By the time the sun was high overhead, they finally arrived.
Jace stopped in front of the old wooden bridge.
The dozen or so people behind him stopped as well.
Some sat straight down on the ground, some braced their hands on their knees and gasped for air, and the few who had been carried were set down by the roadside, eyes closed.
Preston walked up beside him and followed his gaze.
Across the bridge lay a stretch of ruins.
Half-collapsed houses, weeds growing wild, rusted-out cars tilted along the roadside.
A few birds flew up from the rooftops, called twice, then settled back down.
“This is Sanctuary Hills?” Preston asked.
Jace nodded.
“Looks…
pretty run-down,” Preston said.
Jace said nothing.
He stepped onto the bridge.
The river beneath it was still clear.
Sunlight shone across the surface, scattering bright ripples.
The dozen or so people crossed one by one.
Some supported each other, some were carried on someone’s back, and some gritted their teeth and walked on their own.
Codsworth floated at the front, as if leading the way.
Sturges came up beside him, set down the wounded man he had been carrying, and caught his breath.
“This is it?” he asked.
Sturges looked around at the half-collapsed houses, the red gas station, and the rusted-out cars.
“It’s livable,” he said.
“And it has a lot of room to grow.”
Preston walked over and stood beside him.
“Any place that can keep the wind out?”
Jace pointed to the few houses that still looked mostly intact.
“Those can be lived in after some repairs.
The rest need to be torn down for materials.”
Preston nodded.
He turned and looked at the group.
“We’re here.
This is the place.”
The dozen or so people looked at him, then looked around.
No one said anything.
After a few seconds, the old man who had been carried all the way because of his severe injuries opened his eyes and glanced around.
“Is there water?” he asked hoarsely.
Jace pointed at the river.
“There.
You can’t drink it directly, but it can be used to irrigate crops.”
The old man nodded, then closed his eyes again.
Jace walked over to Codsworth.
Codsworth was floating in front of one of the houses, staring inside.
“How’s this one?” Jace asked.
Codsworth turned its head.
“Not bad.
There are a few holes in the roof and cracks in the walls, but it’s better than the others.”
Jace pushed the door open and went inside.
Everything inside was covered in dust.
A thick layer had settled on the floor.
Moldy picture frames hung on the walls, and the sofa had rotted down to its springs.
But the frame of the house was still sound, and the roof had not collapsed.
He walked back out and said to Preston, “Carry the badly injured inside first.”
Preston nodded and called a few people over to start moving them.
Jace stood in the doorway, watching as they carried the people who could not move into the house one by one.
Sturges dug bandages and medicine out of his pack and got to work.
Mama Murphy was helped to the base of a wall, where she sat with her eyes closed and started muttering again.
The couple, Jun and Marcy, leaned against each other without saying a word.
Josh and Emma stood at the bridgehead, rifles in hand, watching the road they had come from.
Jace turned, walked to the riverbank, crouched down, and scooped up water to wash his face.
The water was cold.
Very clean.
He stood and looked at the river.
Codsworth floated over and settled beside him.
“Sir.”
“What is it?”
“Welcome home.”
Jace stood by the river and watched as the people slowly began to move.
Sturges was the first to get up.
He walked to the door of the largest house, glanced inside, then turned and headed toward a pile of rubble nearby.
There were a few wooden beams there that were still usable and could be taken apart.
“Josh!
Emma!” he called.
“Come help!”
The two put away their guns and ran over.
Preston came out of the house, looked around, then walked over to Jace.
“Where’s the food?” he asked.
Jace pointed toward the bridge.
“The Red Rocket truck stop.
Go that way, across the bridge.”
Preston nodded, then turned and called Anthony, who in the game’s storyline had been responsible for covering the rear and ultimately died inside Super Duper Mart, along with a few others who were not badly injured.
“Come on.
Let’s bring the food over.”
They followed the road toward the bridge.
The rest kept working.
Some cleared junk out of the largest house.
Others dismantled the half-collapsed houses, sorting out usable planks and nails to repair the homes and the bridge deck.
The ones too badly hurt to move lay inside, with someone keeping watch over them.
Codsworth floated to Jace’s side.
“Sir.”
Jace turned his head.
Codsworth raised one mechanical arm and pointed at a house.
It was not the largest, nor was it the most ruined.
It was the one in the middle, with gray plank walls, a roof that was still mostly intact, and weeds growing thick around the entrance.
It looked no different from the other houses.
“Could we leave that one untouched?”
“Why?”
Codsworth was silent for a second.
“That was my master’s house.”
Jace said nothing.
He looked at the house.
Nate’s house.
The game’s protagonist, the soldier still frozen inside Vault 111.
“I want to leave him a place,” Codsworth said.
“All right.”
Night fell.
A bonfire was lit in the open space of Sanctuary Hills.
The firewood had been stripped from the half-collapsed houses, and it crackled as it burned, sending sparks up into the sky.
The dozen or so people gathered around the fire, each holding something.
Some had canned food, some had toasted rations, and some had the mush Codsworth had made with wild greens, tato, and a bit of Mole Rat meat.
No one spoke.
There was only the sound of chewing, and the occasional sharp hiss from someone who burned their mouth.
Jace sat beside the fire, holding a bowl of mush and eating slowly.
It tasted a little better than the last meal at Red Rocket.
Codsworth had found more herbs this time.
Codsworth floated beside the fire, watching the pot and occasionally adding more mush to someone’s bowl.
Preston sat beside Jace.
After finishing his food, he set the bowl on the ground.
Jace looked at the fire in silence for a while, then spoke.
“I want to know what the Minutemen were really like.”
Preston lowered his head.
“Before the war, they were a militia.
Back during the Revolutionary War, farmers took up guns and fought the British with guerrilla tactics.
After the war, some people revived that banner.
They wanted to protect the people who had no one else to protect them.”
He paused.
“The structure wasn’t complicated.
At the top was the General, in charge of overall command, allocating resources, and setting the direction.”
Jace glanced at him.
“Are you the General?”
Preston shook his head.
“No,” he said.
“The General is dead.
Died a long time ago.”
Jace said nothing.
“Colonels were local commanders,” Preston continued.
“They handled settlement defenses and personnel.
After Quincy, there was no one left alive in that position either.”
He looked at the fire.
“Now all that’s left are ordinary Minutemen.”
“What are ordinary Minutemen?” Jace asked.
“The foundation.
Farmers, craftsmen, settlers.
People who put down their hoes and picked up guns.
They handle their own gear and their own training.”
He pointed toward the people across the fire.
“Sturges is a craftsman.
He can fix things.
Josh and Emma are scouts.
We relied on them to find the way the whole trip.
That couple can farm and work.”
Then he glanced at the old woman with her eyes closed.
“Mama Murphy…
she can see things.
Sometimes she’s right.
Sometimes she isn’t.”
Jace followed his gaze.
Mama Murphy was leaning against the wall, muttering under her breath.
“What about equipment?” Jace asked.
Preston gave a bitter smile.
“Whatever we can use.
Pipe pistols, pipe rifles.
Scavenged, modified by hand.”
“As long as it fires, it’s good enough.”
Jace looked down at his bowl, scooped up the last mouthful, and swallowed it slowly.
No logistics system.
They ran on willpower and whatever gear people brought themselves.
No discipline system.
Volunteers came and went as they pleased.
No standing army.
They only fought back after they were attacked.
The chain of command must have collapsed long ago.
Otherwise, they would not have been driven into such a miserable state.
He set the bowl down.
“I see.”
After dinner, Jace sat by the bonfire, looking at the river glimmering under the moonlight.
“What are you thinking about?”
Jace did not turn around.
“The future.”
Preston was silent for a few seconds.
“The future…
I’ve thought about it too.
But the way things are now, making it through tomorrow would already be good enough.”
Jace turned and looked at him.
“How did you survive before?”
Preston paused.
“What do you mean?”
“Equipment, food, medicine,” Jace said.
“Where did those things come from?”
Preston thought for a moment.
“Some we made ourselves.
Some we took from Raiders.
Some we traded for with passing caravans.” He paused.
“Most of the time, we just saved whatever we could.”
Jace nodded.
He looked over the dozen or so people lying in disarray beneath the roughly repaired roof.
Some were already dead asleep, some were talking in low voices, the badly injured had been settled inside, and others kept watch nearby.
“No matter how many people you have, without equipment or discipline, they’re still scattered sand.
Run into Ghouls or Raiders, and it’s still a dead end.” Jace watched the flickering fire, his tone calm.
“We need to put down roots first.”
Preston leaned forward slightly, raised his head, and listened carefully.
“I have an idea.”
Jace spoke slowly, laying out his plan for the first time.
“Build industry.
Make tools, ammunition, and parts.
“Use industrial goods to trade with nearby settlements for food.
They lack hoes, nails, and weapons, so we make them.
They have land and food, so we trade for it.”
He paused and looked at Preston.
“Then use that food as pay for the Minutemen.”
“Anyone willing to train, fight, and defend settlements gets monthly grain.
They won’t have to farm for themselves, or scavenge junk just to trade for a bite to eat.”
“That way, we can build a standing army that doesn’t have to split its attention between feeding its family and fighting.
They can focus on training and combat.”
Jace’s voice was quiet, but it landed like a stone dropped into water.
“With guns, food, and soldiers, the Minutemen can actually be called the Minutemen.
“Otherwise, they’re just a group of refugees on the run.”
As soon as Jace finished, Preston slowly frowned.
His fingers unconsciously rubbed the stock of the laser musket in his hands, and his voice was full of helplessness.
“It’s a good idea, but…
we can’t make it happen right now.”
“We don’t have machine tools, steel, fuel, or even a workshop that can keep out the wind and rain.”
After a pause, he looked toward the tired people around the fire and lowered his voice.
“The small settlements nearby can barely feed themselves.
Some survive by scavenging.
Where would they get extra grain to trade with us?”
“And the most important thing is, even if we somehow got machine tools and steel, even if the nearby settlements had food to trade…”
“We don’t have workers.”
Jace looked at him and simply waited for him to finish.
He knew Preston’s doubts came from lessons the Wasteland had beaten into him, not because he was trying to throw cold water on the plan.
When Preston was done, Jace spoke.
“All of those problems can be solved.”
Preston paused.
“How?”
“Do you know about Vaults?”
Preston frowned.
“Vaults?” he repeated.
“I’ve heard of them.”
Jace looked at him.
“From who?”
“Before Quincy fell, people talked about them,” Preston said.
“They said there were places underground in the Wasteland called Vaults.
Places with everything.
Endless purified water, a safe environment, all the food you could eat.”
Preston gave a bitter smile.
“They said they were paradise.”
Jace was silent for a few seconds.
Then he spoke.
“No.
Most Vaults aren’t good places.”
Preston froze.
“What do you mean?”
“Vault 75 was used to screen children, eliminate the weak, and train perfect soldiers.
In the end, the kids revolted, killed the management, and escaped into the Wasteland.
They became the Gunners later.”
Preston stared at him, his expression changing.
“Vault 95 was a drug rehab experiment.
It only accepted people who had successfully gotten clean, then deliberately released a large amount of drugs inside to see whether they would relapse.”
He paused.
“In the end, all the residents either died or became Raiders.
That Vault became their base.”
Preston was silent for a long time.
The bonfire crackled, sparks rising into the sky.
“What about Vault 111?” he finally asked.
Jace was silent for a second.
“Vault 111?”
He lowered his head and looked at his clothes.
“Cryogenic experiments.
Studying how the human body changes under long-term freezing.”
“I woke up there, after being frozen in a hibernation pod for two hundred years.”
Preston was silent for a few more seconds.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“So you’re saying Vaults are all bad places?”
“No,” Jace said.
“Most of them were laboratories, and everyone inside was a test subject.”
He looked at the fire, its light flickering across his face.
“But there’s one Vault that can solve all our problems.”
“Which one?”
“Vault 88.
One that wasn’t finished, and where they never had time to start those experiments.
There’s only equipment inside, no conspiracy.”
He raised his head and looked at Preston.
“It’s beneath Quincy Quarries.
There’s a uranium vein inside, along with a huge stockpile of basic materials moved in before the war.”
“It’s equipped with a super reactor, basic industrial modules, machine tools, top-tier forging, chemistry, weapons, and armor workbenches, and most importantly…”
“The Vault-Tec Workshop.”