Chapter 5 The Day The Bombs Fell
Burton didn’t leave Vault X for over six weeks. He meant to, but the constant stream of metadata from the devices proved too alluring. Being able to match what any subject was doing in a particular moment with the readings made them exponentially more accurate.
The more the code learned, the more it showed Burton, and the more he taught it in turn. After a month he could tell when the subjects were dreaming. Two weeks later he could tell if it was good or bad.
Clara had made him promise to meet her at The Grand that weekend. She said she had a surprise for him. Judging by the excitement in her voice, it was likely another painting by a Dutch master. She was far more interested in it than him.
He lost track of the days, and got to Monday morning before he noticed. She didn’t call, he thought, as he hurried topside. He got security to open the Vault door before he made it out of the lift.
Smashing and an increasing roar echoed down the tunnel. Followed quickly by headlights and honking. Burton darted up the ramp, seeing a shape he knew, a Corvega Speedster.
“Stand down!” He yelled as the Sentry bot whirred into action. Burton dove for the wall as he realised the grey man wasn’t stopping. Sleek metal curves screeched as they ricocheted the car along the ramp. Ending with a deafening, echoing crash.
His face bloodied, the grey man heaved himself free of the wreck. He tried to yell and the stunned Burton broke from his shock. “Omega!” He said it more with the terror in his eyes than his winded lungs. Burton knew what that meant. Missiles in the air. Clara!
He used his pipboy to call The Grand over his private network, desperate not to hear her. Hoping she’d be at work in the Vault showroom. She answered on the third ring. “Hel—”
“I love you. Omega.” Burton blurted out, knowing Clara knew the word. “An Omega team is on the way. They’re…” He paused as the door started to close on the grey man’s order. He knew what he had to say. “They’re bringing you to me.” I’m sorry Clara.
“I love you too.” Shouting in the background eased his mind.
“Mam, Omega protocol, Mam.” Barked a military voice.
“Go. I’ll… see you soon.” I’m so sorry Clara.
“Burton, I’m pregna—” The line went dead as the vast Vault door clunked into place. Burton said a prayer to a God he no longer believed in.
“Blake! Burton!” The grey man banged on the twisted bonnet of his car, staggering. “Where’s Harlow?!”
“He’s not here.” He saw failure in the grey man’s face for the first time. They had a stronger bond than he realised. “I’m sure he’ll get to his shelter.”
“Clara…” He asked, still unsteady.
“A team was with her. How bad is it?” Please let her make it.
“Bad. Bombers in the air, subs off the coast. Confirmed strike on New York. Reports that...The Whitehouse…” He trailed off. Burton looked away in horror. It grew as he stared at the door that might not open for a decade. “Hey.” He half yelled. Burton saw a soldier's rage that had been hidden behind all those expensive suits. “They’re getting hammered twice as hard.” The pain returned to his voice. “Help me move the car.”
“We need to tell the children.” Burton said as they rode the lift down in silence. “Right now the blastwave is travelling round the globe. There might be tremors.” He couldn’t stop numbers running through his mind.
“You're right, they’re the priority now.” The grey man had a tone that sounded off.
“Do you believe in God?” Burton asked, questioning everything all at once.
“I’ve seen too much war to believe in God.” He took a cigarette from a dented case and lit it. “You want to know the truth, right now, I believe in you.” The grey man smiled through a busted lip. “Burton, I’m a half bright grunt. If they asked me to give up my spot for you I would. What we do here will shape the future, and we have to make it count.”
The lift jolted to a stop as Burton found strength in the faith placed in him. The grey man stepped out and stumbled. “Let's get you to the med deck.” Burton steadied him.
“No.” He leant on Burton and quickened his pace. “I need a pipboy and one of them stupid suits.” Burton hurried through the enormous and full stockroom.
He helped the grey man change quickly despite his pain. He folded his suit carefully, even though it was bloodstained and ripped. As the pipboy inflated the gel sleeve the grey man winced and growled. “I think your left arm is broken.” Burton went to switch it off.
“No.” He grimaced. “The children need to see we’re all the same.”
Ten minutes later, after Burton did his best to stitch the cut above the grey man’s eye, the children began to arrive in the atrium. Both men stood, trying to show calm. The children sat, some on the floor. The staff stood, picking up on the tension.
“My name is Major Andrew Shaw.” The grey man glanced to Burton as he shared his name for the time. “I had the honour of training and serving under General Patrick Harlow, and he has asked me to take command.” Nervousness spread. “There’s no easy way to say this, but understand that you are safe, and you are not alone.” Shaw took a deep breath.
“A short time ago, communists launched a surprise attack that resulted in multiple nuclear strikes across the continental United States.” Tears erupted around the room. “I know you’re scared, we all are. I know you have family out there, we all do. And although it may not seem like it now, we all have family in here.” He walked amongst the distraught children while Burton watched him comforting them as they cried. “We may feel some slight tremors, but that’s expected. Isn’t it Professor Blake?”
“Yes, absolutely.” Burton knew they would be ok, but didn’t like how high the numbers in his head were getting. Or how low.
“We don’t know a lot yet but if you have questions or want to say something, speak freely.” Shaw withdrew slightly from the centre of the children, glancing round to the staff. The ten support crew currently here looked scared. To their credit, not for themselves.
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
No one spoke for a while, until a slight boy stood and asked what they were all thinking. “Sir, when can we go home?” Crying rippled as they all knew the answer.
“I’m sorry my boy, I don’t know.” Shaw let everyone take a moment. “What I do know is that we were prepared for this. There are places like this all over. There are public shelters.” Shaw's answer didn't help Burton. He knew all too well that anyone not within minutes of a Vault wouldn’t make it. He’d profited from it. “I know that if my son was here and I was out there...as a father, I would find peace in that. We have to carry on for them...”
As Shaw trailed off the faintest vibration began to build, rolling in like a thunderclap underground. Everything began to shake. Burton felt the shudder and knew that it could be a minor one. He wanted desperately to see what he could find out, but knew he needed to stay with the children. It crossed his mind that it might be better not to know.
Another long moment of quiet crying passed, no one could think of anything to say. A girl with short hair began pacing angrily. Shaw placed a hand on her shoulder and slowed his movement and breathing. She began to follow his lead. “Why did they do this to us?” She asked, and for a moment Burton wondered who she meant.
“I've been over there, I’ve seen how these people live. The communist people starve and slave away for those in charge. Then they’re told that this is the best way to live. Take Professor Blake for example,” Shaw pointed to him and Burton tried to hide his worry.
“If he were forced to work under communist rule, they would have taken everything he made from him. Instead he had the freedom to create. A chance to build this place, and because of that we’re going to be ok. I promise.” Shaw had a calming effect.
Hours passed after the last tremor shook the Vault. The children asked questions and got reassuring answers. “We’ll have food prepared.” Shaw nodded to the staff. “Some of you may assist if you wish, or take lessons, watch a movie. Whatever you want, just do not be alone. Professor Blake and I will be back here at eighteen hundred and we can talk more then.”
As the crowd dispersed, Burton followed Shaw into the lift. Neither man spoke. His pace quickened the closer he got to the lab.
All the feeds were down, as expected. Burton accessed his private satellite logs, putting everything he could on the high resolution screen on the wall. He punched in the coordinates for The Grand from memory, scrubbing through the top down view.
In the square outside he saw the outline of a Vertibird take off. He tracked it north, to the Vault only ever meant to be storage and a showroom. It made two more trips so he knew Clara made it. And she would know he wasn’t there.
Burton felt a wave of pain like nothing he’d ever felt. A father’s pain. He realised in that moment that his child could be ten years old before they met. The same age as the frightened children upstairs.
“We have to do right by those kids.” Burton spoke with his eyes shut, when he opened them he Shaw had turned from the screens. “Did you have a good childhood?” Burton asked, knowing the answer.
“Not really. You?” Shaw already knew the answer too.
“No. But these kids will.” They both agreed with a look and solemn nod.
As the satellite pictures scrolled, the last thing shown was his Green Valley. Turned red by fire, then blacked out with smoke.
With the prospect of good news faded, Burton and Shaw ran diagnostics and stock checks. A dinner that no one really ate passed as the children asked more questions. They filtered out as they grew tired, with someone checking on them every hour.
Burton retrieved two bottles of the good whisky and had the staff gather.
“So how bad is it?” Quinn, one of the military instructors asked, swirling his drink. Shaw nodded to Burton as he sat.
“It could have been worse. It will get worse. Early indications suggest the nuclear winter will pass in less than five years. There were a lot of places hit, but a lot that made it through.” Burton threw back his drink as he waited for another question. “You should know that fire and quakes hit downtown hard. We had a strike south of here. We think it missed and hit the lake, anything on the shore…” Clara’s favourite place.
“Our water is unaffected.” Shaw added quickly as Burton trailed off.
“Yes, of course. We’re in good shape here.” Burton sighed and sat back, the reality setting in. “The children are the priority.” He looked across the table to Shaw.
“Absolutely. We’re going to make some changes, for them and us. I meant what I said, we’re going to be family. Hardship breeds strong bonds.” Shaw threw back his drink and let his words hang in the air.
They all drank quietly, talking through concerns and ideas. It became easier to focus on the children. Rather than the family, friends, and lives they’d all lost. “One last thing.” Shaw stood with Burton as they went to do a bed check. “Whatever you need to do, alone, together, it’s your business.” Shaw smiled awkwardly. “Until it affects the children. Then it’s all of our business.”
The guilt hit Burton as he walked through the rows of bunkbeds. They were all sleeping, exhausted by what little they understood of the horror wrought on their world. An event Burton had helped fuel. He forced himself to walk the girls dorm, not making eye contact with Shaw as they passed in the corridor.
As he neared the end of the dorm an empty bed caught his eye. Concern and panic gripped Burton as the thought of a child’s question froze him. He glanced round, then saw two girls sharing the bottom bunk. Burton saw how small they looked and it broke him.
Shaw found him sitting in the corridor. “We’ll do right by them.” Burton couldn’t hide how little he believed that.
“I know.” Shaw helped him up, wincing as he did. “I also know that Harlow has a forty year single malt.” He had a genuine look of hope for his mentor and former commander. He should have been here, instead he was out there. In a hell Burton wished he could stop thinking about.
Burton hadn’t seen Harlow’s would be quarters, yet found exactly what he’d expected. He’d signed the shockingly high invoice for the private Vault in the military academy. The thought of Harlow making it there brought comfort. If only for Shaw’s sake.
Inside felt like a hunting cabin. Rustic wood panelling, leather couches. A bar. Like all those corporate weekends spent greasing the wheels of industry. Shaw opened the bottle and savoured the smell, he pointed to photographs on the wall.
A series of seven showed the same five men in every type of terrain. In the jungle with camouflage. The desert with a jeep. On a mountain with masked faces. Shaw was in every picture, with Harlow.
“Enjoy it.” Shaw said with a smile. “When he finds out we drank this he’ll be angry.” Burton hadn’t thought about anyone but Clara. “To think, three days ago my biggest problem was an army unit that went rogue.”
“Fuck. You don’t think…” Burton’s mind raced with disastrous scenarios.
“Not my old pal Maxson.” Shaw spat the name out. “He’s one of those inflexible types.” He took a sip to wash the name from his mouth.
“On the left, remember him?” Shaw pointed to a man in the pictures Burton didn’t know. “Higgins. He was running Omega extractions. Clara made it. We were well trained.” Shaw got lost in the pictures.
“She’s pregnant.” He had to tell someone.
“Congratulations.” Shaw meant it. “What we do here will help them.”
“Help them how?” Burton wanted something to cling to.
“You know the term force multiplier.” He nodded back to the pictures. “Elite operators leading the charge can turn even rag tag militias into an effective force. If things are as bad as we think the children, our children, will be the next generation of leaders. The new Founding Fathers.” Shaw had a look of belief, conviction, seeing beyond their gilded cage.
“They can’t all be soldiers.” Burton thought about the jet black pipboy he spent his life designing. A device he wanted to give to explorers. Built to survive new worlds, not the carcass of the old. He thought about putting it on his own child’s arm and it made him sick.
“They have to be soldiers. But they don’t have to be soldiers forever.” Shaw poured another, Burton saw he agreed. “There’s something we need to do, part of the protocol. I think it’ll help.” Burton threw back the very good whisky, wondering how many forty year aged single malts were left in the world.
He followed Shaw from the quarters he’d inherited. Through the quiet corridors and into a lift. Shaw held two buttons down till a flap above opened. He pressed the secret button and the lift descended. From the residential level, past the training floor, labs and medical facilities. Down to a long and wide corridor.
The corridor stretched on before them, steel walls and long windows. The first massive room lay empty. Ready for a delivery of armoured personnel carriers, support vehicles, and aircraft that would never arrive.
Activity in the next window brought Shaw to a stop. Behind the glass, a pair of Assaultrons worked on assembling a third. Behind them, row after row of boxed parts. “How long will it take?” Shaw asked. Burton savoured the two seconds it took to work out.
“Takes the better part of a week to unpack, assemble, and run diagnostics. It gets exponentially quicker the more come online.” Burton tried to find the joy in the subroutines he’d written. “Better part of three years.” Even that sounded like an eternity down here.
They continued down the quiet corridor. Past a well stocked armoury, and the automated manufacturing equipment. Burton knew what awaited them at the end and tried to slow his pace. It had seemed such a small compromise at the time, almost reasonable. They stopped before a thick, broad door. Shaw pointed to the hand scanner and voice analyser, then stood by the opposite one.
“Shaw, Andrew. The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time by the blood of patriots and tyrants.”
“Blake, Burton. You cannot hope to build a better world without improving the individuals.” He spoke the quote he’d chosen as a password and the blast doors began to open.
Inside reminded Burton of a cathedral. The natural rock ceiling like a vaulted roof. Rows of empty control consoles like pews. An elevated map table in place of an altar. And at the end of the cavernous space, not elaborate stained glass, no ornate crucifix, instead towering columns of steel. A dozen intercontinental ballistic missiles. Weapons of mass destruction, worshipped and exalted.
Shaw stopped at one side of the digital map table, Burton the other. They connected the wireless four pin that Burton designed, and the map screen changed. The omega symbol displayed on the table and both pipboys, syncing fire control to the devices.
“See Burton,” Shaw stepped back, rage in his eyes. “The war isn’t over, we’re just getting started.” Burton saw a soldier with a mission, an enemy to fight. He tried to find the anger, the hatred, anything to stop the single quote repeating in his mind. Now, I am become death, the destroyer of worlds.