"Come on now, lad. Get up. We have to be moving."
Samuel Dawes stood and hefted the large duffel onto his back, grunting slightly at the effort. The bag was dense, the corners of the boxes inside rubbing against the calluses on his back. Even so, he didn't mind carrying it. That bag contained his future, or rather, their future, he reminded himself. He was a part of a team now. Azami and Bohrs would want a piece of what they'd earned.
Bohrs, his balding head glistening with sweat, handed Samuel a tinted bottle. Samuel took it and drank deeply. He tried to ignore the foul taste of the water. None of them knew very well how to purify it, so this was more or less just river water that Bohrs had boiled the night before.
"Let me know if you need some more." Bohrs said, "We don't have much left, but you're better off drinking it if you need it. It won't be long until we can sell our goods, and then we can buy all the water we need for the trip down to the capitol."
Samuel shook his head and passed Bohrs back the now-empty bottle. He raised his hand to his forehead and wiped away the persistent beads of sweat that clung there. The summer sky was cloudless as far as he could see to the north and west, and the white husks of trees that dotted the landscape did little to shield them from the sun.
"Look there," Azami said, pointing east. And there, just visible above the hills on the distant horizon, gathered low, dark clouds.
"Rain would be nice." Bohrs commented wistfully, but Azami just shook her head.
"Too far away, those clouds are over the ocean. They won't reach us until tonight."
That would figure, Samuel thought. Sleeping in the rain was miserable, even if the air was hot. Not for the first time, he wondered if they'd be able to find some settlement before nightfall. They'd already spent the last three nights without a roof over their heads and the eyes that had watched them from the darkness had only grown more curious and intent. He shivered at the thought, then picked up his rifle. At Bohrs' call the three wanderers turned and headed south.
The trail was long, relatively level, and very dusty. Summer, it seemed, had brought a drought to the lands south of the Contoocook, and the dry, bristly underbrush clawed at Sam's clothes as he passed. Traveling over the open countryside was an annoyance, but a necessary one. Gangs of raiders more frequently patrolled paved roads, and the openness of the highways made travelers much more visible to mutants, ghouls or any number of other threats. And of course, they were less likely to be followed. The cargo had been an easy score from Manchester, and the people they'd taken it from, well, Samuel wouldn't bet on them being the forgiving type.
Samuel tightened his grip on his rifle, an old automatic that had belonged to his father, and looked back over his shoulder. Nothing. That meant that either there was nothing there, or that whatever was following them was very adamant about not being seen. No matter how many times he looked, Samuel hadn't seen anything over his shoulder for the last six days. He checked again anyway.
At around five, when the shadows grew long in the late afternoon sun, the three travelers crossed over the former state line into the land once known as the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. Azami took the lead. Three days ago, she'd traded a box of 10mm ammunition for a few vague directions from a northbound traveler. The man from whom they'd received direction seemed friendly enough, though not nearly so friendly to warrant such a gross overpayment, Samuel thought. Goodwill bought silence, Azami had argued, and it wasn't like they didn't have the bullets to spare. They still had more than enough munitions to sell once they reached wherever the hell Azami was leading them.
As night fell properly, so did the rain, the dark clouds once looming in the distance swept across the sky for as far as the eye could see, releasing an unending torrent upon the land. The going was slow, the earth turned to mud beneath the feet of the weary travelers and the undergrowth grew thicker and wilder as they went. Bohrs switched on his flashlight, the beam barely making a dent in the encroaching darkness. Samuel glanced around frantically, unable to see and hearing only the pattering of rain and the squelching of the mud as the group continued. Lightning flashed, illuminating the sky for the briefest of seconds. The roar of thunder followed and then was met by another sound, one that put Samuel's nerves on edge and set his heart racing. Thunder crashed once more, and the howl of a wolf rose to match it.
At once, Samuel was running, crashing blindly through the undergrowth as the rain drove hard against his face. Bohrs and Azami ran just in front of him, their labored breathing the only sign of their presence. Behind him, he could hear the panting and snarling of canine breaths, heavy and closing. Lightning flashed and Samuel turned just in time to see the outline of three figures not even six feet behind him.
"Watch out!" Bohrs' call from ahead could barely be heard above the blood rushing through Samuel's ears, "Turn right!"
Samuel turned, sliding slightly through the mud as he barely managed to alter his course in time. His hand brushed up against a chain link fence to his left and scratched thin lines in his skin. He stumbled, flailing forward in a half-dive, half-run and cried out as he hit the ground. A wolf leapt, snarling as it dove towards him with fangs outstretched. Samuel rolled away and onto his stomach as the wolf impacted beside him. He heard a sharp crack and turned to see the faint outline of Bohrs smash a pool cue against the head of the wolf. He began frantically crawling away as Azami opened fire with her pistol. A sharp whine meant she'd hit something, though it likely wasn't fatal. The wolves seemed to hesitate, their ragged breaths no longer crept closer. Bohrs turned and grabbed Samuel's arm, pulling him to his feet. The wolves, now no longer startled by the gunshots, resumed chase once more.
"To your left, there's a gap in the fence!" Azami shouted from up ahead and Bohrs pulled Samuel with him through a narrow gap in the chain link. The broken metal ends of the fence caught Samuel in the back and it was all he could do not to yell when they dug deeply into his skin. The other side of the fence was paved and slick, though the shapes of several small buildings could be made out in a flash of lightning.
Azami threw herself against a metal door, busting it open with a loud crash. She ran inside as Bohrs, now practically dragging Samuel, had made it about halfway to the structure. The wolves were now right behind the two men, Samuel could practically feel their breath on him. He opened fire, spraying into the darkness in the direction of the wolves and was rewarded with a splash of blood against his skin. The noise of the gunshots echoed through the air. The sound of the wolves turned to frightened whines and retreating pawsteps as the faintest glimmer of Bohrs' flashlight let Samuel see what he'd done.
The wolf's skull had been perforated by at least three rounds directly to the cranium, leaving a wide, bloody smear across the pavement behind it and at least one more bullet had hit it in the torso, judging by the pool of blood rapidly spreading from underneath the canine. He'd emptied the what he had left in the magazine into the wretched creature, wasting valuable ammunition and potentially alerting every animal, feral and raider in a three mile radius. He swore and ejected the magazine, blood running down his arm as he clumsily jammed it into his pocket.
"Fuck!" Bohrs yelled, shocked, "Damn wolf got me in the leg!"
Sure enough, the older man's leg had a large chunk taken out of it. He sat, ripped his shirt off and crammed it into the wound.
"Must've got me when I was hauling you up." He said to Samuel, "The adrenaline probably kept me from feeling it sooner."
"Do you think you can walk?" Samuel asked nervously.
"Sure, but it hurts like a motherfucker. And doesn't walking on an injury like this for too long cause permanent damage or something? I don't want to end up a goddamn cripple!"
"I don't know! I'm not a doctor!" Samuel protested, "Shit, that looks bad though."
"Shut the fuck up, both of you! We've made too much noise already!" Azami's urgent whisper cut through the air.
"We can't stay out here." Samuel said, his mind racing as he tried to get a bearing of his surroundings. The rain had slowed and the thunder had ceased. Above, the clouds parted in places, allowing patchy beams of moonlight to sift through. The structure Azami had broken into was made of rusted blue metal. Several more like it scattered the scene, each of them no larger than a small bathroom. Pre-war crates also littered the ground, no doubt empty after hundreds of years. He stood, and glimpsed the outline of a giant gear lined in yellow.
"It's a vault." Azami realized at the same time he did, "Carved directly into the ground. That gear right there is an elevator platform."
"Can we get in?" Samuel asked.
"Why?"
"Because Bohrs' leg is worse than he's making it out to be."
Bohrs moaned, still clutching his balled up shirt to his leg. His face had turned pale and his breathing was rapid and shallow.
"I think these are the controls here, move him onto the platform."
Samuel dragged Bohrs into the center of the platform. Azami remained in the control building for a couple of seconds, before hurriedly running over to the elevator platform as it began to descend. It took nearly two minutes to reach the bottom of the shaft.
Azami threw open the elevator's gate and helped Samuel drag Bohrs up a flight of grated metal stairs and through the gear-shaped entrance to the vault. Fortunately, the vault still had electricity and several lights still functioned. Bohrs lay on the concrete floor as Azami bound his wound with bandages. Samuel made a quick sweep of the room, finding nothing apart from a few scattered skeletons, all donning blue vault suits adorned with the number 111.
Samuel had only ever heard of vaults in stories, great underground facilities that had been designed to provide shelter for mankind in the event of nuclear war. This place seemed to fit the bill, with sturdy concrete walls and large interior rooms. There were only two doors off of the room that they'd found themselves in. One was locked and Samuel opened the other a crack. Spotting nobody in the next room, he closed it again, not wanting to risk provoking whatever it was that killed the prior residents of this vault.
He sat, slinging around his heavy pack in front of him, and opened it. Inside were dozens of boxes, all containing dozens of bullets, enough to supply a small arsenal and enough to be worth a small fortune. Samuel's father had always told him that three things would always be in demand: bullets, water, and caps. Specifically in that order, because bullets could be used to get you caps and water.
He pulled out one of the heavier boxes, carefully removing it from the bag and placing it on the floor. He pulled open the lid and carefully, methodically, removed each bullet and inserted it into his rifle's magazine. He counted thirty, then gauged the weight in his hand, then counted the number left in the box. Yes, he'd taken the right amount. He cautiously placed the box back into the bag and closed it tightly. He needed to be more careful with those particular bullets in the future. He had around two hundred and sixty left, and 7.62s were worth their weight in gold.
After she'd finished with Bohrs, who now lay asleep on the ground, Azami turned her attention to Samuel's wounds. He'd forgotten about them until now, finally feeling the ache of the scratches on his back. They weren't nearly as bad as Bohrs' wound and for that he was grateful. If they were chased again, he'd be less likely to be caught. He thanked Azami, and volunteered to take the first watch. She accepted, and he spent the next few hours thinking, rolling a bullet between his fingers.