Zelda Verada's Arc

Chapter 2 of 13

The hospital stood, stocked and staffed. Zelda had one thing left to protect: the Vault. All her supplies meant nothing if the tech in the medical labs walked away in a raider's pack. Sarah brought the news at dusk, crossing camp with her tablet already lit. "Five armed raiders in the Vault-Tec garage," Sarah said. She tapped the screen hard. "Not researchers. Scrap thieves. They're stripping the entrance for metal." She looked up. "They don't know what's below them. But they're between us and the G.E.C.K." Zelda felt her jaw tighten. Morons. Careless morons who could wreck a plan they'd never understand. Everything she needed for the field hospital sat in those medical labs. Scanners. Surgical units. The one recovery that made the whole trade route real. And a handful of looters were parked on top of it, banging pipes loose for scrap value. "I can't clear armed men with a med bag," Zelda said. "I need shooters." "Then talk to Brad," Sarah said. Brad Zaxxon ran the Rangers' side of the Vault operation. He'd spent eight years in the wasteland and treated every decision like a map he could read. Zelda found him at the supply tent, checking a rifle's optics. He didn't look up when she stepped in. "Raiders in the garage," she said. "Five. They're looting the entrance and they don't know what's under it." Brad set the rifle down. "How solid's the count?" "Sarah's count." "Then it's five." He pulled off his glasses and cleaned them, thinking. "Heh. Scrap runners are the dangerous kind. No plan, no discipline. They'll start a fire or crack a door just to see what's behind it." He met her eyes. "Between you and me, if they punch into that sublevel by accident, we lose the labs before we ever reach them." "That's why I came to you," Zelda said. "Not to me for stitches after. Before." Brad almost smiled. He reached for his radio and keyed it. "I've got two rangers I trust for close work. Conner and Russel. Swedish-trained, quiet movers." He named them like assets on a list. "We hit the garage at first light. Raiders sleep hard near dawn. We clear the entrance, hold it, and you get your tech intact." "Dawn," Zelda repeated. "Dawn." He slung the rifle across his back. "You'll want to be ready with that bag anyway. Somebody usually bleeds." Zelda walked back through camp as the light died. The plan had a shooter now, and a time. Two more rifles moving on the garage before sunrise. She hadn't spent a favor to get it. She'd spent something better: the truth, delivered fast, to a man who acted on it. But dawn was hours off. And five careless men were still awake in the garage, prying at doors, one bad idea away from opening the Vault themselves. The plan was in motion. So was the danger.