And They Continued [PT 1]

What's My Age Again?!

Nothing was the same.

You stood at the vantage point on the trail leading away from the Vault overlooking your neighborhood. The bones existed still; phantoms of past neighbors danced in front of the decrepit view, 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. You hissed in a breath at the sudden memory of the little astronaut costume you had picked out at Fallon's for Shaun. You clenched your fingers, the memory eliciting the tactile sensation of picking up the plastic wrapped costume. A costume he had never been able to wear.

You shook away the phantom memories, clenched hands falling to your side as you inhaled deeply. Nausea hitting you suddenly. A slight dizziness and pulsating behind your eyes.

Just stress. You figured as shoes crunched on old bones and dead undergrowth.

Making your way out of the decaying forest and onto the pavement; a sound that you had become adjusted to, essentially immune by now.

Frustrated, you kicked at a pile of wood and debris in the middle of the street, cursing when your leg connected with an old tire, the pain vibrating up into the still oozing wound. Defeated, you steeled yourself, looking around. Heart sinking into your stomach; feeling sick, nausea eating at your body. Your head was throbbing now. You could feel your exhaustion deep in your bones, your soul

Everything was gone.

Shoulders hunched you made your way to the house on the corner just before the bridge. Not yet able to bring yourself to look at... home.

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. Hand rose to touch the rust eaten support beams showing.

It didn't feel real. You didn't feel real.

You coughed, head aching with the pressure. With a groan you crawled out the oversized back window and crossed through the shattered white picket fence into the next house.

Much the same, only the layout and degree of destruction varied. Reluctantly you began to scavenge through the cabinets, relieved to find an old nuka-cola. Dust coating the glass bottle, but probably still good?

You shrugged, turning. Hesitated a moment before wandering back into where the master 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. You snatched those quick, taking a moment to reload your weapon with clumsy, bloated fingers. Old blood was smeared on the floor, baked into the tile by time and elements.

Squatters. Your heart lifted slightly as you reholstered your gun.

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 was visible through the separating wall. The shower was destroyed, the toilet non-functional. But the emergency med-kit was still hanging beside the sink and partially stocked as well. A few stimpaks, a full bag of radaway, along with a couple bottle caps were tucked inside.