Vol. III Chapter 33 “Twelve.”

Chapter 33 "Twelve."

"There's something you should know." Rick said as they rode the lift down. "Two days ago, six people walked out."

"That's not good." John felt like a hypocrite.

"I won't keep people down here. They took food and water, couple of rifles. I'm sure if they got in trouble they'd come back." Rick seemed to think the matter trivial.

"We'll rig some comms. It happens again, tell me." John didn't hoped not to have get that call.

The vast stockroom stood completely stripped of shelving, turning it into a giant empty box. The whir of saws getting lost in the space. Everywhere people were hard at work.

Around the edge residential units were being welded in place. Spacious rooms with windows, stacked four storeys high. Above them sparks rained down, burning out before getting anywhere close to the ground. Workers hung on ropes, hoisting up spot lamps with a yellow tinge. Each welded in place high above forming an elliptical pattern.

"How many people can we fit in the bird?" Beverly asked the instant the lift doors closed.

"Eight." John answered, not fully thinking through the implications.

"Twelve." Crixus added. "These skinny folks, and assuming Robco doesn't mind keeping me company topside for a few hours. Twelve."

"Well then Rick, I'd like to take twelve people with me when I leave." Beverly didn't hesitate for an instant. John admired that.

"Which twelve?" Rick asked the only question that mattered.

"Whoever has the greatest need." Beverly answered, her voice breaking.

"No." John interrupted. Beverly saw this as a rescue, John knew better. "It has to be the twelve with the best chance to make it." He looked to his companions in turn, each giving him a nod. "Where do we start?"

"I've got a shortlist of about thirty." Rick started working the clunky pipboy on his arm. "They'll meet us at my office."

Rick led them out of the lift, down the corridor and into a long open office. "This is it." Rick sat at his desk, in the middle of the room.

"Too much of what's go on here happened in private offices. Anyone is welcome in here, to see me, or even listen in." He pointed to the loudspeakers once used to broadcast lies, now rewired to spread the truth. "I trust there are no objections." Rick didn't leave any room to argue. Not that John could with the lump in his throat.

"Not that people do listen much mind." Rick smiled, clicking the button on the desk and filling the room with gentle music.

"What is this?" John asked.

"Bach." Crixus answered, drawing a look from Beverly. "I know things." He threw John a wink.

"Something more upbeat perhaps." Rick clicked the button again, and John heard a voice he could almost place.

"Hey, this is the Voice in the Vault, letting you guys on second shift know, it's time for a break. Easy living people." The smooth voice gave way to music John heard before.

"Wait, is that Dutch?!" John couldn't believe it.

"Yeah, kid's really ran with it. Found a bunch of music archived, has people call in, sings too." Rick seemed proud and bemused in equal measure. John felt immense relief that Dutch seemed happy where he was.

They tried to chat as the rows of chairs at the other end of the room filled up. Yet each person seemed to bring more tension and silence. "That's everyone." Rick half whispered to him.

"Aren't you going to talk to them first?" John asked, stalling.

"Your idea." Rick sat back in his chair, leaving John the long walk down the short room.

"Hello everyone, thanks for coming at such short notice." He saw Grant amongst them, that gave him confidence. "The lady in white behind me is my friend Beverly." She waved, giving him time to find the words. "Beverly helps people like you, like me, helps us see. She helps us see not what is, but what could be. What we could be. What we could do. Helps us learn to live free. She has offered to take a dozen of you out of here tonight to start your new lives." John paused as the murmurs swelled.

"It's not going to be easy. In fact it may well be the hardest thing you've ever done. It was for me. And for me, it was worth it." John knew the Vault had changed. He knew it wasn't slave labour under the oppressive lie. Still he knew that he wouldn't stay, so had to offer the choice to others.

"You spoke very well." Beverly squeezed his shoulder as he sat back down. "Who's first?"

John didn't recognise the man sitting opposite him, not at first. In his forties, shaved head, crooked nose. Something about the voice gave it away. He'd been a Vault Sec officer, one John remembered as cruel.

"Do you have any questions John?" Beverly prompted him.

"I...No." John hesitated, realising the power had shifted. "Do you have any questions for us?"

"No." He got up to leave, but turned back. "You know before, we had jobs, roles to fulfil. Some of us probably never should have been in those roles to begin with."

"What will you do outside?" John asked, accepting that he had to let go of his anger.

"I think I want to grow things, some place quiet." He left, leaving John oddly hopeful.

The rest of the interviews took hours. Most of it repetitive and ultimately useless. Everyone had a good reason to go. Everyone had a reason they should stay. It took another hour to settle on the first eight. An hour each for the next two slots, leaving two.

"Can I ask, does anyone else have kids?" Robco asked, trying to make a point. "The young fella Grant, he stays. Becoming a father can change a man. Better he's here for now." No one argued the point, happy enough to have a solid reason. John decided he'd tell Grant himself. After they reached a decision.

"The Vault Sec th…" John stopped himself from calling the man a thug. "Give him the slot. He'll be alright."

"You sure?" Robco picked up on John's hesitance.

"No, but he deserves a shot." He had to believe that people could do better.

"Still leaves us one." Beverly thumbed through her notes as if new information would appear. "The woman who worked on the plumbing, I can find her work." She chose a reason as good as any.

"Good." John stood, eager to seize the moment. "Rick, have them meet us upstairs, we're wheels up in ten." He got everyone moving, pulling Rick aside. "Where's Grant, I want to tell him myself."

"He's on shift assembling rifles." Rick checked his pipboy. "We've got half a dozen crates you can take, I'll have him bring them up."

"That's going to be a big help." John knew he could get enough for the rifles to cover Beverly's costs for over a month, maybe two.

John paced anxiously near the lift in the stockroom, waiting for the last of the evacuees. And Grant. He saw his nervousness transfer to the candidates, magnified by his role. John stopped pacing, forcing a smile and trying to project calm. As a good leader should. As he'd been taught to do.

He saw Grant approaching across the open stockroom, dragging a hard cart stacked with metal crates. John walked over to meet him. Grant had brought Janey with him, thinking he would be leaving her behind. She was pregnant when John saw her last, now she looked very pregnant.

"Hey Grant, Janey." John had to raise his voice to be heard over the workers above him. "Liste—" Something moved in the corner of his vision. He couldn't say exactly what, but it moved fast. A scream from above him drew his eyes up. Panic followed, kickstarting the dreamlike state.

High above him, a worker had fallen from the ceiling. Plummeting through the open space at speed, even in the slowed time. John looked around frantically, his muscles already burning from standing still. Gingerly he moved Janey back, lowering her to the ground and turning her away. He all but shoved Grant clear, turning his attention back to the still falling man.

Nothing around him would help. Piles of cut pipes, metal crates, stacks of steel wall panels. All useless. Even if he caught the man, he'd be moving too fast to survive. John did the only thing he could, and turned his back.

Time snapped back as a wet thud echoed through the open space. He turned back to see the body, split and burst like an orange under a boot. The only sound coming from the safety rope still tumbling into the splattered viscera and shattered bone.

"All stop! All stop!" Rick yelled into his pipboy, bringing the entire place to a standstill.

"Crixus get them up top, now." John made a quick headcount and shouted.

"Aye Brother." Crixus turned to the stunned people ready to leave everything they'd known. "You heard the man, move!" He corralled them into the lift, taking them up to meet Beverly and Robco.

"Those damn lines." Rick cursed the century old equipment that claimed another life. He couldn't look at the body. John couldn't look away. His focus drawn not by the body, but the rope.

He stepped forward, drawing his knife and hooking the rope. John ran the rope over the knife till he held the end. Half frayed, half cut clean through.

"This wasn't an accident." John realised the rope breaking free had been what caught his eye, meaning whoever cut had to still be in here. Worse, he could be about to personally help them escape. "Rick, I need you to fake a problem with the lift to level two. I'll tell the others there's a problem with the Vertibird." John could feel eyes on him. "They're not going to get away with this."

John rode the elevator up to the Vault door, finding his friends waiting. They read the look on his face. The dozen evacuees seemed too wrapped up in their surroundings to notice. "Alright." John watched the dozen faces. "As discussed we're going to blindfold you and take you down in groups. I'm going to get things ready. Try to relax."

He walked out through the narrow tunnel and into the cool night. John took a deep breath of fresh air, and opened a comm channel. "Tornado, Ronin. How copy?"

"Solid copy." Rosie answered, the sound hammering in the background. "Go for Tornado."

"There's been a murder." He heard Rosie stop hammering, her full attention on him. "We need to solv—"

"I'm dispatching my assistant." Rosie's tools clattered to the floor.

"I can assist you." John offered.

"It's sweet that you think that." Rosie teased him, already enjoying herself.

Rosie slipped on her boots and headed out the door. She darted to the house next door but one and knocked. "Rosie, what's wrong?" Mike answered, rudely awoken, shotgun in his hands.

"Shit, I'm sorry." She'd been too swept up in the excitement. "John's at the...there's been a murder!"

"Just a piece of professional advice," Mike grinned warmly, setting the shotgun aside. "it's generally not a good idea to smile when discussing murder.

"No, I know. It's bad, it is." Rosie kept smiling. "But we get to solve it!"