A/N: Helloooo everyone! Here we are again. For those of you who've been around for a while, there was a time I'd post weekly. Alas, life has not allowed me to do so for quite a while. I'm not sure how long this particular streak will last but... you know. So our friends are on their way to Far Harbor to get tangled up in the shenanigans there. Something I've tried to avoid is introducing story elements that are then immediately paid off. It feels... cheap. That's why the first time DiMA is hinted at was almost 40 chapters ago. By the same token, it's been very important Nate's journey through this portion of the story has been a consistent theme hanging over everyone's heads. Anyway, you aren't here to read my rambling so please leave a review if you're so inclined and, as always, enjoy!

Chapter 97: Far Harbor

I stood just behind the boat's port railing as Nate guided it into the dock. Half a dozen armed townspeople were standing by, waiting for us. All six of them had their eyes locked on me.

The port was low on the shoreline, lit by 97a dozen overhead lamps. Five piers jutted out into the small, circular bay, two of which were already occupied by boats.

Above the port was the town, likewise lit against the thick fog. It was constructed from the remnants of buildings and whatever other material they could get their hands on. Based on what I could see from the water, that was mostly corrugated steel, wood, and fencing. The buildings themselves were in relatively good condition, with whatever damage done repaired. No doubt that was to protect against the ocean winds and dampness.

Even in my armor, I could tell it was wet. The fog was condensing on me, dripping off every sharp edge and corner.

I held up one of the boat's mooring ropes when we were in range. After hesitating, one of the welcoming committee took a quick look at the others around him before stepping forward.

"Toss it here", he said in a voice that was trying, and failing, to be gruff. He was the youngest of the bunch, no older than me. His thick clothing hid his figure and his wool beanie made it hard to see much of his head.

I underhanded the end of the rope toward our docking help. He caught it with a deft, practiced hand and guided the boat's bow toward the mooring post with an ease that belied experience.

When the hull bumped into the padding, he tied it off and moved toward the boat's stern. I handed him the second mooring rope and he tied that one off too.

"Do me a favor and stay on your boat, hands away from your gun", an older woman with short, white hair and a well-tanned face ordered. "And can you folks in the cabin step out with your big metal friend, here?"

During the trip, I'd laid Nate's new armor in the cabin. We'd decided it would be best for us to show up with only one person in power armor. Neither of them thought it would be a good idea for me to be the first person they saw but, since we were wandering into an unknown town with zero intel, I decided safety was more important than diplomacy.

Besides, provided no one shot at me, I wouldn't shoot anyone.

A few seconds later, Nate and Valentine were on the deck with me. Dogmeat was, as always, standing next to me.

For a brief moment, all eyes turned to Nick. It would be a good test to see how these people react to Synths.

While my hands were down at my sides, I was ready to reach for my Mk18 in case they decided to do anything dumb.

They didn't. Instead, the woman who had spoken looked back at me.

"You boys lost?" she asked. "This is Far Harbor. We… don't get a whole lot of visitors around here."

"We don't need no freeloaders or more 'help', mainlander", another man wearing thick, well-insulated clothing like all the others with a large, wild beard. "You can take whatever trouble you brought with you back."

The woman rolled her eyes and looked at the man beside her. "Allen, this isn't your dock. It belongs to the whole town, and that means… strangers are welcome."

She turned back to me with a deep exhale. "Ah… sorry, you've caught us at a… difficult time. But Allen's got a point; not all visitors have good intentions. So what's your business here?"

"We're lookin' for someone", Nick answered before Nate could. "A couple of 'someone's', really."

That hadn't been part of the plan. I exchanged a glance with Nate.

"Before we part with any more information, I gotta know why you aren't upset I'm around."

"Because you're a Synth?" our new host asked.

Valentine nodded. "Folks aren't usually as welcoming as you've been. It's a little strange to me."

Ah, so that's what he's doing. If he could draw information about our target out of them without outright asking, it would make our lives easier.

"We've seen a few oddities; an old beat-up Synth isn't tops on the list." She turned to me. "And isn't even the strangest thing in front of me."

I cocked my head.

"I don't know about that", Nick replied. "Power armor is more common than Synths."

She nodded. "You're right. I've been around a while. Seen a lot of stuff. Even been down to the Capital Wastes a time or two. Maybe I never got into whatever the Brotherhood called that big building but I saw enough of 'em to know what their armor looked like. Your friend here doesn't look anything like that."

… It had been so long since I'd dealt with people who hadn't at least heard of me, having this come up again felt strange.

Without outright saying it, this lady just admitted something useful: they hadn't just seen Synths, they were comfortable around them. They didn't see them as the same threat as most people outside of the Minutemen did. Hell, even most people in the Minutemen did. Very few, that I was aware of, knew the Railroad was responsible for extracting Synths from the Institute. Fewer knew Andrew and Sturges were Synths.

"We're with the Minutemen", Nate said. "I'm Nate, the beat-up guy is Nick, and the big one is Damon. We aren't here to cause any trouble; like Nick said, we're just looking for some people."

"Heard from some folks who moved up here a few years ago the Minutemen were falling apart."

Nate nodded. "That's fair. Things have changed for the better over the last few months."

Before the woman could respond, a bell rang from somewhere within the town, and the sounds of activity exploded.

"Shit", one of the men on the docks muttered. "Guess we got incoming…"

"Sounds like it", the woman said. "The Minutemen still about helping out? I'll answer whatever questions you have if you do."

"Yes, ma'am", Nate replied. "What's 'incoming'?"

"Gulpers, probably."

Gulpers?

"Wildlife?" Nate asked.

Our host nodded. "Big, mean wildlife."

The ex-soldier looked up at me.

It might win us some goodwill.

I nodded.

Nate turned back to the woman. "Where do you want us?"

"Allen, take them to the hull, find whatever spot on the wall you can, shoot anything that comes out of the fog."

The man didn't look happy about being saddled with us but he nodded. "I'm on it." He didn't wait for a reply before turning to head up the stairs.

Stepping out of the boat, the pier groaning under the weight of my armor, I followed. Nate, Nick, and Dogmeat were close behind.

Allen led us through the gate at the top of the stairs and hurried across a courtyard about as large as Goodneighbor's town center. Dozens of people were there, scrambling for positions, hurrying kids into houses, or locking up buildings. The routine wasn't organized, but it wasn't chaotic enough for this to be the first time they'd done it. Based on the response down on the pier, it probably wasn't the 10th time they've done this. It was a regular occurrence.

Aside from a few confused stares, most of the townspeople ignored us.

There was a small gate on the other side of the yard. It was open, with five people hurrying through. The two at the rear were carrying a sixth. His left arm and leg had been mauled. All of them had some form of injury.

20 seconds later, we were led up a wooden staircase to what looked like the top of the town's perimeter wall. It was about three meters high and overlooked another row of buildings that had been abandoned for some time, separated from us by a narrow, two-lane street.

Perimeter lights illuminated the immediate exterior. Unfortunately, the fog was thick enough to disperse the light a dozen meters from the wall.

What caught my eye was the collection of strange poles sticking out of the ground. There must have been 10 of them arranged around the perimeter. They were topped with some kind of mechanism that glowed a dull blue. The fog swirled around the machinery, almost as if it was being drawn in.

Worry about that later. Deal with the threat.

"What are we looking for?" I asked as the four of us spread out over a 15-meter section of the wall.

"You've never seen a Gulper?"

I shook my head. "We don't have those in the Commonwealth."

"Big lizard-looking bastards. Tough. They go down if you hit 'em in the right spot. Back of the head or, sometimes, in the middle of the neck."

So either they had a lot of bone and muscle surrounding vital organs, or critical spots were small and hard to hit. The Mk18 would help deal with both of those problems. Nate was a good enough marksman to make do with his rifle. While I've never seen Valentine fight, he'd been around Boston for a long time. I don't doubt he can handle a rifle.

Besides, this is static defense against unarmed attackers.

My eyes wandered to the town's defenders. There were another 30 people on the wall with us, a fraction of the number I'd seen running through the courtyard. Plenty of them looked nervous.

If this was a regular occurrence…

"Have you had any breaches?" I asked.

Allen shot a narrow-eyed glare at me. "Why?"

Yes. So either these things were tougher than I was giving them credit for, there would be a lot of them, or these people weren't very good at fighting.

Assume one and two.

There weren't any in sight yet; how had they known they were coming? Spotters? Why were they attacking?

"Is there something we need to defend?"

Allen nodded. "The fog condensers. The Gulpers will go after them."

That must be the pylons.

Pattering in the distance caught my attention. NVS wouldn't help with the fog.

Kneeling, I shouldered my rifle, propped its handguard on the edge of the wall, and peered through its optic. The magnification didn't help much either but… there might have been a silhouette in the distance. Maybe 100 meters, at the end of the row of abandoned houses and shops.

Movement.

That was something's outline. Bulky and bipedal. I couldn't tell the size.

More movement.

"Contact", I said quietly. "100 meters."

"Copy", came the reply from Nate. He was to my left, along with Valentine.

"I see something!" one of the defenders shouted from my right. She was on the far end of the wall, closest to the movement. "Get ready!"

The other townspeople were all coiled tight. I could feel them straining, nervous for the fight. They were scared. Should I be more concerned about this threat? Should Nate be in the armor?

Gunfire erupted from the end of the wall the shout had come from. The muzzle flashes cast a harsh shadow against the fog around us.

"Hold it!" someone screamed. "We can't see them for sure!"

After being around the Minutemen for the last few months, a group specifically preparing to fight a war, it was easy to forget most people don't, and shouldn't have to, fight constantly. These people aren't soldiers; they're just trying to defend their homes.

I took a deep breath.

More movement, this time closer, between two of the buildings across from me. It was about 70 meters.

Then another flurry, even closer. And I got my first glimpse of a 'Gulper'. It was like Allen had said, a big lizard-looking bastard. Mutated, with oddly proportioned arms and legs, but it looked like a lizard.

Settling my sights on its too-large head, I squeezed my rifle's trigger. The Mk18 kicked one of its high-velocity 7.62 bullets out, its more powerful muzzle blast flashing against the fog as its report boomed.

The round slammed into my target's head, directly between its small, widely spaced eyes and over its massive mouth. I watched a chunk of its head get torn away from the impact. It hadn't been straight on so, instead of passing through the rest of its elongated head and out the back, it exploded out of the side.

And the Gulper didn't go down.

Oh… shit.

That meant two things: its brain was probably further back in its head and these things have an incredibly high tolerance for both trauma and pain.

Before I could adjust my aim, the creature had disappeared behind another building.

"Gunshot to the front of their heads was ineffective", I said as I went back to searching for another target.

"Copy that", Nate replied, voice thick with concentration.

Then, as if coordinated, activity exploded from the other side of the street.

At least 20 of the large, mutated reptiles surged from the line of buildings and toward the town's wall. It was pack-hunting tactics.

My crosshairs landed on one directly across from me, sprinting on long, gangly, double-jointed legs attached to a wide body. Its tail was almost as long as its torso and head combined.

Moving my aim 10 centimeters rearward, I squeezed the trigger again. This time, as the bullet speared through my target, it dropped to the ground and tumbled a half-dozen meters before coming to a stop.

Found it.

Before that one had a chance to come to a complete rest, I was switching to another target.

At the same time, a cascade of gunfire poured from the other defenders.

As my second target took a bullet behind its left eye, angled toward where, I assumed, its brain was, Nate opened fire.

That one went down. I didn't know exactly where the brain was but what I had was good enough.

It was time to go to work.

These things behaved like mindless pack animals trying to bring down a larger target. Five or six of them would burst out of the houses at a time. The distance between them and us gave me the extra time to line up each shot and make sure it counted. Not all of them did; a few didn't drop their mark. The follow-up would.

Not knowing exactly where to aim was aggravating. People are easy: hit them anywhere above the mouth, it's probably a kill. Most animals are the same way.

These things move quickly and their heads blend in with the rest of their body. The fog didn't help, especially with the barrage of muzzle flashes coming from my right. There were so many, and they were so sporadic, my NVS was struggling to compensate.

Whenever I took a moment to scan the carnage below, most of the 'Gulpers' they killed were casualties of volume fire. One had most of its body torn apart.

Nate and, to a degree, Valentine were far more controlled and composed. Both of them took the time to line up every shot. Nate's cadence was almost mechanical in its consistency. His fire was much more effective than any of the townspeople.

Lucky for the defenders, the fight didn't last long. I had just started on my second magazine by the time the Gulpers were exhausted.

"Stop shooting!" someone screamed from my right. "They're gone!"

It didn't—not immediately. These guys could use some help learning how to defend themselves, if for no other reason than they won't waste as much ammo.

I lowered my rifle and stood.

This version of Earth will never stop throwing new surprises at me.

Then again, I haven't even been here a year. Things might stop being surprising.

Or, on the other side of that, I've been here less than a year and I've seen all the shit I have. And there's no reason to believe these places are extraordinary.

… That's true.

"Allen", Nate said. "Are we good here, or do we need to keep a lookout?"

Turning, I saw our babysitter still aiming out into the fog, hands wrapped so tightly around his rifle, they were straining. His arms were shaking too.

"Nah, get outta here. Go talk with Avery, I don't need you." His voice was just as strained as the rest of him.

Well, if we aren't welcome… I motioned back down the stairs. "Let's go."

Nate cocked an eyebrow and glanced at Allen. The message was clear enough.

"You wanna let these guys stand guard for us?"

This isn't their first go-around. Besides, they didn't want us there. I'm confident we can fight out if things get bad.

Shrugging, I started for the stairs.

While I didn't intend to run if things got bad, we're operating on a timetable and we've already spent a day on the move. The town wasn't large; we could assist if need be.

"It isn't far if the town gets attacked again", I said once we were at the bottom of the stairs. "We need to recover your armor and get moving."

"Fair", Nate replied. "I'm guessing Avery is boss-lady."

Valentine adjusted his sling so the rifle could rest at his side. "Let's go find boss-lady, then."

The town was bustling with activity. A few dozen of its inhabitants were… gathering by the front gate. It was small, barely large enough for two normal-sized people to walk through side-by-side. Probably to make defending a breach there easier. They were carrying sacks, nets, and knives.

They're gonna butcher the carcasses.

If they know it's edible…

"Avery!" Nick shouted. I turned to look ahead of us. The Synth had a hand raised and was waving at the older woman. She was across the town's main yard from us, talking with another woman wearing coveralls over a black turtleneck and a black beanie. A lot of people around here seemed to favor that hat.

She beckoned us over.

Once we reached the two, she put her hands on her hips and shook her head. "Got a good look at what we have to deal with, huh? The Fog and the creatures it spits out have taken the whole island from my people."

The fog? Its creatures?

It must be radioactive.

Would the radioactive particles evaporate with the water before condensing into fog? Could it be irradiated after it condensed into fog? Wouldn't that mean there would have to be something irradiating it?

No clue.

"Thank you, by the way. It was beyond rude for me to ask you to help defend a town you've never been to or people you've never met. We'll get you some caps for your trouble." She looked at me. "Though I'm sure if you charge for your services, we wouldn't be able to afford someone like you."

Caps? Oh, right. People here use bottle caps as currency. It's been so long since I've had to buy something, I'd forgotten about that. We don't need-

"We'd appreciate that", Nick said. "Just give us whatever you're comfortable with. Not like you came looking for us."

"What is this fog?" I asked. "It made those things? It's irradiated, I assume."

Avery nodded. "It is. There are pockets of hard fallout. And as deadly as that is, that's only part of the problem. Things live in the Fog. Thrive. Those Gulpers live in some of the least irradiated areas. The further inland you go, the worse it gets."

Nate and I shared a glance. Seems like Nate's gonna be living in that armor again. I'd have to thank Helen again once we got back. Nate would be staying in town without it.

"You said the Fog has taken the island from your people?" the ex-soldier asked. "Has the Fog been spreading? Are you worried about it overtaking the town?"

Our hosts exchanged a look of their own.

"We haven't met", the other woman said. Her low, hoarse voice sounded tired. Very tired. "Folks around here call me the Mariner. It gets better and worse. The last few years… it's been as bad as I can remember. And it ain't getting better."

Years? They've been dealing with this for years? That was impressive, especially if the Gulpers were some of the 'less irradiated' threats.

Nate grunted. "Damn. Tough bunch if you've been dealing with this for that long."

Both of the women laughed.

"Ornery, more like. I-"

"Avery!" someone roared from behind us.

I turned to see Allen marching toward us, two of the men who 'greeted' us on the pier with him.

He looked pissed. His hands were still wrapped around his rifle, eyes locked on the older woman.

Oh, here we go…

"I'm done cowering behind your damn wall, Avery", he snapped before he'd even come to a stop. "Time you let me deal with the real problem. With the right people and my guns, I can end those Children of Atom cultists for good."

… Maybe that would make more sense after a response?

Avery's eyes narrowed. "The Fog's been here forever. The Children didn't make it."

"Before the rad eaters came, it was under control. They come and everything goes wrong." He threw a hand up. "It's time we do something."

"We don't need outsiders to worry about our problems, Allen", Avery snapped. "They're here on their own business."

He barked a laugh. "I think that should be up to them, don't you?" The bearded man looked at me. "Sure, gear like that isn't cheap to keep up. A little extra coin might do them some good."

Provided it didn't need any repairs, Mjolnir was, actually, very inexpensive to run. It had to be. The armor was designed to operate in isolated environments for extended periods if need be. That wouldn't be possible if it required constant refit and upkeep, so components were designed and built to last as long as possible. It's one of the reasons why the armor's so expensive to produce.

As much as I wanted to say that, I doubt being a smartass would improve the situation.

"Who are these Children of Atom?" Nate asked.

"They're religious folk. Worship the power of Atom. Which is… radiation, I guess?" Avery shrugged. "If you want details, you'll have to ask them. We used to have a peace with them until a certain hotheaded menace named Allen Lee-"

The man in question stepped forward. "Now that's enough. That preacher came into the Harbor saying it was Atom's will that we lost our land. That it was Atom's goddamned will that we lost so many friends and family. And that the Atom would wipe this whole place clean of us."

"If it were up to me, you'd hang for what you did to that preacher, Allen."

While the two of them argued, motion to the left caught my attention. Nick was standing beside the Mariner, hand on her wrist. He nodded toward the building we were standing in front of.

I slid in front to block the two from view. Luckily, the other participants of this engagement were too preoccupied to notice.

Nate's eyes narrowed. "What… did he do?"

"Allen pulled a gun on him. Claims the preacher reached for his first." Her brow furrowed. "We don't have police. Or really any law. Just custom and popular sentiment. And after everything the preacher said it was abundantly clear doing anything to Allen would've made matters worse."

Maybe I'm not the best person to ask but, if the preacher and his people were a real threat to the town, I could understand wanting to remove them. That being said, I'm not comfortable doing it because I feel like it and it doesn't sound like this guy operates on an 'information first' principle.

"Have these people affected the Fog?" I asked.

"Absolutely not", Avery shot back. "There's not one bit of evidence." She sounded… more than confident, she sounded adamant about the matter.

For as much as Allen seemed trigger-happy, Avery sure was determined to run interference for them. Granted, if it was true and the Children of Atom hadn't caused the Fog to get worse, she was right. Starting a fight with them would only cause more problems and put more people in danger. Killing their leader was a damn good way to start that fight.

"Geiger counters don't lie, Avery", Allen snapped. "The Fog's gotten more lethal year over year. And now the Fog's covering the whole damn island. But only after the Children came."

I frowned. That made… no sense. While I could see how they might increase background radiation levels, creating enough fog to cover an entire island isn't easy. Modern climate-controlled environments could do it but my version of humanity has only had that type of tech for the last century and a half. Which is more than 300 years after this one blew itself to hell.

"You know as well as I do that's happened before. Sure, people have theories the Children are involved but no one- and I mean no one- has proof."

"You think we don't have proof?!" Allen waved his hand at the gate where the people who had been preparing to move out were now filing through. "We've been fighting those bastards off for years, Avery."

While I don't have enough information to be sure, what I do have would make me side with Avery. Unless the Children of Atom have some sort of climate control device, which I doubt, the increase in fog was a natural phenomenon. If it carried radioactive particles, the Children could be responsible for increasing the content, but even that would be difficult.

"So, what about it, strangers?" Allen asked. "You say you're with the Minutemen. The Minutemen are known for helping people out, right? And I got a nice big bag of caps that should keep that armor running nice and smooth."

Yeah, I doubt that. Aside from a complete lack of evidence going after these people would do anything but start a fight between them and Far Harbor, we have our reasons for being here.

These Synths might have an idea about what's going on. If one of them is a gen 3 prototype, it will have been here for a long time. Between that and the technical expertise a community of gen 3s would have… wait… would they be able to produce fog like this?

Either way, the answer to this guy's question was pretty simple.

"No", I said. "Starting a fight with them is a bad idea and you're asking us to kill people over something we don't understand."

Allen snorted. "You're gonna turn good money down for this bleeding heart? Who cares if you don't know them, you get paid."

I cocked my head at the bearded man. This asshole knows how to ingratiate himself with people even better than I do. "However much you have isn't worth my time or attention. You haven't given me any reason to believe killing the Children of Atom will improve anyone's situation and I'm not in the business of attacking people for no reason." Anymore. "We have our own problems to deal with."

"Really…" Allen turned from me to Nate.

"You think I'm gonna do something he doesn't want to?" I didn't miss his smirk.

The guy looked like he was ready to fight someone. I doubt he was dumb enough to do anything here.

After a few seconds of glaring daggers at me, he proved me right.

"Fuckin' cowards", Allen said as he turned away. His two buddies followed him out of our conversation.

"Avery", Nate said, "before we get back to business, can I ask you something?"

The older, suddenly exhausted-looking woman nodded.

"You said doing anything to him would make matters worse. I assume that means a lot of people around here agree with him."

Avery nodded again. "That's right. Most people, really. Their problem is very few of us know how to fight well enough to risk something like that. In all likelihood, attacking the Children would just start a war. That's something we… can't have. Not with how hard things have been." She sighed. "Especially since we don't have any safe way to get through the Fog."

Nate's eyes wandered to the retreating trio. "Which is why, when Allen saw us, he thought he might have a chance."

"Probably. I gave up trying to figure out what goes on in that half-empty head a long time ago."

"Alright." The ex-soldier turned back to me. "One other thing… gotta say, good job shutting him down. You're one arrogant bastard."

"He pissed me off", I said.

"Yeah, I gathered as much. With that over, for now, back to it."

Avery took a deep breath. "So, you're with the Minutemen and came here looking for someone."

Nick and the Mariner returned from their side conversation as she finished speaking.

"Yes", Nate replied. He seemed unbothered by her use of "someone" not "something". To be honest, it probably wasn't a hard guess.

"Well, if you'll give me a minute to take a stab at it, I think I might already know who. Or, at least, where you'll need to go to find them." Avery took another deep breath and drew herself up.

"Minutemen coming here from the Commonwealth. Far Harbor isn't known for much besides being a wet, dreary town on an island infested with monsters. There are two notable things on this island: the stubborn people who refuse to give their homes up to this damned fog and its abominations, and Arcadia. Since you don't seem to be in short supply for stubbornness, and you're from the Commonwealth, I'm gonna go with Acadia."

Nick frowned. "And what's Acadia?"

"A Synth refuge up on top of the mountain. Since you folks are from the same place most of 'em come from, I'd hazard a guess that's why you're here."

I looked down at Nate to meet his gaze. She had all the information available for that deduction, I had to give her credit for making it, considering the circumstances.

Not bad. I shrugged. "That's right."

Avery nodded, more to herself than anything. "And, I'll assume, since you have a Synth with you, you aren't here to attack them. I know Synths don't have the best reputation. That isn't Arcadia though. They've been good to us. We wouldn't have the Fog Condensers if it weren't for them. They might be the only things keeping Far Harbor safe."

Fog Condensers. That must be those pylons outside the town's perimeter.

"Also correct. We need their help."

"I see…" she frowned, squinted eyes studying me. "Normally, I'd be much more determined when questioning mysterious strangers who show up on a boat early in the morning, one a Synth, and the other a… well, whatever you are."

It felt like more was supposed to come after the end of that sentence. It didn't. Avery trailed off, still looking at me.

"Is this the part you say you're willing to give us a pass after helping defend your town?", Nick asked.

Avery's eyes lingered on me for a heartbeat longer before she turned to the old Synth.

"And pissed Allen off. That's always a plus in my book." She glanced at the Mariner. "Your thoughts?"

"Give them to Old Longfellow. They can handle themselves and he can get them to Acadia." She looked at the wall. "I have too much work to do on the hull to keep standing around."

"Great minds think alike", Avery said, nodding. She pointed to her left, toward the row of buildings between us and the water. "There's a bar at the end of this street. You'll probably find him there. He likes his whiskey. Before you go, you don't know us but you helped defend the town. Considering how proud folks are around here, you won't hear this much so I'll say it: thank you."

Nate nodded in return. "You're welcome."

"Alright, get going before Allen tries something else… stupid."

"Appreciate the advice."

With that, Nate started toward a narrow alley between two buildings. Nick followed.

I hesitated for a heartbeat before falling in. Would Allen be a problem? It seemed like he didn't appreciate outsiders. The odd thing is… he was going to ask us for help. Or hire us. It was a weird combination of priorities. It must mean he wants the Children of Atom dead more than he dislikes outsiders.

Problem is, it doesn't sound like he has any evidence the cult is an active threat to them. They don't know if they're making the Fog worse and any hostile action taken could be passed off as retaliation for killing their leader.

Impulsive. He's impulsive. That could be dangerous.

Hopefully, we won't be here long but I'll still need to monitor him.

On the other side of the buildings was a wide boardwalk that ran perpendicular to the piers. People milled around on it, walking and talking, and a few were at the railing, looking out over the water.

Most who saw us emerge cast suspicious glares our way. It felt like they all landed on me, which wouldn't be unusual. The difference this time was I don't think it was just because of my appearance. Avery said the people here were stubborn. If the sentiment of distrusting outsiders wasn't unique to Allen, the suspicion was probably in part due to that as well.

Everyone besides the half-dozen younger kids on the boardwalk was armed. Most had a handgun tucked into their waistband or in a holster. A few were carrying heavier hardware like a bolt-action rifle or pump-action shotgun.

We should have gotten Nate's armor…

Nate and Valentine turned left and started down the wide walkway. It only took me an instant to see why. At the end, on the left side, was a building that had two or three people milling outside the entrance, drinking from beer bottles.

As much as I wanted to take them back to the boat, this was why they were here. I'd have to trust they knew what they were doing.

It's worked so far.

I started after them, the thick wooden beams groaning under my boots.

The townspeople parted around us, all still glaring as we passed. As usual, putting them at my back was contrary to every instinct I'd cultivated over the prior 15 years.

What was I going to do about it? Leaving the two of them alone wasn't an option with this many guns and this much open… if not hostility, then suspicion around.

So I set my shoulders and continued forward.

After the seeming eternity it took to cover the 50 meters between where we started and the bar, Nate reached the front door where the trio of men were still standing.

"Excuse us", Nate said. His voice was calm and genial but firm. "We're just trying to head inside."

They didn't budge. I felt the eyes of every person behind us on my back, like daggers trying to stab through my armor. If anything, I wanted to get into the bar to escape that.

Before I could step forward, Nate spoke again. "Guys, we just helped defend your town from those Gulpers. The least we could get is enough consideration to go inside for a drink."

One of them, the smallest one, switched his glare from me to Nate. "Fine."

The three men stepped away from the door almost as though it pained them.

"Appreciated."

The ex-soldier pushed the door open on groaning hinges and stepped through.

Inside was a large room with old wooden tables and booths. The finish on them had eroded long ago, leaving most of them as dark messes that looked like they'd give a splinter to anyone who got within a meter of them. The chairs weren't any better, and the same went for the bar.

The half-dozen patrons inside, like everyone else in this goddamn town, turned to us.

There was only one who didn't. Tucked in a booth by himself to my right, in the far corner, was an older man with unruly white hair and a matching, unkempt white beard. He wore a thick, black trench coat, nursing a small glass of amber liquid. Whiskey? I didn't have much experience with alcohol.

My guess was that's the man we were looking for.

Nate must have come to the same conclusion because he started in that direction almost as soon as the door swung shut behind me.

"Old Longfellow?" Nate asked as he reached the man's booth.

The old man looked up from his glass, a bemused frown pulling the edges of his mustache down.

"Outsiders", he said. "Avery send you?"

"Yes."

His eyes drifted from Nate to me.

"You wanna go somewhere in that damned Fog, I assume."

Nate nodded. "Yeah."

"You know anything about it? How bad it can get? How it can drive a man crazy? The monsters that live out there?"

"We have monster deterrent", the ex-soldier said, motioning at me, "anti-radiation drugs, another suit of power armor, and a lot of ammo."

His eyes were still on me. "You ever fought your way through a nightmare, monster deterrent? Creatures that, wherever you're from, would sound like a bad night-time story? Or men driven insane by this goddamn plague?"

"Are you telling us we shouldn't go?" Nate asked.

The old man grunted. "That's up to you. Get me a bottle of good whiskey and I'll take you. I've lived here long enough, it doesn't scare me anymore. But someone new?" He chuckled. "Well, you'll see."

"Whiskey, huh?" Nick mused, pulling his pack off and setting it in front of him. "I'm guessing, if you're here, that means they sell it."

"That's right."

Valentine produced a pouch and offered it to Nate. "You mind. I'd do it but I think our new friend here might have some helpful information."

The ex-soldier shrugged and took the pouch. It jingled. Caps.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Caps.

As Nate strode to the bar, the Synth stepped beside our to-be guide's table. "Well Mr. Longfellow, you mind if I take a sit?"

"Go on", he motioned at the other side of the booth. "Your buddy, too."

"I'll stand", I replied. Those benches looked like they were struggling to hold them up.

Not only did the old man not seem upset, he moved on like he hadn't heard me.

"Where are you trying to get?" he asked.

Once Nick was settled into his seat, he folded his arms on the table. "Acadia."

"Ah, one of those, huh? I get why you'd wanna find 'em, Synth and all." The white-haired man looked at me. "What's up with your friends?"

"It's a personal thing. Some folks are in trouble and we're trying to help out. You mind if I ask you a few questions?"

Longfellow looked to my right at the same time as I heard, and felt, footsteps approaching from behind me.

"Once I get a few sips in me."

Nate stepped up to the table and placed a bottle of whiskey and a small glass in front of the guide.

As if we weren't all around him, Longfellow uncorked the bottle and eagerly poured himself a half-glass worth of the amber alcoholic beverage. He leaned back in his seat and tipped a third of the drink into his mouth. He swallowed so quickly I doubt he had time to taste anything. The only exposure to alcohol I've had was my handler occasionally drinking from one of the expensive bottles of bourbon he kept in his desk to 'celebrate' successful operations. He took the time to savor the drink,

This guy probably drank for the alcohol's effect.

Smacking his lips, Longfellow set the glass back on the table. "Shoot."

"You've been around a while, I assume. That's why Avery pointed us in your direction for a guide. Is this the worst you've seen the Fog?"

"Nah. When I was a young lad, no higher than your knee, the Fog covered the entire island. Eventually, it rolled back, and folks resettled. Got comfortable. Started taking things for granted." Longfellow took another drink. This time he grimaced and, when the glass hit the table again, it clacked against the wood.

"People got short memories", he growled.

Well, looks like I was right about Allen. People like him need someone to blame for everything.

"You learned your way around the island while the Fog wasn't as bad?" Nick asked.

Longfellow nodded. "It wasn't never gone, but it was better. Easier to learn how to get through it when it ain't covering everything. See, mainlanders think all you need to deal with the Fog is some Rad-X and a gun." He shook his head. "No, it can mess with your mind, too. People get lost in the Fog. When they come out, they're different. Broken. Some decide to stay in it."

"You know why?"

"Oh, I got guesses—nothing for sure. And I don't like playing the same game as all these folks, coming up with stories about the Fog. I can tell you what it does and what it doesn't. If we're trying to make it to Acadia, anything else will be a distraction."

Panic, fear, and shock can all dramatically alter someone's mental state. If it's bad enough to cause PTSD, or even break someone entirely, that could explain what's happening. Other than that, the only thing I know of that could affect someone's behavior is chemical. In this case, it would be aerosolized. I'm in armor, Nate will be in armor, and I don't think Valentine is vulnerable to it. We should be fine.

Besides, these people have lived in and around the Fog their entire lives.

"What kinds of physical threats will we see?" I asked.

Valentine shot me a frown. Apparently, I wasn't supposed to do that.

"Well, monster deterrent, that depends on if you're lucky. If you are, trappers, ghouls, and some wildlife. If you aren't, Gulpers, Mirelurks, Crawlers, and Deathclaws."

"Luck isn't usually on our side", Nate mumbled.

"Hopefully you got lots of stuff to shoot, then." Longfellow finished the last of his whiskey and set the empty glass next to the still mostly full bottle.

Nick shrugged. "Mr. Longfellow, you don't need to worry about fighting. I'm sure you're plenty capable, you've spent your life in a pretty rough place, but we're asking you to take us out there. These two can handle pretty much anything the island throws their way. All we're looking for is a guide."

The old man crossed his arms and squinted up at me. "That so? You know what a Fog Crawler is? You ever fought one of those bastards? Or a Deathclaw?"

"Which is harder to kill?" Valentine asked.

"Oh… that depends. That mean you've fought one of 'em?"

Even if I've fought Deathclaws before, I didn't like the sound of that. Dealing with something as difficult to put down as one of those oversized lizards without the time to prepare, ample space to operate, and friendlies who lacked the mobility and durability of a SPARTAN sounded difficult.

"I've fought Deathclaws before", I said. "Never heard of a Fog Crawler."

"Hmm. It would be best if we avoided those. Especially some of the more… mutated ones."

More mutated ones? Sounds fun… The thought was only half-sarcastic. The opportunity to fight something harder to kill than a Deathclaw sounded fun but, for the reasons I'd already considered, I'd rather avoid it for the time being.

"Fair enough", Nick said. "How far's this hike to Acadia?"

Longfellow turned back to the Synth. "Two or three hours if we don't run into any big roadblocks. Unless you wanna spend the night up there, we'll need to leave here soon. I'm not a fan of strolling through the Fog at night. Done it a few too many times to want to do it anymore."

Nick nodded. "If you aren't a fan, I won't push my luck." He turned to us. "I think I'm good for now. You guys want anything else?"

There was an undertone of excitement in Valentine's scratchy voice. He wanted to get moving. If this Synth can give him some information on his past, and how he ended up in the Commonwealth, I could understand his eagerness.

Even so, I'd like to be as prepared as possible. I know what threats we'll likely face and how long we'll be out there. One more question.

"What kinds of environments will we be moving through?"

"Once we get out of town, most of it'll be the main road going up the side of the mountain. Game trails cross the road which is where we'll run into wildlife. Happens pretty much every time."

"Anything notable we should know about?"

He shrugged. "Not if you've been through a rural town and forests. We'll have to be careful about deep pockets of the Fog. Those'll be obvious. That's a condition if I'm taking you three out there: you do what I say at all times."

"Understood", I replied.

Longfellow glanced at the bottle in front of him and frowned. "Guess you'll have to wait until later, friend."

X

"I don't like following someone who don't know where they're goin' and don't know what the Fog's gonna throw at us", Longfellow said as we stood just inside the gate.

Once we finished in the bar, I helped Nate retrieve his armor while Nick rented a room for us to leave the ex-soldier's supplies in. I kept my pack on me. It would make bringing out the McMillan difficult if I needed something heavier but I'd rather have some supplies with us.

Nate volunteered to take the load when he realized I intended to bring my supplies. I declined. If I had to take out the large caliber sniper rifle in a hurry, I could cut the straps. He couldn't if he needed to get out of his armor quickly.

We caught even more stares as we marched through the town, Nate lumbering in the T-60. No one moved to stop us.

"He'll be close enough to direct", Nate replied, his voice distorted through the armor's speakers. "Like Nick said, we're already asking you to take us to Acadia. The least we can do is make sure you don't get killed along the way."

Longfellow looked from Nate to me. "You're a little arrogant for my taste. The Island ain't the Mainland. You folks think you can come here and treat it like that paradise, you're gonna end up dead."

Arrogant? I don't think that's the right word. While I doubt I'll run into anything worse here than I've had to face before, this guy might turn into a problem.

"You're with me, then", I said. "Nate, stay with Valentine."

The ex-soldier's grunt sounded odd coming through the helmet but, after a moment's hesitation, he nodded.

"Up to you."

If this guy's as good as the game he talks, I shouldn't have to adjust much. If he isn't… well, he's the guy Avery pointed us to as an expert guide. If he isn't as good as he seems to think, that probably means whatever 'threats' we'll run into aren't something to be concerned about.

"Alright", Longfellow said and checked his rifle. It was an old, lever-action piece. Something I'd never seen outside of a museum. "Hope you're as good as you think, monster deterrent."

With that, he unlatched the gate and pushed it open. The group 'harvesting' the kills from earlier was still at work. They'd dragged the bodies toward the wall, likely to give themselves space in case of another attack. Not a bad move. Most of the Gulpers had been rendered down, several piles of stripped bone stacked next to the wall and the sacks full of whatever they pulled off organized beside the gate.

They were working quickly. I'd guess that was a combination of fear and experience.

"Thataway." Longfellow waved his old rifle to the right. "We've got about a half-mile of town, then the neighborhoods past that before we start up the mountain. Gotta watch out for trappers and Ghouls for a little while."

"Understood", I replied.

We began down the road, past the working townsfolk and still-glowing Fog Condensers. The morning sun and haze cast an eerie glow over the abandoned buildings and broken roads. Many of the houses and smaller stores had repair work done to them at some point in the recent past. Empty now, those must have been buildings the island's inhabitants had used before the Fog spread.

Nate and Valentine kept a safe distance, maybe 15 meters, between themselves and us. The ex-soldier couldn't move quietly in that armor, hissing actuators and heavy, undamped steel feet thudding against the cracked concrete.

In this environment, I'd prefer physical protection to silence. Especially considering the radioactive hazard in the area.

Far Harbor faded behind us over the next five minutes until the haze swallowed it. The quiet brought on by the Fog made our little group feel incredibly isolated in the middle of an alien, likely hostile town.

The buildings were constructed differently than what I'd seen in the Commonwealth. There was more brick and wood/brick combination than Boston or its surrounding suburbs. Whether that was a result of being more subject to ocean air or preference, I don't know. It meant there would be more we could use as physical cover.

Not unlike Boston, many of the buildings were either partially or completely collapsed. Walls were completely gone, roofs caved in, or entire structures turned into piles of rubble by time and the elements.

"Careful from here on", Longfellow whispered. "We're far enough from town to start running into trappers. Bastards were mean before the Fog got to 'em."

"Copy", I replied. Nothing had caught my attention yet.

We crossed an intersection, a crumbling apartment ahead and to my left. I could still see the ocean past the row of buildings to my right. The sound of waves lapping against the shore, the only consistent sound besides everyone's footsteps, punctuated by Nate.

Holding a fist up, I signaled him and Valentine to stay across the intersection from us.

Then I listened.

Wind blowing against the buildings around us, sometimes eliciting a tired, pained groan from the old structures. Longfellow's breathing.

Other than that, silence. The Fog would dampen any sounds drifting through the air. I didn't turn my audio's gain up but, at normal levels, I couldn't even hear sound coming from the town anymore.

I waved the other two forward.

Once they'd reached us, I paced back out front with Longfellow and we continued.

Minute after plodding minute crept by as the four of us made our way through the town. The haze didn't lift. It grew thick in a few spots and Longfellow carefully circumvented those.

It was strange, the pockets of concentrated Fog didn't look… natural, like there was a hard edge on the region. I've spent a lot of time in many different environments and the only one I've seen something like that in was a very thick swamp.

After picking our way around a third one, Longfellow stopped and aimed his rifle down the street. I signaled Nate and Valentine to stop again and followed suit. I hadn't seen or heard anything but this guy knows this area, I don't. Maybe something felt off.

Ahead of us was another intersection. The buildings on the near side had been destroyed. On the far side, just visible through the Fog, was a large grocery store and an empty lot.

The road was narrowed to a few meters in the middle by piles of rubble, probably from the two collapsed buildings.

"Contact?"

"No", the old man whispered. "I don't see nobody. That looks like a block to me. Ain't seen that the last time I came through here."

"Can we go around?"

He nodded slowly. "Yeah, we can get behind the store but, unless you wanna climb a rock wall, we gotta use that road to get outta town. These are trappers; they'll have those spots hemmed up, too."

So this was set up, huh?

"Trappers have any heavy weaponry?"

"Not usually." Longfellow glanced at me. "They ain't no pushovers. These bastards have spent a lot of time out here, figurin' out how to survive and fight."

"Sounds like we're fighting them regardless of what we want." I jerked my head toward the other two. "Let them know I'm moving ahead to assess. Give me 20 minutes. Take cover and wait for me to come back. Nate will get you to town if we need to retreat. I'm not making a request. Go."

Our guide's eyes narrowed. He could be upset with me all he wanted. He isn't the first person I've said this to and isn't the first person it's angered. And I'll be the first person to admit, it isn't only about keeping him safe. The knowledge fighting without having to worry about others made my life easier wasn't new but the Raider base only reinforced the notion. If I can take a fight on my own or put support in a position where I don't have to actively defend them, I will.

"Alright, monster deterrent. Your choice."

'Your choice' not 'your call.' It sounded like he expected me to get myself killed.

Longfellow trudged back to the other two, and I slipped to the right side of the street. These 'trappers' set a funnel up at the edge of town where anyone coming through would have to pass. The old man was right; to the left was either more town or a sheer rock face. Unless there was another path around the rock face, circumvention wasn't an option. That's also assuming they don't have any alternate routes likewise fortified. To the right was the ocean, which Nate and I could wade through. It was a no-go for the other two.

In all likelihood, it would be faster for me to deal with these 'trappers' than backtracking to find another path. Plus, if they're a threat to Far Harbor, this might buy us some goodwill with the locals.

Didn't I say something about killing people for no reason?

I tucked myself against a two-story storefront and adjusted the zoom on my rifle's optic.

What was I supposed to do? Send Nate in to negotiate? These people are in the way. If they're hostile, I would only be responding in kind.

If they're hostile. How would find out if they're hostile when I'm shooting first?

Longfellow thinks they're hostile. He knows his way around this island better than me.

There was no movement visible from where I was standing. Granted, the rubble was piled high enough to block visibility from street level. I'd need to climb to the second story to see anything.

Creeping around to the front of the building, I slipped inside. While I was careful to place my armored boots as softly as possible on the old floor, I could only do so much. The wood squeaked and groaned under me as I entered the long-abandoned structure.

There were barren shelves arranged in neat rows with a counter to my right. It looked like it had been a convenience store in its previous life. Besides that, the shop was empty.

A door set in the wall behind the counter led me to a staircase and the second floor. Judging by the additional shelves in the large room that took up most of that level, it had been storage.

The far side, closest to our potential trappers, was a studio living quarters. Or what had been one. The bed frame had rusted into the ground, but there was still a mattress, couch, table, and chairs. A small kitchen was to the left. It had windows overlooking the barricade.

While they offered a good view, that would be a predictable spot for someone to use. Unlike Boston, where there were always hundreds of places someone could be watching from, this area offered limited options.

So, as I peered through the broken windows, scanning the area beyond the blockage, I stayed far enough back in the dark room to be shielded from the limited sunlight streaming through.

It took me about five seconds to figure out, one, Longfellow had been right about this being a trap, and two, Longfellow had been right these people were hostile.

Yes, there were alternate explanations for the sheltered gun emplacement they'd set up offset just far enough from the hole to be out of view until you were in the funnel. However, those explanations didn't involve fighting what seemed like the largely instinct-driven wildlife I've seen here and in the Commonwealth. Those things hadn't cared 30 people were on the walls in Far Harbor, shooting them and their friends.

At the same time… why set up in a place like this if it wasn't to catch people trying to come through? It wasn't an easily defensible position. Whoever had done this relied on someone not noticing until it was too late.

There were a dozen positions arranged behind the blockade, none of them visible unless you were in the hole or able to look over the rubble.

This was a trap set for people, not animals. They would have found a more secluded location if they were worried about the mutated creatures.

Am I just saying that because I want an excuse?

… No… The way they have this set up is to fool an intelligent enemy. Or prey. And it's in a natural bottleneck for anyone trying to come through.

If they see a relatively steady influx of people going to Acadia…

Huh. Alright then.

The justification may have been quick and, if I took the time to examine it, there may have been flaws.

But there was nothing in front of me that suggested anything different.

There was at least one person in each of the positions. Most weren't paying attention. The only one with a dedicated weapon was the first emplacement I'd noted, which looked like a small-caliber light machine gun. The others, arranged in a rough semi-circle, were just collections of sandbags and seats. A few had low fires or just glowing coals to keep their inhabitants warm.

The inhabitants themselves didn't look much different from the townsfolk in Far Harbor: dressed in thick, warm clothing, carrying old, wood-furniture firearms.

15 trappers I could see. Considering there was still the store behind these people, and they'd set up for a long stay, I'm sure there were more.

How to approach this? I could try to sneak in from the right, the water-side of the street. I couldn't see what they had set up for defense but, if they went through this much trouble to establish a fatal funnel, they wouldn't skimp on the perimeter.

The position itself… wasn't that good, though. A simple climb to the second story of a building revealed the entire thing. They were banking on people wandering through the rubble without thinking it might be a trap. There was also the possibility I could go all the way around, through the water, and come up behind them.

No reason to not scout. If they're as well-established, I go to hit and run. If they aren't and I can get into their position through a flank…

Well, this whole thing will be over a lot quicker.

With that in mind, I retraced my path through the building and back outside.

Making my way to the shoreline, it only took me a minute to figure out they'd at least been smart enough to either choose a position that already had blockage preventing a flank or put it there themselves.

But the water was open.

Before wading in, I pulled my pack off and stashed it in the wreckage of a boat that had been beached long enough ago its hull had mostly collapsed. With that done, I scanned the murky ocean for anything that might want to surprise me and slipped under the surface.

It was worse than my times doing the same thing in the Commonwealth. Even though it wasn't far away, the ground beneath me was much worse. It was all slippery rocks and silt. With the Fog absorbing a significant amount of light, the water was dark enough I couldn't see more than a dozen meters. My NVS helped but not much.

That was fine; it was a hundred meters to the far side of their-

Motion up and to my right caught my attention. 10 meters away. Fish? I hadn't seen-

Movement again; this time I saw it. Not a fish, at least I don't think. It was large, almost as big as a person.

Then I did see it. A- it looked like some kind of mix between a man and a crab. It was large, maybe a meter and a half tall, wide, and scrambling toward me upright.

It was some kind of crustacean but… nothing like I'd ever seen before. It had 'arms' that terminated in pincers the size of dinner plates.

And the thing was closing fast. The 10 meters between us turned into 5 in an instant.

Damn thing could have come out of a horror story.

I pulled my rifle up, centered it on… I think its face. Another heartbeat passed as I let the thing draw near.

Just as it got in striking distance, I squeezed the trigger.

Guns can fire underwater. In most cases, they can even be effective.

Contrary to popular belief, however, they aren't that effective. Water is a lot thicker than air and bullets don't like traveling through it. Also, a high-powered rifle like the Mk18 will produce a supersonic shockwave that hurts its underwater ballistics even more and can disintegrate the projectile. That shockwave is what causes the ballooning effect when a high-velocity round hits someone, essentially turning their bodily fluid into a bomb.

A regular person, or someone without armor, might injure themselves doing it with a high-powered, magnum cartridge.

In the half-meter between the end of my rifle's muzzle and the… thing, I watched as the round and escaping gas made a temporary cavity in the water between me and my attacker. The creature went limp as the bullet speared into its face.

Shifting to my left, I just managed to avoid its body crashing into me.

Just in time for a pair to come racing in from the right.

Oh, this is perfect.

They surged past their dead friend, no more than a meter from me. Without space to bring my rifle around, my hand was already going for the pistol on my hip.

It came up as they pounced. I jammed the muzzle into the closest one's underbelly and fired.

And the thing didn't seem to care. It tried to clamp down on my arm with its oversized pincers.

I jerked away from my assailant before it could take hold.

Space. I needed to make space.

When I raised my leg to kick the thing away, the water slowed my movement enough for the other one to join in.

Instead of trying to grab me, this one lowered itself and drove the top of its massive shell into my chest. It wasn't heavy enough to drive me back but the impact did knock me off balance. With one leg raised and my armored boot planted on slick rocks, I had to scramble to stay off the ground.

This wasn't a good fight for me. Whatever these big ass crab things were, they're on home turf. It isn't like I haven't fought in water before but the most threatening thing I've had to deal with is a Sangheili. I know how to fight those. These things… apparently their only weak spot is their face and they don't have the traction issues I do.

One of them darted forward again, both of its pincers coming in to grab me. I twisted just enough to avoid one-

But the second clamped down on my forearm, just a few centimeters above my wrist.

With its pincer trying to hold smooth, hard titanium, instead of being locked in its grip, I was able to yank my arm free before it could bring the other one back around.

That was lucky. If the thing had managed to grab soft armor, it would have been much harder to get out of the hold.

Space. Time and space. I need to adjust.

Dropping low, I clamped the handgun back to my hip and used my hands and feet to scramble along the slick sea floor. I couldn't move as quickly as I'd liked because of the limited grip but at least I could move faster than walking.

Even so, I felt one bearing down on me from behind.

Turning again so I was facing the rippling surface a dozen meters above, I coiled my legs. One of the things was almost on top of me. Its pincers were extended, reaching.

My legs uncoiled and drove the soles of my armored boots into its… chest. On the surface, the impact would have catapulted the creature into the air. In the water, the results weren't as spectacular. The strike arrested my attacker's forward momentum and drove it backward. The crab-thing spun off to the right as I felt a sharp crack reverberate through my legs.

My leg panged in protest. Even if it was almost back to normal, that didn't mean I could be careless.

As the creature I'd kicked floundered, the impulse sent me skimming over the ocean floor, away from the second one. It was still pursuing me, unconcerned with its injured friend.

That was fine; it meant I had the space I needed.

Bringing my rifle back up, I sighted on the thing's face, let it draw close enough, and squeezed the trigger.

Its report sounded strange underwater, more a clap against my armor than a noise.

Just like the first one, it went limp as the bullet tore through the unarmored portion of its body. The carcass passed a few centimeters over me before bouncing off the ocean floor to settle into the rocks and silt a half-dozen meters away.

The other one was recovering when I got back to my feet. It was hurt. I could just make out a long, jagged crack in its carapace that ran from where I'd kicked it up to the opening for its face.

Instead of coming after me again, it scuttled off into the gloom.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't take a relieved breath. While I'd been more focused on fighting than anything, that hadn't been a fun engagement. My hands weren't quite trembling from a mixture of adrenaline and shock, but they were close. Having some giant, mutant crustacean jump out from a murky ocean and try to kill you wasn't something you brushed off the first time it happened.

Yeah, that was nerve-wracking.

A grin slipped across my face. I just dove into a Raider base and fought my way out, and some giant crabs scared me.

Goddamn right they did. That was straight out of a horror story.

After taking a moment to regain my bearings, I followed the trail my scrambling left on the seafloor, and started back toward the shore.

Despite the interruption, I still had a group of trappers to neutralize. And now, with that delay, I only had about 10 minutes to do it.

Trudging along the shoreline, staying just shallow enough to keep my head submerged, my eyes were constantly scanning the gloom for more of those damned things. I did not want another surprise like that.

Nothing else came charging at me.

Thankfully.

A few minutes later, I dragged myself out of the water, 50 meters past the store and the edge of the town. I stayed low, crawling across the sandy beach.

All that fortified the rear was a fence running from the back of the store, across the street, and to the buildings on the opposite side. If anything, that confirmed my suspicion from earlier. They'd dedicated their resources and efforts to the side of their encampment facing Far Harbor. Maybe, if given more time, they'd do something similar here but, if Longfellow hadn't seen this the last time he came this direction, it was relatively new.

While the justification still felt too convenient, every piece of information said the old man was right.

Let's get on with it, then.

Between me and the edge of town was nothing but road, the beach and ocean on my side, and a rock face on the other. I couldn't see anyone keeping watch. That didn't mean they weren't. The rear of the store had plenty of breaks in the wall someone could be at. My best bet was the building on the near side of the street.

Moving back down to the water's edge to give myself visual concealment from potential rear guards, I slipped along the beach, waves lapping gently at it a meter away.

If I wasn't focused on the fight I had ahead of me, the environment might have been… peaceful. Between the isolated island, the soft sounds of the ocean, and the haze I could understand why someone might like living here.

As it was, I had a job to do and people waiting for me to do it.

A moment later, I was at the building across from my target. It was a low, one-story structure, maybe another small store. Inside was dark. Moving through the building would be my first choice but my armor's primary weakness stopped me from doing so. Its weight would be impossible to compensate for on the old, tired wooden floors. The squeaking and groaning would give my presence, and position, away before I could engage.

That left me with my second option: moving to the store and sneaking in the back.

I'd be exposed for about 20 meters as I made the cross. It wouldn't take me more than a second or two. Before doing that, I needed to ensure I wouldn't be noticed.

With that in mind, I slipped to the roadside and peered around the corner. The same 15 trappers were still in the same places. They didn't look ready to ambush anyone. Then again, they were waiting for someone unprepared for their trap to wander through the rubble blockade. Only three were looking in my direction.

The store didn't have any openings for someone to look through on this angle. Good. There was a service door at the top of a short, concrete staircase next to a loading dock in a small turnoff. Perfect for entry.

All I had to deal with was the trio looking in my direction.

Pulling my handset out of its pouch, I turned it on and did a quick function check before hailing the others.

"Nick", I whispered into the receiver. "I'm in position on the far side of the blockade. Need a distraction in 10."

There was a short pause before a click came through.

"I got you", the detective replied. "Counting down."

I started my own count.

Slipping the radio in place, I gave the trap one more scan to make sure I didn't miss anything, then turned back to my target.

Considering these guys were probably looking for an easy fight, I doubted I'd have to eliminate all of them.

Then again, if they're as crazy as Longfellow suggested…

Doesn't matter. I keep shooting until they aren't shooting back.

It was a good plan.

At one, there was a series of loud crashes from the other side of the blockade. Every trapper in sight bolted upright. The three watching the back of their little perimeter turned away.

They might have set up a decent ambush but they weren't very good at maintaining it.

Most people, especially in a place like this, won't be trained and experienced soldiers…

My legs drove into the ground and I launched into the open.

That was true. Still, if I were in their position, I'd have at least someone watching the rear.

Well, I'm a trained and experienced soldier.

An instant later, I was nearing the other side of the street. I vaulted the fence and came down directly behind the store.

The door was less than five meters away. It took half a second to realize it was a no-go. They'd welded it shut. The weld went all the way around the frame. Breaking it open would require tearing the entire frame out of the building. While… I might be able to do that; it would ruin the whole 'stealth' aspect of this infiltration.

Option three: the roof. Stores like this generally have skylights. Dropping through one of those wouldn't be quiet but it would give me an alternate path to attack.

Climbing onto the loading dock, I gauged the distance to the roof, about two or three meters above my head, and jumped just high enough to grab the edge.

The vantage point would give me a perfect sightline down into the lot these guys were set up in. Once they were eliminated, the roof would give me flexibility for engaging the trappers in the store.

As I pulled myself up over the ledge, I was careful to avoid making noise on the concrete roof. There were five skylights spread at even intervals along with an access door and three very dilapidated HVAC units.

The waist-high wall surrounding the roof would provide perfect visual cover.

Whatever Nate and Valentine were doing to make noise stopped a few seconds after I slipped to the other side of the building. The trappers were all alert and on edge now.

But they were looking in the wrong direction.

I knelt and brought the MK18 up, settling its handguard on the wall.

15 targets, 11 different positions. Three had sandbags surrounding them, the others were only fortified at the front. If I gave them enough time, the trappers in those could take cover on the other side. Either way, the better-fortified ones would have to go first. They'd be the quickest to respond.

After two practice runs to ensure I could switch quickly between the positions, I settled my sights on the furthest away.

And fired.

The gunshot exploded into the silence and, out of my periphery, I saw it slam into the trapper's head. By that point, I was already shooting at my second target. There were two in that position. Both were down a heartbeat later.

As my aim moved to the third, the trappers began to react.

Problem was… they didn't react like I thought they would. Like they should have.

With the fourth member of their group catching a bullet in the back of the neck, the others started firing. But it wasn't at me. Some of them were shooting at the barricade, some at the buildings across the street. I could hear several of them screaming as they did. They weren't saying anything, just wordlessly shouting.

My sights moved to another and he was down. By the time I hit the sixth, the others were beginning to figure out what was happening. One turned to me, pointed, and screamed.

Again, she didn't say anything. It was an open-mouthed, wordless scream.

A bullet ended the scream but the others had already caught on.

Ducking away from the roof's edge, I slid to my right as a cascade of gunfire blew the face of my cover into dust.

Up again, I took aim at another trapper, this one running toward the building, firing up at the roof wildly. He dropped, then another followed.

This all made… no sense. These guys were able to set up an ambush like this but were running around, screaming, and shooting like they had about as much sense as the Gulpers from earlier.

Footsteps pounded up metal stairs behind the access door. I slipped away from the roof's edge again and aimed at the door.

It burst open and a trio of trappers raced out.

Straight into my sightline. They were all down before making it a few meters from the door.

More running was coming from below. I couldn't tell how many sets of footsteps but I wasn't waiting on the roof for them to come up.

The nearest skylight was three meters to my left, just above where the sounds were coming from. Stepping over to it, I peered into the store, my NVS activating to illuminate the dark interior.

A trapper raced past it and I fired again. The bullet hit him in the neck and traveled down through his torso. It would have destroyed several organs essential to keeping him alive.

It also turned the tempered safety glass into a tapestry of spiderwebbed cracks.

I dropped through it.

The five-meter fall took me down into the darkened store where I landed on what was left of a shelf, shards of glass crashing down around me.

Four living trappers were in the store and the rest were still charging in from outside. In the next instant, my pistol was in my hand, and I put a 10mm bullet through the nearest one.

A few seconds later, the others were down too.

Gunfire exploded from the store's main entrance and a round crashed into my right shoulder. The lack of shields caught me off guard for a beat but I turned on them and opened fire. The fight didn't last much longer. Without the intelligence, apparently, to figure running through a door with someone shooting on the other side or the self-preservation instinct to surrender, they were dead within 20 seconds.

And then it was over. And I was very confused. These assholes behaved more like Feral Ghouls than humans, but they were able to use firearms and had established a relatively good ambush position.

What the hell was all this about? How did any of this happen? None of it made sense. Maybe Longfellow can shed some light on it.

Taking a minute to sweep the store for any stragglers, I did the same for the lot before making my way to the front of the barricade.

I pulled my radio back out once I was sure the threat was handled.

"All clear", I said into it, peering through the opening and down the street. "Move up."

"Gotcha", came Nick's scratchy, distorted voice in reply. "On our way."

Almost as soon as Nick's voice faded, I saw Nate's form detach itself from cover 100 meters up the road. He was closely followed by the other two.

"Hold here", I said once they were through the barricade. "I left my pack on the beach."

Nate's helmet bobbed in a nod. "Copy that. We'll be in the store."

Longfellow was studying the carnage, quiet. I'm… sure he had questions but those could wait until I had my pack and we were out of town.

Besides, I had some questions to ask him. The crustaceans that attacked me in the water were interesting but the trappers…

What the hell was that about?

A few minutes later, pack retrieved and the others collected, we headed out of town. Longfellow directed us along the road that mirrored the coastline.

I could feel the old man's eyes fall on me every minute or two as we walked. It had been a while since I'd fought around someone who hadn't seen it before. Nate and Valentine were used to it. Hell, I met Nick by fighting through the Triggermen to get him out and Nate was there when the Raiders attacked Sanctuary. They'd both been exposed to it pretty early on.

Then again, I had some questions of my own for our guide.

I stopped once we'd put a klick between us and the town.

"I have questions", I said, turning to Longfellow.

He squinted. "That makes two of us. What the hell are you?" The way he asked that- he didn't sound awed or afraid. His voice was almost accusatory.

I didn't like that. "A soldier. What did I just fight?"

Longfellow shook his head. "I've met 'soldiers' before. Plenty. That wasn't a 'soldier's work, monster deterrent. So. What the hell are you?"

"We're with the Minutemen", Nate said as the two of them caught up with us. "Damon-"

"I've noticed you do most of the talkin'", our guide interrupted. "I'm asking your man here a question and you answer? Sounds to me like you're trying to keep something from me. I'm traipsing around out here with a beat-up old Synth, a guy in Brotherhood armor, and Mr. 'Soldier'. I wanna know what this is all about and I don't wanna hear it from someone who's used to spinning stories. Otherwise, you ain't getting my help past this spot."

The ex-soldier looked at me. Even though I couldn't see his face, I knew the expression. 'Good luck'.

My eyes drifted from him to the hillside above us. What we were looking for was somewhere up there, past all the trees and fog. We could make it without this guy.

Yes but how much easier would it be with him? How much risk would we avoid with his help?

"I'm telling you the truth", I said, slowly. "I am a soldier, I'm with the Minutemen, and we're trying to find the Synths on this island. We need their help."

"With?"

Should I tell him? What harm would it cause? Would the information somehow get back to the Institute?

Probably not. We were 300 klicks away from the commonwealth and, if the Institute knew about this place, it wouldn't be here anymore.

The problem is, revealing protected information, no matter who it's to, carries a risk.

Only if the risk that information poses is realized. If the information can't be acted on in time, it doesn't matter.

I looked back down at Longfellow. "This information carries a lot of risk and a lot of people die if we fail. If I tell you, you're staying with us until this ends. If I think you might spread it, I will kill you."

The old man arched an eyebrow.

But I didn't miss the grin that turned the edges of his mouth up.

"Better be good, Mr. Soldier. Don't get my hopes up for an adventure if you can't give me one."

… Great.

Next Chapter: The Climb...