Chapter 39 “You must feel like it’s your birthday.”
The morning brought them out of the forest and away from the marshes. Roads were twisted into broken lines as the earth beneath had been washed away. The ground became dry and lifeless. The trees white and bleached, almost like stone, few branches left and dust in the air.
Boots crunched on the arid surface that JoJo told him reminded them of the west. John stayed on point and soon he no longer recognised the rocky and dry terrain.
Within an hour they had sight of the building that had been mostly undisturbed for decades. At the end of a long gravel path, two long wings filled with windows extended from a more prominent centre, with columns either side of the rotting doors. It looked big enough for a hundred people to live in.
“Well set up there, and there.” Joanne showed them the elevated positions on the rocky berm she and Jolene would take.
“Any trouble get to a window on this side, we got you covered.” Jolene added, then took Carol and left. John drew his rose carved pistol, attached the suppressor and walked up to the door. He fought the instinct to kick it down, like the kill house, and slowly opened it with a drawn out creak.
Black and white tiles lined the floor. Photographs too faded see hung on the walls. Dust clung to everything, like it had snowed inside. John took point, the only one who had a suppressed weapon, inside at least.
They ignored the reception area and large staircase, heading through to the north wing. Windows looked out onto a mock, pre-war military style yard, viewing platform, ammo bunkers, even a few trucks. Too small to be of any real use.
John took the lead and swept as he’d been trained, weapon ready, posture tight, turns into rooms smooth and precise. The others less so, ambling slowly, picking over stuff and making noise.
The ground floor held a large, well fitted kitchen that shared an open wall with a spacious canteen. This alone, Billy told him, would make the trip profitable. Training rooms took up the other side, padded floors, weights and benches. Machines that let you run in place that John thought deeply stupid.
The second floor held classrooms with wooden desks and chalkboards, shelves of the same books, posters that were too faded to read. The other side held long rooms with small metal bed frames, one built atop the other, and thick curtains they flung open.
The third floor held double rooms with full size twin beds. Further down they found a smaller kitchen attached to a finer dining room for far fewer people.
The fourth and final floor held offices. A large meeting room with a polished wood table that still looked new. John made a point of almost guarding the filling cabinets, knowing Sara would want them examined.
The last few rooms were spacious personal quarters. Private washrooms with showers, living spaces and double beds. Everything they’d seen told John this place hadn’t been occupied when the bombs fell. No sheets on the beds. No food in the kitchens. The only thing that showed people had ever lived here sat in the heavy filling cabinets, and that was likely because they weren't worth moving.
John insisted on checking the yard before entering a basement with no sniper cover. Billy leapt into a truck that looked like the one Robco drove. He had John push it but it didn’t move. Billy seemed oddly disappointed, the truck wouldn’t be of any value, it seemed more that he liked trucks.
The three angular ammo bunkers were digitally locked, apart from one. The heavy steel door had fallen from its hinges, eaten away by the dust on the wind. Hawkins cleared it, he’d grown tired of John’s methodical approach and made it known through snide comments. At least until Billy told him to shut up, then sent Hawkins and Mitch back inside to make a start on the kitchen.
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“You think you can open it?” Billy asked as John rolled his sleeve up.
“I think so.” The keypad lock didn’t look that different to the safe he’d opened digitally. He connected the wireless four pin and within a minute John had both doors open, revealing mostly empty shelving, and a dozen crates.
Billy let out a long whistle as he opened a crate of carbines. John kept quiet as Billy seemed impressed with the basic models that still had carry handles and bulky stocks. Most of the other crates were the crude combat rifles John had trained with. A few combat shotguns with box magazines, and ammo for everything except the carbines.
John and Billy swept the basement, finding drums of dehydrated food, vacuum sealed packs of sheets and fatigues. And there in the centre of the wall, sat a black alloy circle too small to be a Vault door, yet unmistakable as anything else.
“It’s too small.” John didn’t see any disappointment in Billy’s face, quite the opposite.
“So what is it?” Billy asked, running his hand along the six foot circular door.
“I have no idea.” John found the terminal set in the wall and connected to it.
“So glad we brought you.” Billy struck a sarcastic tone. John ran Rosie’s code, forcing himself to watch again so that he could tell her about it.
“You should be glad you brought me.” John stepped back as metal began to screech against metal and fresh air whistled through the opening left as the cog shaped door rolled aside.
It wasn’t a Vault, it wasn’t that much bigger than the basement outside it. Instead the door opened to a replica of the largest office above, a uniformed skeleton at the desk, with a self inflicted gunshot wound.
“Not a bad way to wait out the apocalypse.” Billy had an almost giddy tone as he walked behind the marble bar and started inspecting bottles.
“I can think of two people that disagree.” John couldn’t take his eyes from the skull staring at him
“Good point.” Billy started placing bottles on the bar and John moved closer to the desk.
“Harlow, he was a general.” John read the name below the ribbons and above the medals on the stained uniform. The second to last act of this soldier had been to carve ‘I served’ into the wooden desk and stab his knife below it.
The skull had a metal plate grafted to one side. John thought about what Sara told him about his own bones and wondered for a moment if this might be an earlier attempt. He saw something similar on the wrist and realised it must have been to fix an injury.
John turned from the skeleton, seeing the rest of the room, seeing exactly what he’d claim for himself. Flags of nations and units that no longer existed hung behind glass. Tattered and frayed, each with a small brass plaque underneath. Pictures spared from the sun showed the general with his men. Ranging from five to five hundred, then turning from soldiers to students as the same man aged.
On either side weapons had been placed under glass. A pump action grenade launcher that looked like an oversized shotgun. A six barrelled minigun with pictures of a crashed Vertibird and a bronze coloured star shaped medal above it. Opposite that lay a heavy machine gun, the torn fittings left attached. The picture above that showed snow, and a silver star medal.
Pride of place in the collection of storied achievements belonged, rightly, to a suit of power armour. John recognised it from a pre-war movie without the unearned knowledge telling him. A T-51.
More rounded than John’s T-60, made from fewer parts and thicker steel. Curved shoulders and a smooth chest plate. The hands were far simpler too, looking more like clamps and designed for heavy weapons only. The helmet had exposed respirator tubes, and the eyes were definitely smaller. Yet it still held the menace of the pre-war weapon.
“You must feel like it’s your birthday.” Billy lent against the wall, far more interested in the booze and soft bedding than this stuff.
“My what?” John asked, tearing his eyes from the armour.
“Your birthday, finding all this.” Billy gestured around the room while John stared back with a blank expression. “Shit kid, don’t tell me they didn’t have birthdays down there.” Billy didn’t really ask, he just looked sad. “How do you know when you’re a year older?”
“We have Vault Day, everyone is a year older on Vault Day.” John’s answer only brought more pitying glances, and Billy saw how John hated that.
“Don’t worry about it.” Billy changed the subject and his expression. “Why don’t you get JoJo, they’ll love this shit.”
“No, help me with this, then you get them.” John saw Billy pick up on his idea instantly.
“Are you gonna tell us what’s down here?” Joanne asked with tension in her voice as they came down the stairs
“Nope.” Billy pointed them inside. Surprised gasps quickly became a hushed reverence.
“Jo look, he served at Anchorage.”
“And this must be the suit he—” A whirring stomp from the seemingly long dormant power armour sent the trained Rangers running for the nearest cover before pointlessly drawing their matching revolvers.
“Where you going Rangers!” John spoke through the armour's speakers, enjoying the prank and revenge for the jokes.
“Not funny.” Jolene folded her arms and glared while Joanne laughed.
“That was great!” Joanne laughed and caught her breath, pushing her partner till she saw the funny side.