Chapter 6 “Beatniks at the top of the world.”
Before long the Tower loomed overhead, just beyond a broad patch of cleared concrete. Something about the unnerving open space brought a cold feeling over Rosie, her muscles tensed and breathing slowed. An autonomic reflex brought on by device.
The cleared area ahead bothered her, it felt like wading through a river somehow, the air offering the faintest trace of resistance. The tactical system brought forth a solution, with a blink of her eyes the black night became glowing green. A near monochrome view that shifted dark to light.
Spanning across the open ground were straight beams of thin light forming a grid over concrete. Rosie zoomed to the source of the nearest beam. Hidden in a fence post, the amplified light showed the edge of a small lens, the beam projecting from it. Invisible to all but her, and whoever put them here.
“We’re being watched, there’s infra red beams and cameras everywhere.”
“Relax.” Brandon seemed more curious how she knew that and weirdly amused. “Sniper team at the top of the Tower, they keep this place safe. Always wondered how they made those shots.”
Another quick zoom confirmed it. Right below the very top square of light a pair of black clad figures perched behind rifle scopes. Rosie understood and marvelled for a moment at the ingenuity. The network of beams could range a target and relay it to the shooter in seconds. With the whole area pre sighted they could hit anything they wanted, including them.
Brandon reassured her they were both safe, explaining the brutal law of Shadowtown. Break the rules and you get painted, you either surrender or take your chances, which Rosie calculated as slim to none.
The entrance through the three storey wall had been a building once, now stripped out. Reinforced and garrisoned with armed deputies. The bottom floor sat deserted. As Rosie followed Brandon round the corner, red light crept across the floor. Falling on him first, then her, bringing a deep primal fear with it.
The data scrolled in Rosie’s eyes giving her practical information on the all too real killer robot, menacingly glaring at her with a burning red eye. Mechanised tripod legs supporting a massive armoured torso. Minigun arms and forty mil grenade shoulder pods. It looked worse than her nightmares.
Her first instinct was to escape the mark two Sentry bot. Wanting to retreat into the dreamlike state and bolt. But not with the handfuls of deputies on the walkways above that could compromise her, and worse, Brandon. She quickened her pace without running, getting closer to the killer machine with every step. The eye scanned her as she scanned it in return, the thrill of new data pushed away by childhood fear.
She got past the bot as soon as possible, near running into a cluster of more robots from her nightmares. Oval bodies whirred and turned to the activity waking from their semi dormant state. Waking to take the blood of foolish children that ran from the Vault.
Panic forced the dreamlike state out, yet before it took hold she felt arms drawing her into a tight embrace. “Breath, just breath.” Brandon’s voice soothed her primed nerves. He drew her away from the terrifyingly real nightmare straight into a dark alley between the inner buildings.
“I didn’t think they were real.” Rosie sounded like a child.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t think. Damn clankers scare the shit out of me too. We’re safe here, there’s a few bots inside the wall but nothing that heavy.” Brandon seemed upset with his own carelessness.
“I’m ok. It’s stupid, they used to tell us stories about Red Robots that ran on children’s blood.” Saying it out loud made it sound even more ridiculous, especially as she had detailed scans of them stored away, under the asset tab.
“Let’s go meet Charlie.” Next to John, Rosie couldn’t think of anyone she wanted to see more.
Dotted lines of bulbs hung overhead, no pattern, no order, not even matching bulbs. The visual chaos didn’t stop there, it extended to everything Rosie nervously glanced at. The people around her dressed completely differently, different haircuts, varied equipment. Some worked stalls, lit to show their wares, others left purposefully obscured.
The system began scanning everything, bringing Rosie’s attention out from the fear she felt. Weapons pulsed in faint green, each slung rifle catalogued, the laid out pistols on stalls analysed.
The sparse crowds parted ahead of her, a clanking sound made Rosie tense. Brandon felt it through her hand as her grip involuntarily tightened. A swift sidestep returned them to the shadows.
“It’s ok, wait here.” Brandon winked, his tone almost playful. Rosie nodded and watched as he strode over to the sauntering square bodied bot. “Hey Buddy, how ‘bout a cold one?”
Stolen story; please report.
“Ten…caps…buddy.” Rosie flinched and tried to retreat further away from the talking bot. Brandon slipped the small metal shapes Rosie knew were important, apparently, into a slot on the chest. The bot responded by opening its own chest, retrieving a glass bottle and opening it.
“Try this.” Brandon held out the bottle that felt cold to the touch. The sweet liquid fizzed and popped as Rosie threw it back, causing her to almost spit it out. “Nuka Cola. It’s an old world thing, not bad right?” Brandon took a gulp and laughed. Rosie felt his mood lift the further away they were from the Brotherhood. She wished she could share that.
Brandon took a metal tube from the inside of his coat, clean and finely made from brushed aluminium. He unscrewed the cap and slid out something rolled, dry and brown. “Hey buddy, got a light?” Brandon slipped a cap into the slot and the bot’s orb like hand produced a single flame. “It’s a cigar, it’s,”
“An old world thing?” Rosie tried to smile as Brandon exhaled the grey smoke into the night.
“Actually this is freshly made, but yeah.”
“Can I?” Rosie asked, overcompensating.
“No, it’s a filthy habit.” Brandon blew out more thick smoke, his expression not matching his words, as he led them towards a stall filled with bottles and jars.
More caps were exchanged for two bottles. One clear, one brown, and a refilling of the small flask of the same brushed aluminium from Brandon’s pack. He drank as they walked, topping off her cola with something sharp and smoky that brought a warm feeling to her chest.
The crowds ahead grew thicker, filled with armed people and tension. Small groups formed around burning barrels, all waiting around for something. The building ahead seemed to be the focus of their attention. Old world brick and near intact, longer and wider than most, and a good deal cleaner. Rosie recognised the medic logo above the door as they entered.
They slipped past the large room of waiting people and into a narrow corridor. Brandon asked for his sister Charlotte and got directed to a long ward. Beds either side, wounded lay on them. Her face lit up when she saw them, but Charlie didn’t move her hands from the stitching of a woman’s leg.
“How did it go?” Charlie asked, trying to read Rosie’s defeated expression.
“We got what we wanted.” Brandon answered for her.
“That isn’t what I meant.” Charlie tried again to draw her out.
“He’s ok. I’ll see him soon.” They all wanted to believe that, Rosie most of all. “What can I do?” Rosie used the funny smelling gel to scrub her hands and wrists, careful not to expose the device under her coat. Charlie smiled, pleased to see her student ready.
“Your diagnosis?” Charlie nodded to the man in bed behind her. Rosie looked over his injuries, trying to be friendly.
“Possible concussion, check for nasal and orbital fractures. Clean and stitch the laceration on the scalp.”
“Get to it Doc.” Charlie winked, more for the patient's benefit, and Rosie set to helping.
“What happened?” Brandon asked as he surveyed the other wounded on the ward.
“Six strong raider pack hit the south market. Shot up the place, took hostages and all the guns and chems they could carry.”
“Bold for raiders.” Rosie saw the other two share something troubling at Brandon’s tone.
“Shrikes got two, deputies got another upstairs in surgery. Traders put up a bounty, they’re waiting to see what they get out of him, but Paul and Matt left as soon as we heard."
“Good. Bounty or not we need to know who put them up to this, someone’s buying up them guns.”
“Wait,” Rosie interjected. “They’ve gone looking for criminals? Like a case?” Using the word from the detective story gave Rosie away, much to Brandon’s amusement and Charlie’s annoyance. “Do you think I could hel—”
“No.”
“Yeah, but—”
“No.” Charlie didn’t even turn around. “Those damn books.” Brandon laughed, so did Rosie, remembering the lengths Charlie went to separating fact from fiction
Rosie treated three more patients under not so close supervision. Most were the result of beatings, some hit glass bottles, others slashed at in a frenzy.
“What are you going to say to Lady Luck?” Brandon asked.
“The truth. That’s what John would have told her. He never was a good liar. Although Rosie had to admit he was better than she thought. Charlie bristled at the mention of truth, fake names and covers kept them all safe, Rosie understood that.
“One of us needs to stay on the ground, who do you want to come with you?” Charlie kept a neutral tone, which gave away her concern. Rosie hesitated, unsure. “There’s no right answer.”
“Brandon.” Rosie gave the wrong answer, Charlie’s expression told her that. Rosie would have been fine with either of them coming, but she still wanted to impress Brandon. “Wait, what do you mean on the ground?” Even the deputy they were stitching up laughed at that.
Rosie took the lead, weaving through dark quiet alleys towards the centre of town. The layout quickly frustrated her. No order, no plan, just sprawl. She stopped, trying to gauge the way ahead when she took in the sights around her.
A metal frame for children to climb on, chipped wood on the ground. Rings bolted to high poles that she didn’t recognise right away, until she remembered what little time she’d been allowed to spend on the Rec deck. To her right Rosie could just see through a window, a family sitting together to eat, their expressions warmer than the home In a rebuilt ruin.
“This is a nice place.” Rosie tried to keep the anger from her voice, fuelled by the normal life that looked like a dream to her.
“It has charm doesn’t it. Not too many places like this, they’re fragile things.” Brandon looked over her shoulder at the family and made sure she saw them too. “Worth protecting.” Rosie heard the conviction in his voice, she wanted to understand it. Living out in the world seemed easy to Rosie, certainly better than the repair shop. Yet she started to get the sense that life in a place like this could be quite easy indeed for the others.