Chapter 59 “Unknown status below.”

John woke at six like usual, keen to face the day. One year, four months and two weeks ago, he welcomed the first group of evacuees from the Vault. Today he would the welcome the last.

Hundreds more had taken the chance at a new life than originally planned. Those who already left formed a support network for new arrivals, helping in a way only they could. Yet over a thousand chose to remain. John planned to establish a trade route, exchanging fresh food for machined parts. He hoped more would come, in time.

He found Rosie asleep in a chair. Wallace asleep on the couch with a blanket thrown over him. Between them, they’d combined each of the board games they’d played the night before into one. Boards linked with hand drawn sections running round the room.

“Morning.” Rosie stirred. “You want breakfast?”

“I’ll make it.” John poured them both coffee and set a pan going. “I know things haven’t been easy for you, for us.” John’s work and Rosie’s operations hadn’t left them much free time lately. “That’s going to change, I promise.”

“I understand why you had to help them.” Rosie put her hand on his, still uncomfortable with thoughts of the past. “They’re good people and you’ve given them new lives. I’m proud of you.” She kissed him on the cheek, getting up to turn the heat down on the pan. “I like my bacon,”

“Burnt around the edges.” John interrupted. “I know.”

He ate and headed down to the Pass. He did a final walkthrough of the units, ensuring the sheets were clean and not too much firewood had been cut. Then he moved on to lightening the Vertibird.

He kept it fully loaded and on standby at all times. The only exception being flying evacuees. Ditching the miniguns and twin thirty calibre machine guns meant another two or three people could pile in. The ammo alone weighed almost as much as a man.

John touched down at the landing pad ahead of schedule. Part of him wanted to stay in the pilot’s seat, but greeting people helped settle the nerves. Rick met him as usual, stressed even for him. John took over for him, getting everyone strapped in and blindfolded.

He flew the first group of the day to Farmborough. John didn’t rush, letting them take in the fields and sky before lifting off. Flying straight and level meant boredom soon crept in. He clicked on the radio to help pass the time.

Rick greeted him again at the landing pad. “Well?” Rick asked.

“Well what?” John replied, unsure. He looked at Rick and finally noticed. His friend had dressed in jeans and a t shirt, ready to leave the Vault behind. “Well, I think it’s a fucking great idea.”

“It’s time I think. Trained up my replacement. Me and Dolores are going to make a go of it.” Rick beckoned a woman around his age over. It took John a minute to remember her, the woman he’d questioned.

“Hello.” He forced a wide smile and tried to hunch, it didn’t help her look any less nervous.

He got everyone in and started his preflight checks. “Hold up!” Someone in a blue suit yelled out, before sticking his head into the cabin. “Rick, they need you downstairs.”

“What is it?” Rick looked at his now bare arm instinctively.

“Don’t know, they only told me to get you.” The older man said.

“Go, I’ll come back.” John would make the extra flight for Rick, but hoped to show him his home at the Rest. Rick left, one last duty as Overseer to perform.

It was dark by the time John returned to the Vault. Even from the air something felt off. He turned on the spotlight. Illuminated below in a ring a light lay the stones that hid the cave. He panned up and saw they’d been smashed out of the wall.

John fought the cold shiver and kept his hands steady. He all but crash landed, running out through the wash of the engines.

He drew his sidearm and turned into the cave, finding the door open. Inside red smears marked the walls and glass. The steel floor bowed from excess weight, bearing large footprints in dried blood.

“Tornado, Ronin. Greenskins hit the Vault. Unknown status below. Request immediate backup.” John didn’t want to believe the words he heard in his voice.

“Tornado plus Odin inbound.” Rosie paused, John knew why. “Eighteen minutes. Please wait.” She already knew the answer.

John scrambled back up to the bird. He grabbed a rope bag and his light machine gun, plus an extra box mag that didn’t feel like nearly enough. He loaded the belt, slammed the cover shut and snapped the bolt forward. He made it to the bottom of the steps before his comm sounded.

“Ronin, Maelstrom.” Brandon came over his comm. “QRF is scrambling. Cyclone and myself are inbound. I need you to stand down till we arrive. That is a direct order. How copy?”

“Yes sir.” John replied through gritted teeth. Sara taught him to follow orders. She also taught him when not to.

John stared down the elevator shaft. Cables snapped, bending in the metal framework where the mutants climbed out. He slung his lmg and tied off the rope. He forced himself to keep a clear mind. Calm, focused, and ready.

He dropped through the torn and smashed elevator, stepping out into the former stockroom. John walked out into the centre of the open space, gun levelled. His boots on metal and flowing water the only sound. He reached the centre before slowing and taking in the sights around him.

The stockroom had been completely transformed. First by the Vault dwellers, then by the Abomination. The Vault dwellers had built a home. An open space filled with warm light. Residences along the walls. Public areas with seating and fountains. Except now they ran red.

Dotted across the floor, as far he could see, lay the same sickening pattern. Pipboys shattered and split from the inside, torn blue suits ripped apart. Every so often he saw a body that didn’t survive the change. Half mutated and half eaten. One still had a face, the expression frozen in agony.

John hit the button for the lift, hoping the horror stopped here. A loud pounding as the doors opened onto level two told him it didn’t.

He sprinted towards the echoing sound. As he turned the corner, he saw the mutant. It pounded on a door, denting the metal. John let out a sharp whistle. The mutant glared at him, its massive bulk seemingly taking up the whole corridor. He took a knee and let rip with tight bursts of fire. The dull brute charged into the bullets, taking a few steps before collapsing.

The sound of gunfire faded. Replaced instantly with the sound of heavy steps and shrill wailing. Coming from all directions. He saw putrid green figures advancing from either side and counted at least six.

John fired one way then the other before the gun ran dry. He darted down an empty corridor, hit a door button without looking and threw himself inside.

He pressed up against the wall, hidden from view. The floor shuddered as the group of four passed by. “WHERE YOU GO HUMAN?!” One screeched, thumping the wall as it passed. The metal indented in front of him.

John reloaded silently, easing the bolt back and forward. He stepped out of the door and into the dreamlike state. Spent casings tumbled down as he fired from the hip. He laid down a devastating arc of fire. Bullets zipped into mutated flesh, ricocheted off steel walls.

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Time snapped back as the gun spat out the last bullet. Three of the four lay dead, gouts of green tinged blood pooling on the floor. One still drew ragged breath. Arm blown off at the elbow, torso riddled with holes, fallen to its knees.

Suddenly his rage vanished, replaced with pity and a deep guilt that felt heavier than the gun. He slung the now empty weapon and drew his pistol. It lashed out at him with its one renaming arm. John stayed back and took aim at the yellow eye. He fired, hitting his target. The brute’s head slumped forward and the breathing stopped.

John took a risk and went straight to the floor below. The stairs brought him into the cafeteria. The tables and chairs looked off somehow. He stopped as cold dread gripped his mind. The tables and chairs were smaller, made for children.

He cleared the open space and entered the corridor, combat knife and pistol gripped tight. Stomping and snorting made him stop. He peeked round to see a lone mutant walking towards him. “NOISES!” It yelled, heading for him.

John pressed his back against the wall. He didn’t have the firepower to do anything but get in close. The seconds dragged as the footsteps grew louder. He took a deep breath, and peeled out from cover.

A double tap to the head bought him a moment as the brute recoiled in shock. He stabbed at the pulsating neck and yanked the serrated knife edge across. Putrid flesh tore, blood poured, and the brute stayed standing. A savage body blow caught John, knocking him off his feet.

The adrenaline induced nightmare, dreamlike state roared underneath his skin. John seized control, slipping in and out like a stone skipping across water. He rolled clear of a stomp that buckled the floor. Countering with a point blank shot that took off a toe.

John got to his feet. He dodged a right hook, fast even in the slowed time. He pushed the mutant, turning past it and firing into the side of its head. Still it fought on. The punches became clumsier, wilder. A bullet in each eye brought in low. John fired the last round in the mag through the open mouth, then took back his knife. Finally the brute stopped breathing. Then the sound of footsteps began to echo.

The next mutant charged. John loaded his last magazine. Seven of the overpressured sentinel steel hollow points. Forged for something that deserved death. The slide of his pistol clacked violently as he fired. The bullets struck below the breastbone, tearing away chunks of flesh. He got off six rounds before the brute got close enough. John dropped his pistol and put everything he had into a single punch. He drove his fist into the wound, felt something pulse, and ripped it out.

John threw the hunk of flesh from his hand. The brute fell flat, the thud shaking the wall and floors. Then the sound of footsteps began to echo.

Knife in one hand, hammer in the other. John stood his ground. Suddenly, metal pierced the mutant’s chest. The spear withdrew, dropping the mutant. Sentinel Grimm struck at the thick neck again, wrenching the spear round to take off its head.

“On your feet, Ronin.” Grimm gave him a hand up. A rush of air followed Rosie as she zipped between them from nowhere.

“Floor’s clear.” She looked like a shadow come to life. John could see her bottled anxiety, even through the faceless mask.

“We need to clear four, five and six.” John breathed a sigh of relief as Grimm turned. Rosie unzipped his pack and handed him the receiver for his carbine. Moments later he had it assembled, complete with underbarrel shotgun. “On me.” John took point, and headed for the lift.

“Hold.” Rosie heard something they didn’t. She lowered her shotgun and began tracking the sound.

She moved faster and faster to keep up before stopping in a classroom. “Relax.” She pushed John’s carbine down as they stood in the near silent room. A vent cover clattered free from a wall. Someone in a blue suit crawled out and stood.

“Dutch! It’s good to see you.” John tried to wipe the blood off his coat. Rosie pulled down her mask, tears in her eyes.

“It’s ok, these are my friends.” Dutch called into the vent. He stepped back, and child after frightened child emerged.

“Stay with Dutch, get them topside.” John leant in and whispered to Rosie. “Don’t let them see.”

“They won’t, I promise.” Rosie gave him a nod and he left them to it. Better her then than two heavily armed, blood stained soldiers.

“Ronin, Maelstrom. We’re on site, where do you want us?” Brandon gave command to first the boots on the ground.

“Tornado’s moving precious cargo from three.” John wanted them out of the horror.

“Solid copy. We’ll send Janey to you.”

A few minutes later the lift opened and Janey moved back to make room.

The remaining half dozen mutants on levels four and five posed no threat. John gunned them down, finishing each one with a shotgun blast. He felt the years of torment come back the instant he stepped onto level six. He tried to ignore it, but every turn into a narrow hallway chipped away at his focus.

They made their way back to Janey. Clanking down the central corridor, her head rotating all the way round. “Anything?”

“No thermal or audio variances beyond expected parameters.” Janey responded.

“Good enough for me.” Grimm lowered his carbine, taking the time to actually look at where he stood. “This is where they made you live.”

“Yeah.” John felt shamed to have the venerable Sentinel Grimm see the tight walls and low ceilings.

“Bastards.” Grimm spat on the floor.

“Yeah.” John grunted, then realised. “Fuck, level one. They’re sealed off.” They ran for the lift, going straight to level one.

They saw a mutant, beating its hands bloody against a blast door. John put it down. The blast door caught his eye. In all his time down here he’d never seen anything like it. Extra security installed to protect those in charge. John saw the flaw immediately. He took a few paces past it, knocking on the wall panels. “There. Janey, breach it.”

“This will take seventeen minutes.” Janey shot a thin red beam at the metal wall, splitting and melting it away.

John paced anxiously. He didn’t notice Rosie till she stood in front of him. “You don’t have to be here.” He could see the toll it took on her.

“Where you go, I go.” She forced a smile.

“They dropped gas into the vents.” Brandon held up a clear bag. Spent improvised grenade casings inside.

“I tracked them to the treeline. They split up, too many groups to follow. Could waste a lot of time chasing down strays. Can’t track them from the air through that canopy.” Matt seemed frustrated.

“The kids?” John asked, almost not wanting to know.

“Thirty eight. Your friend is keeping them calm.” Brandon looked him in the eye. “You need anything for them, you let me know.”

“Thanks.” John had no idea where to even begin. Kids had come through the Pass before, but always with at least one parent.

“Breaching in three,” Janey interrupted the tense silence, her task almost complete. “Two,” The laser reached the top of the triangular cut. “One.” Janey moved away. John kicked at the wall repeatedly, till the thick steel shifted and fell inwards.

Rosie dove through first, then John. He got to his feet, looking around for anything green. He didn’t see any.

The air tasted stale. The lights broken and flickering. The once polished floor and glass covered in grime. People began to emerge from the dimly lit corridors. Pallid and gaunt, the residents of the once luxurious level one looked like he used to.

“I am interim Overseer Leeds, what is the meaning of this?” A thin man, wearing glasses with a cracked lens, tried to put on a front.

“The Vault was attacked…” The words lodged in his throat. “Everyone’s dead.” Gasps came from the ever growing crowd. “It’s not safe here, you have to come with us.”

“No. Please leave, we will handle things.” The interim Overseer replied. John wasn’t in the mood for bureaucrats.

He hit the emergency button on the blast door. It opened to reveal the mutated carcass, bullet ridden body and splattered head. Fresher air rushed in, John took a breath and understood. Level one had its own air supply. The lights flickered off then came on fully. He saw Rosie at a fuse panel, contempt on her face.

“This is what attacked you. It used to be a person that lived here. If you would have let people in, there wouldn’t be more of them out in the world now.” John glared at the horrified faces. “They could be back. You need to leave.”

“Wait, I know you.” A woman came from the crowd, looking right at him. He only went to level one once, during his escape. He remembered a plump woman with thick hair and good skin. The woman before him now looked nothing like that. “You’re John. You’re the one that opened the door, that started a riot and trapped us in here.” Her words brought anger to the crowd.

“You come in here and seek to blame us!” The interim Overseer raised his voice. “None of this would be happening if you knew your pla—” He stopped talking, the muzzle of John’s pistol pressed against his head.

“My place?!” John pressed harder. A single sentinel steel bullet left and a target that earned it. “You think my place is to be a slave?! To be locked away and worked to death so you can eat fucking apples?!” John thumbed back the hammer.

“Stand down Ronin.” Brandon tried to reach him. He felt Rosie slide next to him.

“John, you don’t want this. There’s been enough blood today.” She spoke softly, running her hand down his arm to the gun. She pulled it away and John holstered it.

The interim Overseer fell to his knees. “Thank you.” He said to Rosie, almost without meaning to. She drew her sidearm, putting a bullet past each ear and kicking him onto his back.

“Can I kill him Boss?” Rosie yelled, pistol aimed.

“No.” Brandon answered with feigned disappointment.

“There’s no one to supervise the reactor. There’s no maintenance teams to keep the water flowing. You people can’t even fix your own fucking lights. Stay if you want. Suffocate, starve to death, beat each other's brains in over the last can of water. I don’t care. But my friends here, they actually do care. So make your choice.” Rosie walked out and stood by his side. One followed, then two, then more.

“Should we get them blindfolds?” She asked him.

“No. Let them see.” John found it hard to care.