Randy Terri's Arc

Chapter 3 of 11

Randy drove back to Farmers Choice with the photograph in his pocket and the dead man's coordinates still written in his notebook. He parked behind the dispensary and went inside through the back door, locking it behind him. Sinclair's motorcycle stood in the gravel lot when Randy came out front an hour later. The chrome cruiser gleamed in the afternoon sun, parked at an angle that blocked the driveway. Sinclair sat on the tailgate of his truck with a steel equipment rack unfolded beside him, the shelves packed with scales and testing tools arranged in perfect rows. He looked up when Randy approached, and his expression didn't change. "I brought the analysis kit," Sinclair said. "Figured we could run comparative samples from the north plots versus the south edge." Randy stopped ten feet away. "I didn't ask for that." "No." Sinclair reached into his jacket and pulled out a leather journal with yellowed pages, the binding cracked from age. He opened it to a marked page and held it up so Randy could see the handwriting. "My grandfather worked for Vault-Tec. Kept notes on projects he wasn't supposed to remember." He turned the journal around and read aloud. "'Site seventeen placement finalized two miles southeast of agricultural zone. Iterative housing requires sustained output. Soil composition tests indicate forty percent yield increase within eighteen-month exposure radius.'" Sinclair closed the journal and looked at Randy directly. "Your third harvest was eighteen months after they sealed it." Randy felt the photograph press against his ribs through his shirt pocket. Sinclair hadn't just wanted in on what Randy found out — he'd known what was there before Randy ever told him about the Vault. The equipment rack wasn't for testing crops. It was staged to look helpful while Sinclair waited to see how much Randy would admit. Randy pulled the photograph from his pocket and held it up. "This came from someone who already went inside. He's dead now, out past the eastern ridge." Sinclair's eyes moved to the photo, and something shifted in his face — not surprise, but recognition. "So here's what's happening," Randy said. "You tell me everything your grandfather wrote about what's down there, or you leave and we're done." Sinclair was quiet for three seconds. Then he nodded once and opened the journal to the first page.