Chapter 40 “Outside your need to know.”

It took a few hours to reach the buildings John had seen. Two square blocks of concrete, gradually being swallowed up by trees and creeping vines. John found the front door and yanked the handle. It didn’t budge. He drew his pistol, swapped from the compensator to the suppressor, and fired. A muffled snap, followed by the cascading of shattered glass, got him in.

“I’ll make a sweep.” John moved with his gun lowered, getting the sense Robco humoured him by waiting. He moved quick and quiet through the rows of empty desks, clearing a bathroom and breakroom. He returned to the lobby, oddly disappointed not getting to shoot. Robco sat behind the curved desk, opening century old letters with his knife.

“Top two floors are empty. Looks like the company split.” Robco ruffled through the letters. “The owners got divorced, took half the business next door.” He let out a chuckle and shook his head. “Pretty funny.” He gathered the letters and slid them into his pocket. John gave him a curious look. “It’s good paper, and it’s blank on one side.”

“Smart.” John wouldn’t have even looked twice at the old letters. “There’s an office and breakroom back there.”

“We’ll check them then head upstairs.” Robco sighed and propped himself up with his cane.

“I thought you said they were empty?” John tried to dissuade him from climbing three flights of stairs.

“It is, but I’d wager these were the type of people petty enough to put their own office on the top floor.” Robco hobbled on, John followed, trusting the older man’s instinct.

“Jackpot!” Robco exclaimed as he entered the break room. “Plenty of good stuff in these.” He tapped the metal handle of his cane on one of the boxy vending machines. “Pumps, compressors, valves, heating elements. All good stuff.”

“There’s these too.” John pulled a pile of colourful boxes from a high shelf.

“Board games. You should keep them, we’ll have a game night.” Robco’s suggestion brought a smile to John’s face.

John offered Robco his arm as they reached the last flight of stairs. “See.” Robco leant against the wall to catch his breath, having found an imposing private office on the top floor. “I told you these people were assholes.”

“You did.” John grabbed the old chair from behind the large desk and brought it out for his friend to sit.

“Start with the desk drawers.” Robco let out a pained sigh and rubbed his leg. The wound less painful than the memories that came with it.

John piled up paperwork on the desk. He found a gold pen and tossed it to Robco, but saw little else of use. John insisted on making a quick sweep of the floors on the way down. For the same reason he took the office chair, to give Robco a break.

He started dismantling the first vending machine. Bitter and sour smells escaped from long rotten food containers. A stomach turning hint of what it had been hidden beneath the foul odours. Century old cola syrup stuck to his hands like glue, bringing the smell with it.

Eventually he stripped the parts that would be of use and felt glad to be done. Only to start over again with the second machine. Twisting at odd angles and lying on the floor made the crick in his neck worse.

“Done.” John dropped the final part on the table, turning back as he remembered something. Two sharp kicks, that John enjoyed, broke free the coin boxes. Robco looked at him, waiting for an explanation. “I’m going to make them into ammo, old Brotherhood trick.”

The second building had an almost mirrored layout. Same desks and chairs, facing the opposite direction. Different models of vending machines, same putrid contents.

The walk back took nearly twice as long. Robco’s chair could handle rough terrain well enough, but not towing a cart. Meaning John had to lift and lug the cart along. He found the novelty of a real workout faded fast. Then it started raining.

The imposing west gate came as a welcome sight. John walked into the Bathhouse, sawdust filled the air, lit in the setting sun. A loud whistle came from the newly installed mezzanine floor above him. “Hey, see the sign, we’re closed.” John looked up and saw one of the people he’d freed.

“It’s alright, these are my guests.” Roxy appeared, still turning heads in simple overalls. “Come on through.” She beckoned them in like friends. “I’ll let Carol know you’re here.”

“Can I ask a favour?” John could feel the sawdust clinging to him, on top of the rancid contents of the vending machines. “I’d really like to take a bath.” His first day out in the wastes, Billy offered him a bath on the house. He’d have paid every cap in his pocket to take one now.

After a stiff drink at the covered up bar, Roxy led him through to the baths. One filled with steaming water, a faint glow coming off the surface. “This place is all yours. Want me to scrub your back?” Roxy teased him, knowing his answer.

John stripped out of his wet, heavy, stinking clothes. He stepped into the large, waist high tub, finding it almost too hot. After a sharp exhale, he plunged himself into the warm water.

A few moments later, John sat on the moulded seat in the tub big enough for three more people. His limbs floating, soothed by the heat. The crick in his neck gone. The revolting sticky, dusty blotches melting away. “Thanks Billy.” He said out loud, wishing his friend could know how much he enjoyed the simple pleasure.

John sat in the bath, head back and eyes closed. Almost drifting off to sleep. “You pasty mole rat son of a bitch.” He opened his eyes, hearing a voice he dismissed as his tired mind playing tricks. Then someone kicked the tub.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

John saw a figure in the steam. Bald, dressed in a garish shirt and brown leather jacket. A smile on his face. Sentinel Grimm. John’s eyes flitted to the pistol hidden in the stack of towels within reach. “Relax. If I was here to take you back, we’d be on the road by now.” Grimm stood nearly a foot shorter than him, and some twenty pounds lighter. Even so, John believed him.

“What are you doing here?” John asked, half expecting to get yelled at for asking a question.

“Sara told me what he did.” Grimm couldn’t bring himself to say Elder Maxwell’s name. “I won’t serve under an oath breaker, so I retired. Figure I’d see the sights a while before heading back west.” Grimm smiled, but John could still see the anger.

“No such thing as an ex Knight.” John had clung to that saying. He’d swore an oath, the elder’s betrayal didn’t change that. “Did Sara send you?” He asked, already feeling responsible.

“If she did, that would be an order between senior officers. And well outside your need to know.” He threw John a stern glance that faded quickly. “Been a long time coming, but like I said, I’m retired. I don’t take orders no more.”

“So what are you doing here?” John forced himself to ask.

“Been renting a room out back for a week now. Saw the windows steamed up and hoped the baths were running.” Grimm turned on the taps in the next bath. John relaxed again, laying his head back as Grimm joined him.

“I tell you what, I think I’m starting to like this wastrel life.” Grimm reached for his pack, bringing a bottle of whiskey with a red R painted on it. “Hot baths and fine whiskey.” He passed over the bottle. John took a large glug, the effect hitting him sooner in the heat. “How ‘bout a little music?” Grimm nodded to the pipboy. John clicked it on, enjoying the music.

John invited Grimm to join them for dinner, finding Robco had invited Anne too. “It’s my,” Grimm cut him off.

“Mick.” He shook hands with Robco and Anne. “Just Mick.”

The four of them sat in a cleaned booth. Roxy pulled up a chair and Carol brought out the food. John and Robco tucked into the thick cut steak and fried tato rings. Anne and Grimm hit it off right away. The lifelong soldier being nearly as well read as the woman who had a library in her home.

“Come on John, we need to check the gear.” Robco got up from the table, giving John a look. “Two’s company.” He glanced back at the table. John felt dim having not seen it sooner. “Good to see Anne laugh again.”

John checked over the gear, leaving most of it at the Bathhouse. He busied himself by cleaning his weapons, oddly worried Grimm might inspect them. After lingering for an hour, he felt eager to set off.

Anne came out of the Bathhouse carrying a box of books. John took it from her and placed the box on the cart. “I’ve decided to rent my Dad’s old room to Mick.” She failed to hide a smile. “A man of his age living in those shacks out back. It’s not decent.” John stifled a laugh, knowing Sentinel Grimm considered a rock for a pillow luxurious.

“Whatever you want, Anne.” Robco turned to him. “You know him John, is he a good guy?” John saw his friend meant more than a simple invite to the Rest.

“Yeah, absolutely.” John saw his approval counted. He thought better of sharing some of the stories Sara told him with civilians.

John took point on the way home. Moving double time, finding the best possible cover. Doing everything how he’d been trained. Grimm didn’t seem to notice. He walked casually, talking with Robco and Anne.

It felt surreal to John to see Grimm in the Rest. He and Anne took their boxes home, more books for the library. Robco drove his chair to the workshop and John helped unload it before going home.

“I’m home.” John announced, hanging up his gear. Laughter from the bedroom turned to giddy whispers and hurried tidying.

“We’re in here.” Rosie called back a minute later. He followed her voice into the bedroom, finding Rosie and Wallace. “Notice anything different?” She asked, barely keeping from blurting it out. John turned to see bookcases along the wall. Made from the same varnished wood as the walls, mostly empty. He knew something looked strange about them, but didn’t get the chance to think about it.

“Say Wallace, would you hand me my copy of the Art of War please?” Rosie sounded like she’d prepared that.

“Why certainly.” Wallace nearly ran the few paces, reaching up for a lone book. He pulled the book and John heard something click. The middle two bookcases slid forward and up by half an inch, then hinged open like doors.

Inside Rosie had put her stealth suit on a frame, making it look like a person. Metal racks held her antique sniper rifle on one side, long guns on the other. A lower rack holding pistols. It reminded John of something from a comic book.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get bored of that.” Rosie stepped back, admiring her work, and clinked cola bottles with Wallace. “Want to see the workshop?”

Benches and shelving lined the wall. An area for pressing ammo, another for gunsmithing. His power armour and induction forge took up the back wall. All manner of spares and parts filled away in plastic tubs. Everything labelled and assigned its proper place. In the centre sat an adjustable worktable, a metal ring above, robotic arms sprouting from it.

“It looks like a bad guy’s lair in here.” John said without thinking.

“That’s what we were going for!” Rosie fist bumped Wallace, then thrust a comic at John. The cover bore an eerie similarity to the room, all except the reanimated corpse on the table.

Wallace left, being past his bedtime by some margin. John watched him till he got inside, feeling slightly foolish. He shut the door and fed the fire before sitting.

A knock at the door drew John’s attention. He opened it to see Grimm, smiling. “Good evening sir.” John stopped himself from standing to attention. “Please come in.”

“Brought you a house warming gift.” He passed John a book, a picture of an old world general on the cover. “Patton. A man worth reading about.”

“Thank you.” John put the book on one of the yet to be sorted piles. He turned as Rosie came in. “Scout Captain Rosie Powell, it is my honour to introduce Sentinel Mick Grimm.” John got a warm smile from Grimm had he got the formal introduction right.

“Tornado.” Rosie used her callsign and put out her hand.

“Odin. The honour is mine, Captain.” Grimm used the formal greeting as well, a sign of respect. “I’ll not keep you, just wanted to say hello. Good to see you’re doing well.” He clapped John on the back and left.

“Brandon told me Grimm’s one of the best swordsmen he’s ever seen.” Rosie sounded impressed.

“Sara told me she saw him kill three men in a bar with a pen.” John had thought the story exaggerated, Sara messing with him. Rosie less so

They sat and ate together. John’s pipboy pipped unexpectedly. The noise made Rosie flinch. “Fuck. Rick just vmailed. Eight residents walked out. I need to go.” John got up.

“They armed?” Rosie carried on eating.

“Probably.” John didn’t like the feeling rising in his gut.

“So you’re going to risk finding a bunch of jittery and armed...civilians. Then what, take them back?” Rosie played out the scenario for him. Lots of risk and little upside. “They’re armed and together. You do enough for those people. You don’t need to go chasing after people who don’t want your help.”

“I guess you’re right.” John sat back down, still worried, and all the more determined to help.