"That's your stop up ahead, the ol' Farragut Metro," the boat captain called, his voice gruff but friendly. "There's a bunk room deeper in, but don't let your guard down. Ghouls, rats, and other pests keep wandering in, no matter how many times we clear 'em out."
Altan nodded in acknowledgment, his gaze flicking toward the looming metro entrance that was just visible beyond the crumbling dock. He glanced over his shoulder at Delilah, seated just behind the bow. Her eyes were closed, a blissful smile spread across her face as the wind teased her hair. For a moment, the harshness of the wasteland seemed to melt away, replaced by something almost normal.
The boat slowed, its engine sputtering before cutting out entirely. With a faint thud, the vessel bumped against the weathered wooden planks of the wharf. The jarring motion pulled Delilah from her reverie, and she let out a small whine of disappointment. "Aww, I was just starting to enjoy that."
Altan chuckled softly as he swung his rucksack onto the dock. "All good things, Lily." He stepped off the boat and turned to offer her a hand. She took it, hopping lightly onto the wharf beside him.
As the siblings steadied themselves, Altan gave the boat a gentle shove with his foot, sending it drifting back into the sluggish water. "Thanks for the ride, Captain," he called, raising a hand in farewell. "Safe travels."
The captain tipped an imaginary hat, a crooked grin spreading across his face. "And safe travels to you, too!" he hollered, before restarting the engine with a clattering roar. The siblings watched the boat retreat down the murky waterway, its wake rippling through the stillness.
Altan adjusted the straps on his rucksack, his expression growing more focused as he turned toward the metro. "Alright, let's move. GNR's not getting any closer."
Delilah groaned as they climbed the never-ending stairs. "When we find Dad, I’m DONE with stairs. I’m gonna find the flattest spot ever and just sit there like a potato." She glanced up at Altan, making a dramatic face. “Okay?”
Before he could respond, she nodded to herself, a faint grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Okay. It is decided. No take-backsies."
Altan smirked and shook his head, raising his laser pistol to a low ready. “Sure thing, Lily. I've got point, so you let me know if I take a wrong turn.”
Delilah nodded in acknowledgment, already flicking a dial on her Pip-Boy as the two stepped into the dimly lit metro tunnel. The air was thick with moisture, carrying a faint metallic tang, the sound of water dripping from somewhere deep in the shadows. Their lights clicked on: Altan’s helmet-mounted light cutting a sharp beam through the gloom, and Delilah’s Pip-Boy light humming softly beside her, casting a steady glow in front of them.
The metro tunnels, eerily quiet, felt more like a forgotten grave than a bustling transit system. Graffiti was scrawled on every surface—some crude, others oddly hopeful, like the jagged letters spelling out ‘Hope lives here,’ stark against the aged concrete. But the metro was surprisingly well-kept. Unlike other places, it seemed someone had made an effort to maintain it. Most of the debris and trash had been pushed into piles near the edges, clearing the way for a raised walkway made of planks, several inches above the damp floor.
Delilah hopped onto the walkway, testing its sturdiness with a quick bounce before following Altan as he moved forward. “What do you think this walkway’s for?” she asked, her voice echoing in the stillness.
Altan glanced down at his boots, noting the moisture collecting in the shadows. "If I had to guess? Rainy days. It hasn’t rained much lately, but I imagine it can get pretty wet down here in the hotter months. The metros probably have issues with flooding, so they built this to keep the path clear." He tapped his boots with a smile. "Gotta keep them dawgs dry, y’know? Trench foot kills."
Delilah giggled, then pointed ahead of them at a door just past a row of turnstiles. “Go that way, bro,” she said with a teasing grin.
Altan nodded, already moving in the direction she indicated. Together, they wandered deeper into the administrative and security areas—long since looted and stripped bare—until they reached a small office, now repurposed into a communal bunk room.
The space was dimly lit by the flickering glow of a makeshift chandelier, a haphazard arrangement of cola bottles and glowing fungus that cast an eerie, greenish light across the room. A patched-up couch rested against the far wall, its sagging cushions covered by a bundle of mismatched blankets, one corner of which was carelessly thrown over its arm. Several cots lined the room, each a unique arrangement of old pillows, sleeping bags, and patchwork quilts, creating a sort of makeshift haven in the middle of a forgotten metro. The air carried the faint scent of mildew, a sharp contrast to the earthy aroma of the glowing fungus lamps that filled the otherwise stale atmosphere.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Against one wall stood a metal locker, its paint peeling and faded. The words "Take Something, Leave Something" were scrawled across the front in chipped white lettering, an invitation to any who passed through. Its door was propped open, revealing a jumble of supplies inside: a half-full bottle of Rad-X, a few cans of preserved food, some battered holotapes, and a stuffed mole rat toy, its ear long since lost. A sheet of paper taped to the inside of the door carried a handwritten note, the ink smudged in places: "Be kind. Don’t take the last of anything unless you really need it."
In the corner, a small table served as a kind of community message board, cluttered with old scraps of paper, faded maps, and hastily scribbled notes pinned to the surface with rusty nails. The messages varied in tone—some practical, like “Tunnel to Georgetown flooded. Unsafe!”—while others were deeply personal. One message, scrawled hastily in charcoal, read, "Jenny, if you see this, I made it to Megaton. Look for the yellow flag."
Altan took in the room, his hand instinctively fiddling with the safety of his laser pistol. “Looks like people have been passing through here for a long time,” he murmured, his voice low.
Delilah kneeled by the locker, running her fingers over a faded holotape, turning it over in her hands as though trying to make sense of it. “Yeah, but they left it nice enough. We should leave something too, don’t you think?” she said, her tone thoughtful.
Altan smiled faintly, reaching into his pack and pulling out a can of beans. "I think we can spare this," he said, handing it to Delilah. She took it with a nod, placing it carefully in the locker. After a brief moment of hesitation, she dug into the pockets of her lab coat, pulling out a few old holotapes. She placed them gently inside, leaving the one she had been holding for herself, pocketing it with a quiet, almost reverent motion.
"Ready to go?" Delilah asked, brushing the dust off her knees as she stood.
Altan nodded, glancing at the dim, flickering light ahead. “Let’s move.” He checked his laser pistol one last time, his gaze briefly lingering on the distant shadows that seemed to shift just out of sight. The metro had an unsettling quiet to it now, a lull before the storm. As they moved, the sound of something scraping in the distance caught their attention—a heavy metal object dragged across the floor somewhere far ahead. The noise echoed through the tunnels, a sharp, eerie sound that lingered long after it stopped. The two froze, their eyes darting toward the source of the noise. Altan’s hand tightened on his weapon, while Delilah peered into the shadows, her expression unreadable. When no movement followed, she shrugged and turned back to the task at hand, guiding them through the metro with a practiced ease.
The two siblings continued their trek, following the map on Delilah’s Pip-Boy, her fingers tracing the screen as she marked off their progress. "GNR Outpost this way," she murmured, her eyes scanning the signs that had been hastily pinned to the walls. Several of them were from the Brotherhood of Steel, their logo drawn in crude chalk or spray paint, pointing them in the right direction. The Brotherhood’s presence was growing more noticeable in these parts, marking safe zones or key locations with their telltale signs: "Clear. Mutants dealt with," or "Stay sharp. Scavengers ahead."
Soon, they came across an old vending machine, mostly hidden in the shadows of a rusted doorframe. The glass was cracked, and the snacks inside had either turned to dust or molded beyond recognition. But, there were still a few relics of the old world left behind. Delilah pulled a wad of pre-war dollars from her coat pocket, shoving a few bills into the slot with a practiced flick of her wrist. A moment later, with a loud grinding noise that made her cringe, the machine jerked to life. After a few more strained sounds, a few stale snacks rattled out—mostly gum and a couple of cans of crisps that somehow managed to survive the years.
Altan raised an eyebrow. "That makes way too much sense," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.
Delilah shrugged, a grin tugging at the corner of her lips. "Moira taught me that." She pocketed a can of crisps, then tossed one to Altan. He cracked it open with a small, appreciative nod, the faintest hint of a smile crossing his face.
They continued onward, the quiet moments of the metro broken only by the occasional scurrying of rats or the skittering of radroaches that scuttled from the shadows at their approach, only to be quickly dispatched with their laser pistols. It wasn’t until they neared the end of the line that the mood shifted. The distant echo of gunfire began to break the silence, sporadic exchanges ringing out from the direction of Chevy Chase.
The sounds set both of them on edge, the distant gunfire and roars cutting through the tension like a knife. Their pace quickened, instincts kicking in as they checked their gear for the last time. Altan adjusted the straps on his rucksack, holstering his laser pistol in favor of his rifle. He pointed at Delilah's head then tapped his helmet, and Delilah swapped her boonie hat for her combat helmet.
He switched on the headset. "Mic check."
"Check," Delilah replied quietly, her voice steady but sharp. She flicked a switch on her Pip-Boy, activating the comms system and scanning for any nearby radio signals. Always good to be prepared.
"We're almost there," Delilah said, her voice steady despite the tension. "GNR’s gotta be close, and the Brotherhood’s got markers all over."
They stopped just short of the metro entrance, crouching behind a rusted barricade. Altan pressed his back against the cold concrete, his eyes sweeping over the area for movement. The sounds of gunfire grew louder now, mixed with shouts and the occasional roar of a super mutant’s battle cry.
"Ready?" Altan's voice was low, focused.
Delilah hesitated for a split second, her fingers hovering over her Pip-Boy before she nodded sharply. Her voice, though steady, carried an edge of tension. "Yeah. Let’s go find Dad.”