dog with her tail between her legs. She sat at the table and put her chin on her arms, crossed in front of her. He ignored her, pulled out Lilian's sack of goods from under the bed.

Upending it onto the bed, he went through her things. Her comics, various small interesting rocks, a few pieces of metal she'd bent together. He put most of it back. Celia did not offer to help him. She sat at the table making walking motions with her fingers and mouthed words to herself.

Lionel picked up the teddy bear in the bag. Lilian wanted to give it to Virginia. He felt the softness through a patch of skin on his index finger, and looked at Celia. Something from a disused part of his mind stirred.

"What's the matter with you, kid?" he asked, shoving the bear back into the bag.

She said, "Hmm." He moved to the table, and put his fingers down like she had hers. He was too stiff to move them like she was, but managed a short "walk".

"I'm supposed to be an adult," she said, "but I'm not." She walked her hand over to his, and waved at him with her thumb.

"You got your whole life ahead of you," he said. He tried to wiggle his thumb like hers, but it wouldn't work. He picked his hand up from the table and looked down at the top of her messy hair.

She removed her hands and laid her head flat onto the table surface. "Maybe."

Lionel sat down. "What the hell is this shit?"

"I don't know," she muffled. "Being stupid."

"Was it that shit-heel in the clinic?" he asked. "He threatened you?"

She shrugged. "I don't get that kind of threat, anyway. I'm stupid."

Lionel fought the urge to laugh. She was ridiculous. Sounded like she would rather be willfully stupid than deal with growing up. He changed the subject. "You wanna hear a story?"

"...I guess."

He cleared his throat. "Back in the day when I was a teenager," he rumbled, "I was the stupidest, scrawniest little bastard on my street. Ran with a gang of kids who weren't much smarter than me, but were stronger. I had to impress them, or get my ass kicked all the time."

She turned her head and stared at his hand, resting on the table.

"I stole my old man's car, when I was fourteen. Me and the gang went around the street, lobbing rocks at windows and mailboxes." He chuckled. "My old man, he didn't say a word. He watched me drive that thing back to the driveway, then beat the ever-loving shit out of me."

Celia was watching his face now.

"I couldn't walk for a week," he rasped. "It took me years to figure out how not to get caught. He musta beat me about once a day, starting then."

"What was driving a car like?" she asked, looking up at him.

Lionel looked out over his memory, thinking about the wind forced against his face, the feel of the engine under the hood, the steering wheel in his hands. "Fun," he replied. "Not like being out on the water, though."

"On a barge?" she asked.

"No, you want a motorboat for good speed," he said, offhand. He paused, then realized what she'd said. "Why a barge?" he asked, looking down at her.

Celia flushed. "Lilian mentioned the ones at Toskey."

Lionel pressed his mouth together. Fuck. That was where she must have gone, for those three months. He looked away from Celia and swallowed his words. There was nowhere else to ride the barge at Toskey to but St. James, on the island.

He ground his teeth together at the thought. Celia sat up and watched him. "Look, kid, my point is, life might suck right now, but there's always tomorrow," he growled, and stood up, roughly. "You learn a lot of lessons, real quick. I've learned so many, I tend to forget them."

"Did you forget what it felt like, when you changed?" she asked, quietly.

Lionel snapped his head to look at her, but she'd gotten up and was moving away.

"No, kid, I haven't forgotten that."