Margo Holland's Arc

Chapter 4 of 13

Margo found Doc Henson in the third examination room the next morning, pulling pre-war medical gear from the locked cabinet. Field suture kits. Combat stimulants in military packaging. A portable diagnostic unit she'd never seen him use. He laid each item on the steel table without looking up. "I need to tell you something first," he said. "About forty years back, I treated three men who came through separately over six months. Burns, broken bones, radiation exposure. Never asked questions, but their injuries matched depot security protocols—automated defenses, the kind that don't miss." He pulled a leather journal from the cabinet's back corner. The cover showed faded Vault-Tec markings. "Last one left me this. Said if I ever needed a way in that bypassed the main gates, coordinates were inside. He marked it with some old fishing camp sign nobody would remember." Margo took the journal. The pages held coordinates, hand-drawn maps, notes about patrol patterns from decades ago. One page showed a crude sketch of a rusted sign pointing toward something marked 'concealed entrance—old mining access.' Her hands steadied as she copied the coordinates into her notebook. The coordinates placed the entrance fifteen miles east of the main depot gates. "This changes the approach entirely," she said. "No front gates. No turret gauntlet. We go in through the back and work toward the research wing." But doubt crept in as she studied the deserter's notes about the entrance being sealed from inside. "The deserter mentioned he left his vehicle near the entrance," Doc Henson said. "Old Land Rover, jungle camouflage. Figured if the entrance was still sealed, the vehicle would prove the coordinates were real." He met her eyes. "I never went looking. Seemed like borrowed trouble. But now—" He gestured at her mutation samples upstairs. Margo closed the journal and pocketed the coordinates. For the first time since seeing the camera footage, she had a route that didn't require walking into automated fire. The depot mission shifted from desperate gamble to calculated risk.