Fallout 4: AR

62. "He Ain't Heavy"

We searched fruitlessly back and forth for Vault 81. That is to say, I searched. MacCready kept his distance, only speaking to answer direct questions. He remained coolly professional, if preoccupied, scanning the terrain for threats with his scope. I forced myself to keep going, fighting down the increasing desire to confront him, make him tell me what was going on. He's so stubborn, though. If I try to force the issue, it'll just make things worse. I don't believe I imagined his concern back there. But it's almost like he doesn't want to care about me anymore. That thought brought a lump to my throat and I turned the thought over and over.

Contemplating the idea that I may be on to something, I wandered aimlessly. Finding Vault 81 became less of a concern to the looming matter of the fracturing relationship with my partner. Time marched on with me as my thoughts and feelings swirled in a miserable spiral. I need to get home, was the thought that surfaced, the most recent horror of the giant scorpion fresh in my mind. "Radscorpion" according to MacCready. The only reason I'm alive right now is because of him, and his admirable determination to his duty, no matter how distasteful. I still love him, but I may need to love him enough to let him go if that's what he truly wants. I wiped a tear away from my cheek, glancing around for my partner. He had stopped his ranging lope and was stepping along behind me at about ten paces or so. He still refused to meet my gaze, so I fought down my misery and marched determinedly across the landscape hoping to find a clue to the Vault's whereabouts.

We headed generally east, using boulders formed by some destroyed highway overpass debris to cross the river that defined the uninhabited area Garvey had outlined. Traversing in a wide crisscross pattern, we moved steadily closer to the edge of Boston proper. No hint of Vault 81 had surfaced, despite my best, if distracted, efforts at looking. MacCready hadn't spoken in hours. He was still behind me, his footfalls sounding oddly noisy in the desiccated vegetation. Frustrated at wasting the entire day in a futile wild goose chase, I picked up the pace, but something sounded wrong to my ears.

The footsteps behind me had slowed, becoming more irregular. It wasn't until I heard Mac's incredulous, "Lucy?" that I turned around. He was standing with his feet braced, rifle lowered, staring off into the middle distance, a confused and pitiful expression on his flushed face. "Lucy?" he repeated, taking a shaky step forward, holding out one hand as if in entreaty. "But you... you're..." Eyes glazed, his shoulders slumped and he took a shuddering breath. "Okay," he finally muttered sadly, as if in reply.

Lucy? I approached him cautiously, not quite sure what was going on. That's his wife, but she passed away years ago. He looked up, his glittering bloodshot eyes slowly focusing on me. After a moment, his gaze cleared up briefly into coherence. "Anne?" he croaked hoarsely. At the sound of my name, a name he almost never used, I quickened my pace, closing the distance between us swiftly as my concern grew.

He mumbled, "I, uh... I don't feel so good..." dropping his beloved sniper rifle to the soft earth. "Lucy... said I had... to tell you." I caught him as he staggered to one side. "Hurts all over," he slurred, leaning heavily into my support. Unprepared for the weight of his sudden collapse, I clumsily lowered us both to the ground, holding on to my partner as he clutched erratically at my jacket.

The moment we touched, all thoughts of finding Vault 81 vanished from my mind. Geez, he's burning up! What happened? "It's okay, I've got you," I soothed, pulling him into a supportive grasp, his normally warm body searing hot to the touch. "Let me get you a stimpak."

"No," he murmured, his voice cracking and weak. "Won't help." He batted at my hand, clutching it with desperate strength when our fingers touched. "Stimm..." he slurred, fading into brief unconsciousness.