Fallout 4: AR

48. Sea and Sky

Those words were the catalyst for another several weeks of traversing the Commonwealth by ourselves, this time to the south and east of the city proper. I still had some more locations Garvey wanted us to check out, as well as new intel from Hancock about strange disappearances near the coast that sounded like the Institute's work. We never stayed in one place for long, keeping on the move and trying to track down a Courser. Bringing new settlements under the Minutemen's banner became easier as word of the faction's resurgence spread. Once officially on Garvey's list, we could then send word to Deacon and the Railroad, letting them place the occasional Synth runaway to start their new life as a colonist.

The Brotherhood of Steel soldiers were also out and about, flying scouting missions and eliminating threats as they found them. Whenever we came across a squad, we would offer our assistance and send any of our technological finds back to the Scribes on the Prydwen. By this point, we were recognized as a Brotherhood asset, and welcomed as temporary fire support for the roving patrols. It also helps to have a couple of Knights in full power armor to draw fire, I thought, taking a shot at a rampaging Super Mutant from the hidden flanking position MacCready had secured for us. Exoskeletons don't bleed.

For his part, MacCready appeared to take things in stride, seemingly content just to be out and about traveling together. He had been unusually quiet the first day after we left Goodneighbor, keeping his gaze locked on the road ahead, not even complaining about the weather, the food, or any of a hundred other comments he would normally have made about our journey and the environment. The loss of hope of ever seeing his son again had hit him hard, and all I could do was offer him my quiet support, his favorite distraction of shooting things, and the handwritten lyrics to the song he had requested. He kept them folded up with Duncan's letter in the front inner pocket of his duster... next to my drivers license, which he still had, to my surprise.

The morning he poked me awake with, "G'morning, angel. Nice day today; perfect for traveling." I knew his spirit was on the mend. He still occasionally lapsed into silence, but his general demeanor was much closer to his usual energetic self. That night, I began to teach him the melody to "his" song, much to his pleasure. He was eager to learn and quite intelligent, a delightful student to have, and it was wonderful to be able to teach him something in return for all the lessons he'd imparted to me. Of course, it's not quite fair that he has a much better voice than I do, but in the long run it means I get to enjoy hearing him sing.

We made our way towards the coast, the weather finally getting warm enough during the day that foot travel was almost pleasant. Unfortunately, the terrain to the south was boggy and marshy, flooded from the ravages of the war and ensuing tidal havoc. We struggled for a full day across tidal marshland, MacCready unusually nervous and on alert. A few small groups of buildings in our line of travel were partially submerged, but still intact enough to provide overnight shelter. Once or twice, my Pip-Boy picked up a Courser signal, but when we tried to home in on it, it would disappear as soon as we got close, much to my growing frustration.

When we finally reached the shoreline, I was almost surprised to see it looked the same as in my world. A long sandy expanse scattered with tufts of beach grasses appeared so perfectly normal that I was nearly brought to tears of homesickness. I made my way slowly down to the water, gray-blue in the slightly cloudy sky, breathing in the salty air. It was still too chilly to even think of dipping my toes in, nevermind the pervasive radiation in the water, but I was happy to just gaze out over the waves, letting the temporary peace of the ocean wash over me.

My partner was less than thrilled with the detour. "Read a book once that said ocean views are breathtaking. Must have been a work of fiction." He was treading gingerly across the sand, a sour look on his face.