Jace flung the headless corpse out, knocking down a cluster of Ghouls.
But more came at him.
There was no time to pick up the minigun.
He grabbed the metal shelving unit beside him, more than two meters tall, with a few rotted plastic panels still hanging from it.
Then he swung it.
Bang.
The shelf smashed into a group of Ghouls.
The metal frame shattered along with them.
A broken steel pipe flew out and stabbed into another Ghoul’s chest.
Bone fragments and rotten flesh splattered everywhere.
Only half a steel pipe remained in his hand.
He threw it away.
When there was no weapon within reach, he used his fists.
He punched the nearest Ghoul square in the face, and its withered skull cracked apart on impact.
Then he raised his foot and kicked hard, sending another one flying.
But the instant he was standing on one foot, his balance unstable, three or four Ghouls suddenly lunged at him and slammed into him hard.
Jace staggered back and crashed into the wall, a dull shock running through his back.
Cold sweat instantly soaked his spine.
Once he went down, he would never get back up.
Gritting his teeth, he clenched his fist and smashed it into the head of the Ghoul lunging at him.
Thud.
The head was driven straight down into its chest cavity.
Another one pounced.
He twisted aside, dodged it, and grabbed its leg in passing.
Then he swung it.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Holding the Ghoul by the leg, he used it as a weapon and smashed it into the other Ghouls charging at him.
The Ghoul swept through the air in wide arcs, its body slamming into its own kind, scattering broken bones and limbs across the floor.
On the fifth swing…
Crack.
The leg tore free from the body.
Only half a bloody leg bone remained in Jace’s hand.
He drove the bone into the eye socket of the Ghoul lunging at him, then kicked it away.
Suddenly, a Ghoul climbed onto his back.
He reached behind himself and grabbed its head, digging his fingers into the shriveled back of its skull.
Then he tore it off his back.
He lifted it over his head.
The Ghoul was still struggling in midair, its limbs flailing wildly as a hoarse roar scraped from its throat.
Jace tightened his grip with one hand and slammed it hard into the floor.
Bang.
Its body hit the floor, bones shattering everywhere.
Its head twisted to one side, and it stopped moving.
Jace straightened up, panting, and looked at the remaining Ghouls in front of him.
He bent down, lowered his shoulder, planted his feet, and the power armor’s hydraulics screamed as they unleashed their full force.
Charge.
He slammed into the pack of Ghouls.
Three Ghouls were sent flying, crashing into the shelves behind them.
The rest were driven backward by his charge, his feet crushing broken bones and rotten flesh as he forced them back step by step.
All the way to the wall.
He stopped and looked down at the last Ghoul under his feet.
It was still struggling.
Its legs were broken, but its claws were still hooked onto his leg armor, nails scraping out an ear-piercing sound.
Jace raised his foot and stepped onto its back.
Then he bent down and grabbed its head with one hand.
Creak.
Its spine stretched out, vertebra by vertebra.
Snap.
The last vertebra pulled free from its body.
Jace straightened, holding the head in his hand, a section of pale white spine still attached.
He threw the thing onto the floor.
Then he turned and walked to where he had thrown away the minigun.
The gun was still lying there, its barrel smeared with dark brown rotting flesh.
He bent down, picked it up, and held it in his hands.
The wall of fire was still burning.
Orange-red flames rose from the oil-soaked Ghouls, crackling as they burned.
Behind the wall of fire, more Ghouls were still pouring forward, but they could not get past the flames.
Codsworth stood beside the fire.
Its circular saw was still spinning, buzzing as it cut into the head of a Ghoul trying to charge through the flames.
The flamer on another mechanical arm stayed aimed at the wall of fire, occasionally adding another burst wherever the flames had started to weaken.
It heard footsteps behind it and turned its head.
All three “eyes” landed on Jace.
Jace was covered in black.
Dark brown rotten flesh, dark red blood, and gray-white bone fragments were smeared from his chest down to his legs.
Holding the minigun, he stood behind Codsworth and looked at the wall of fire.
“How many more?” he asked.
Codsworth turned back and kept watching the flames.
“I don’t know.
Ghouls are still pouring out from inside.”
Jace raised the minigun and moved to Codsworth’s side.
The wall of fire kept burning.
Behind the orange-red flames, gray-white shapes were still moving, one after another, surging toward them.
He pulled the trigger.
Whirr.
Bullets tore through the flames and swept into the mass of Ghouls.
The first row fell.
The second row filled the gap.
Whirr.
Whirr.
Whirr.
He advanced step by step.
Shell casings clattered onto the ground, rolling into the fire and glowing red.
Codsworth stayed at his side, its circular saw still spinning as it shredded the Ghouls lunging from the flanks.
Jace’s gun never stopped.
He walked through the wall of fire.
His boots crushed burning Ghouls underfoot.
Flesh sizzled as it burned, the stench of char mixing with gun smoke.
He did not stop.
He kept moving forward.
Bullets swept out.
Ghouls fell.
Sweep.
Fall.
Sweep.
Fall.
Sweep.
Fall.
He had no idea how long he had been firing.
Then the sound of the minigun suddenly changed, from a continuous roar to an empty clicking.
The ammo belt was empty.
Jace glanced down.
The first belt, five hundred rounds, was gone.
With one hand, he pulled a spare belt from behind his waist, fed it into the feed port, and yanked it into place.
Click.
The minigun spun up again.
Whirr.
He kept pushing forward.
Just then…
Voom.
It was not the minigun.
It came from deeper inside.
Sharper, shorter.
A laser musket.
Jace froze for a moment.
That was the distinctive sound of a Minutemen weapon.
He raised his head and looked deeper into the supermarket.
At the end of the pitch-black passage, a faint light flickered.
Not the pale glare of emergency lighting, but the burning red flash of a laser weapon firing.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Someone was firing inside.
They were still alive.
“Codsworth!
There’s someone inside!”
Codsworth sliced apart a Ghoul attacking from the side and turned its head.
“I heard it, sir!”
Jace lowered the minigun and switched to his 10mm pistol.
The gunfire was getting closer.
Red flashes flickered around the corner ahead, mixed with Ghoul shrieks and human shouts.
Jace charged around the corner.
Before him was a cramped space, the supermarket’s storage area, surrounded by moldy crates and rusted metal racks.
Emergency lights flickered on and off, casting a sickly white glow.
Several people were huddled together in the corner.
A man in a tattered uniform stood at the front, gripping a laser musket and firing wildly toward the other end of the passage.
Behind him, two people crouched on the floor.
One was reloading, while the other clutched his arm, blood seeping between his fingers.
Two more lay behind them.
Preston Garvey.
He was still alive.
Jace raised his 10mm pistol and aimed at the Ghouls lunging toward them.
Bang.
One Ghoul’s head burst open, and its body went limp.
Bang.
Another was hit from the side halfway through its leap and crashed to the floor.
Those people all turned at once.
They saw the power armor standing at the mouth of the passage, covered head to toe in dark brown rotten flesh and blood, with a gun still in hand.
Preston instinctively turned the muzzle of his weapon toward Jace.
“Don’t shoot!” Jace roared.
He rushed forward, aimed his 10mm pistol at the back of a Ghoul’s head, and pulled the trigger.
Bang.
The Ghoul fell.
The remaining ones were still surging forward.
Jace shoved the pistol back at his waist, reached behind himself, and pulled the minigun from his back.
Whirr.
The six barrels began to spin.
The metal storm erupted again.
Bullets swept forward, and the remaining Ghouls all collapsed to the floor.
Jace did not stop.
He kept the trigger held down, muzzle locked on the passage, clearing out every visible thing that was still moving, still crawling, still alive enough to come at them.
One.
Two.
Three.
Shell casings clattered to the ground, rolling everywhere.
Until there was nothing left moving in the passage.
Until the minigun’s roar became empty spinning.
Click, click, click.
Five hundred rounds.
Gone.
Jace released the trigger, and the muzzle dropped.
The passage suddenly went quiet.
Only the electrical hiss of the emergency lights and several people’s ragged breathing remained.
Jace lowered the muzzle and turned around.
Preston still had his laser musket raised, the barrel pointed at him.
Behind him, the other two had their weapons raised as well.
One wore oil-stained overalls and held a wrench.
The other was an old woman leaning against the wall with her eyes closed, muttering under her breath.
Sturges.
Mama Murphy.
Jace glanced behind them.
Two people lay on the floor, unmoving.
Preston stared at him.
At the power armor covered in rotten flesh and blood.
At the still-smoking minigun in his hands.
“…Who are you?”
Jace slung the minigun onto his back.
Then he looked behind them again.
Several people were lying or sitting on the ground.
Not corpses, just collapsed there against the wall, eyes closed, chests still rising and falling.
“How many people?”
Preston stared at him and did not answer.
“I asked how many are still alive,” Jace said again.
Preston finally spoke.
“There were more than twenty of us at first,” he said hoarsely.
“A few left at Jamaica Plain.
A few more died on the road.”
He gestured toward the people nearby.
“This is what’s left.
Fifteen.”
Jace swept his eyes over them.
Preston, Sturges, Mama Murphy, the wounded man, and the few on the ground who could not move.
“Two more went out to scout,” Preston added.
“They haven’t come back yet.”
Jace paused.
There were actually still that many?
In the game, by the time they reached the Museum of Freedom, only five were left.
Thinking of the “unclog the toilet” quest Preston had given him in the game, then thinking of how the man had actually chosen a place like this to set up camp, anger flared in his chest.
“I’d love to beat the hell out of you right now, but we need to leave.
Immediately.”
He took several Stimpaks and some RadAway from the pouch at his waist and handed them over.
Preston did not move.
Sturges reached out and took them.
“Thanks.”
He crouched down and injected the Stimpaks into the arms of the people on the floor.
Someone groaned.
Someone twitched.
Someone else remained unconscious.
Jace pulled out some painkillers and tossed them to Sturges.
“If they’re lightly injured, stop the bleeding and give them painkillers.
If they’re badly hurt, carry them.
We’re leaving now.”
He turned and glanced down the passage.
It was pitch black, with no movement for the moment.
“Once we’re outside the main entrance, leave a message for the people who haven’t come back.
We can’t stay in the city.”
Preston stood, slung the empty laser musket across his back, and bent down to help a wounded man up.
“Anyone who can walk, help them walk.
Anyone who can’t, carry them.”
The dozen or so people slowly got to their feet.
Some could walk on their own, some were supported by others, and two who could not move at all were lifted and carried.
Sturges, carrying his wrench, walked to the front of the group and glanced at Codsworth.
“You leading?”
Codsworth’s “eyes” curved slightly.
“Stay close to me.”
The group began moving toward the exit.
Jace stood where he was, unmoving.
He watched them pass by him.
Preston, Sturges, Mama Murphy being supported by others, the wounded man clutching his arm, and the people who had just struggled up from the ground, one after another.
No one spoke.
There were only footsteps, breathing, and the occasional suppressed groan.
Codsworth floated to the front of the group, all three “eyes” lighting up at once to illuminate the path ahead.
“This way, toward the exit.
This route has been cleared.
Don’t stop.”
The group followed it and disappeared around the corner.
Jace turned around and faced the pitch-black passage.
He took the minigun from his back and held it in both hands.
Three belts left.
Fifteen hundred rounds.
Enough.
A rustling sound came from the passage.
Here they come again.
This damn place.
Jace took a deep breath and pulled the trigger.
Whirr.
Bullets swept forward, and a wave of Ghouls fell at the mouth of the passage.
He did not stop.
He fired while backing away.
Past one shelf.
Past a second shelf.
Past the pile of smashed crates.
Codsworth’s voice came from behind him.
“Sir, we’re almost there!”
Jace did not look back.
He kept firing and kept retreating.
Whirr.
Whirr.
Whirr.
The second belt ran dry.
He reloaded one-handed and kept sweeping the passage.
He backed up to the door.
Bang.
He kicked the door open and squeezed out sideways.
Codsworth and the dozen or so others were already outside.
The door stood wide open, and cold wind poured in.
Jace turned around and grabbed the massive freezer beside the door.
Stainless steel, more than two meters tall, long since empty inside.
He pulled hard.
The freezer toppled over and blocked the doorway.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Impacts came from behind the door.
The Ghouls were ramming it.
The freezer shook but did not fall.
Another impact.
The freezer slid outward a few centimeters.
Jace glanced at it.
It would not hold.
He turned and ran a few steps to the rusted-out car by the supermarket entrance.
All the windows were shattered, the wheels were long gone, and half the body had caved in, but it was heavy enough.
Jace bent down and grabbed the crossbeam under the car.
Hiss.
The hydraulics surged.
The car’s underside dragged across the ground, throwing up a trail of sparks as he forcibly hauled it toward the door.
The hydraulic system hissed and groaned.
Step by step, he moved toward the entrance.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
The Ghouls were still ramming.
The freezer slid out another few centimeters.
Jace shoved the car against it.
Bang.
The final impact made the car shudder, but it did not move.
Behind the door, everything went quiet.
Jace let go and took a step back.
He looked at the door, now sealed off by the freezer and the car, and panted.
Codsworth floated over and settled beside him, its three “eyes” carefully inspecting the rotten flesh and blood smeared all over him.
“Sir, are you injured?”
Jace looked down at himself.
His power armor was covered in dark brown filth, but none of it was his.
“No.”
Codsworth’s “eyes” curved slightly.
“That’s good, sir.
Let’s get out of here quickly.”