Megaton

The door opens on exactly the heat and smell one might expect of a metal-walled, metal-roofed, metal-floored community bathroom in the later part of summer someplace well south of the Mason-Dixon Line. It's something of a mercy that the sun's almost completely down, as the hottest part of the day's been and gone; nevertheless, a certain measure of swelter remains.

One ought to expect that sort of thing here, really. Quite aside from the condition of the Megaton women's restrooms- which are as clean as people with a restricted water supply can manage- an about-face will reveal the nature of the town all too clearly. Given half a chance humans will live absolutely anywhere they can manage it, and here they've managed it in the sides of a massive crater. Everything in sight- everything- is made of metal. Scavenged from somewhere, clearly, and put to hard use immediately, it rather has the look of a junkyard made to disgorge all its larger elements at once.

"The bomb's down there," Ellen says, pointing down towards the center of the crater. "Are you all right?"