And She Continued Pt 1

What's My Age Again?!

Nothing was the same. I stood on a vantage point on the trail leading away from the Vault. The bones existed still; phantoms of my neighbors danced in front of the decrepit view before me, but everything was... gone. The beautiful houses, the shiny cars, the laughter and small talk of people, the faint drifting lilt of the television or radio from various houses around the neighborhood, and the way the wind made the tree leaves whisper and hush in its caress. It had been nearly Halloween. Decorations were still up on some of the houses; mocking and spiteful. Nate and I had picked out a little astronaut costume for Shaun... A costume he had never been able to wear.

My shoes crunched on old bones as I made my way out of the forest and onto the pavement; I was essentially immune to the sound by now. The realization of this made me freeze; a whirlwind of emotions washing over me for the billionth time that morning. Overcome I kicked at a pile of wood and debris in the middle of the street, cursing when my leg connected with an old tire, the pain vibrating up into my wound. Conquered I looked around. My heart sunk into my stomach; I felt sick, nausea eating at my body. My head ached. My body ached, my soul made weary.

Everything was gone. Shoulders hunched I made my way to the house on the corner just before the bridge, unable to face my old home. Not yet. This house was blue; or had been at some point. Once upon a time it would have been the crown of suburban living. A Mr. Handy folding the laundry, automated fridge and nuclear powered vehicle. Pristine walls, top-of-the-line washer and dryer, an oven that cooked bread perfectly and cabinets that wouldn't quit. A state-of-the-art television mingling with the faint buzz of electronics. Now it was holey walls, leaking roof, debris floating around and a couple of broken pieces of furniture. I crawled out the oversized back window and crossed through the broken white picket fence into the next house.

Much the same, only the layout and degree of destruction varied. I scavenged the cabinets, relieved to find an old nuka-cola. I hesitated a moment before wandering back into where their bathroom would have been.

An old mattress was shoved against the wall. A couple rounds for a 10 mm were left behind in a hasty getaway. Old blood was smeared on the floor, baked into the tile by time and elements.

Squatters. My heart lifted slightly. At least not everything had changed. People were still around, alive. That was something.

A nearly perfect bathtub surrounded by broken glass from the mirrors and windows, the shower was destroyed, toilet non-functional. But the emergency med-kit was still on the wall and partially stocked as well. A stimpak, a full bag of radaway, along with a couple bottle caps were tucked inside. I grabbed the items, shoving everything in my vault-tec pockets until I could rearrange my loot. My backpack was heavier now I noticed, shifting the weight on my shoulders, though I'd added nothing to it. Maybe my pre-war muscles were just weaker than I previously thought. The nausea had become a constant ache, my head was mounting from a throb to a drum roll.

I lifted the room temperature bottle against the light coming in through the window.

Maybe I'm just hungry.

I popped the top of the cola using the shelving unit in the living room. A great party trick I had learned in college to impress the boys. I pocketed the lid, saving the cap just in case. There had to be a reason bottle caps would be in a med kit, right? It hissed and the contents fizzed slightly. I walked around a little more, making my way back through the destroyed living room, wincing as my boot caught on the decrepit rug, sending another wave of pain into my leg. Wandering through the kitchen I was able to find a can of potato crisps that had survived nuclear destruction.

I cradled my loot, wary of the quality but too hungry to really care. My gaze drifted to outside where I spied a patio set, worse for wear. As was everything.