Sinclair Feldman's Arc

Chapter 1 of 6

Sinclair Feldman spread his hand-drawn map across the ammo crate and pinned the corners with spent shells. Vault 141 sat at the center, marked in red ink. Inside that vault waited pre-war tech worth more than any caravan Red Hills had ever run. Sinclair meant to pull it out, wire it into a trade network, and put Red Hills on every map in the Westland. But the depot ruins were crawling with rival interest, and he needed people he could trust to walk in first. He'd called them to the clinic to plan it. A hand-painted sign hung over the door, listing rules and prices in bold yellow letters. Zelda had claimed the space as her own the day they arrived. She stood by the map now, arms crossed, reading the terrain like a patient chart. She was his partner, in the field and out of it, and she didn't waste words. "That approach is a killbox," she said, tapping the red X. "You want a route in that doesn't leave us bleeding on the ground." The three Rangers watched from across the crate. Sinclair had struck a deal with Reilly's Rangers to share the vault haul, and they'd sent their best. Brad Zaxxon pushed his glasses up and leaned in. "Heh. She's right. But there's a fix." He dragged one finger northeast. "Old surveillance tower out there. Rusted to hell, binoculars still mount on it. You climb that, you see the whole valley before it sees you." "You bet," Donovan said, already unclipping the radio from his backpack. "I set a relay up top, we get eyes and comms in one shot. No more guessing what's around the bend." He grinned. "That tower's the best gift the old world left us." Sarah tapped her fingers against the crate, fast and nervous. "Fine. But somebody has to break the vault's door protocols, and that's me, and I need to know what RobCo buried in that lock before I touch it." She caught herself and steadied. "So. First trip is the tower. We survey, we map, we come back before anyone knows we looked." Sinclair studied all four faces. He could feel the deal holding, the trust doing its work. "Then that's the plan," he said. "Zelda splits the medical supplies. Brad and Donovan take the tower and set the relay. Sarah maps the vault approach from up top. I run point and radio." He drew a fresh line on the map, from the clinic to the rusted tower. "We leave at first light." No one argued. Zelda began counting field dressings into two piles. The team was real now, the assignments set, the route chosen. At dawn they moved out. By midday Sinclair stood at the base of the surveillance tower, staring up through the orange rust. Donovan's radio crackled from the platform above. "Sinclair." Donovan's voice came flat and dry. "You're gonna want to see this. There's already someone camped inside the vault gate. And they've got the door open."