Andale

Fort Independence and the Outcast garrison there lay somewhere behind her. Ellen didn't know how far. She'd been walking for hours, slow and easy, letting the suit of power armor do most of the work. The Outcasts at Fort Independence were just as strident as McGraw's bunch. "Finding old technology and keeping it out of the wrong hands" indeed. If she hadn't been able to describe McGraw and Olin and what she'd done for them, Ellen had a feeling she wouldn't've walked out of there with the suit or her alien guns, assuming she'd been able to walk out at all...

Well, she'd brought them Linden's helmet and told them she'd come by it away up north, with no sign of the body anywhere. They'd accepted that and given her a couple of units of Rad-Away in thanks, and told here there were more where that came from if she brought back any interesting technology. That had been hours ago. Somewhere ahead, over the curve of the hills and horizon, there was a rock formation nearly as large on the 2077 map as the one that held Vault 101. If she was lucky, she and Dogmeat would make it there by nightfall. Of course, luck was a fickle thing. Dogmeat kept running at mole rats, snapping and snarling. Ellen made a mental note to buy a hunting rifle the next time she got a chance, so that she could drop the wretched things at a distance without wasting the Disintegrator's power modules.

Their shadows were growing long and slanting over the broken ground when a distant sound of laughter reached her ears. Dogmeat's head perked up; he heard it too. "What do you think, boy?" Ellen said. "Does that sound like children to you too?"

"Sounds like trouble if you ask me. Stick to the mission!"

Ellen rolled her eyes. "Okay, two things," she said. "One, you are a suit of armor and I outrank you in every possible way. And two, you might have enough power cells left to function for a hundred years, but we are organic beings and need to rest. The mission won't be going anywhere if we fall asleep on the move, thank you very much."

"Pansies," the suit growled before falling silent.

Ellen shook her head and moved on. Up ahead, the metal outline of an old Red Rocket Refueling station reached skyward. The burned-out hulk of a prewar sedan, its windows long since shattered and its wheels gone who knows where, lay slumped at its feet. A few spurs of blackened wood reared up from the ground not far away, mute testimony to where at least one house had been. Beyond, though, Ellen could see larger, more solid shapes- actual houses in viable states of repair. Certainly they looked better than the buildings in Big Town, even without any walls or trenches that Ellen could see. Either this was a ghost town on the order of Minefield, or whoever lived here was armed to the teeth and felt no need for fortifications.

... or they were a small boy in a red cap, a striped shirt, and a pair of trousers. That was a possibility, too. The boy had just darted out from between the ramshackle one-storey house on the left and the taller house beyond, and was standing in the middle of what had once been a street, staring at her. "Er," Ellen said. "Hi?"

"Oh, wow! You're new here, aren't you?" the boy exclaimed. "Wow! I've never got a chance to talk to the new people! Dad always takes care of them before I get a chance!"

Ellen clucked to Dogmeat to sit, and nodded to the boy. "I just got here," she said. "My name's Ellen. What is this place?"

"I'm Johnny Smith," said the boy. "This is Andale. It's a really swell place! Except I wish there were more kids. And my dad says I'll have to marry smelly ol' Jenny Wilson one day. He keeps saying stuff to my mom about keeping the families going, and how when him and Mr. Wilson were brothers, they didn't want to get married-"

"Whoa whoa whoa whoa," Ellen said hastily, blinking at the torrent of information. "Your dad and Mister Wilson are married?"

"No, that's just silly," said Johnny. "They didn't want to marry my mom and Jenny's mom. Mr. Wilson is my uncle. So marrying Jenny's just- weird, or something. I don't want to marry her."

"I... see," said Ellen, who was too polite to say why are you telling me this? out loud. "But you ... like living here otherwise?"

"Sure," said Johnny. "It's a little boring, though. People who come to visit never stay around long."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Dad says it could be worse, that there's a lot of starving kids in other places. But still, I wish I had more kids to play with."

That sounded like it could be a useful opening. "What do your parents do, anyway?" Ellen ventured.

"The same things that all parents do!" Johnny said cheerfully. "Mom cooks and cleans the house, and my dad goes to work with Mr. Wilson. Dad says that when I'm old enough I'll come to work with him and learn the family business!"

Ellen would have asked what the family business was, but just then the door to one of the houses opened. The man who strode out could have easily fit into any one of a dozen pre-war vids from the Vault in his button-down shirt, argyle vest, and pleated trousers. "Hey there!" he called, waving to Ellen.

Johnny sang out, "Hi, Mr. Wilson!" and darted away; Ellen sighed inwardly, but smiled. "Hello, sir," she said. "I hope you don't mind, but I'm new here..."

"So I see. We don't get a lot of- goodness me, whose armor is that?" Mr. Wilson peered at the star-and-stripe markings on the shoulder pieces before shaking his head. "Never mind that. Welcome to Andale. I'm Willy Wilson, although folks just call me Bill. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Well," said Ellen, "you can start by telling me about this town, if you don't mind. It has me curious."

"Why, it's a place to settle down and raise a family!" Bill smiled. "Of course, we don't just let anyone in here. The homeowners' association is very clear on that. Besides, there's no room! As amazing as Andale is, is it any wonder the houses would all be full of happy families?"

Ellen found herself irresistibly reminded of Brailee Ewers, back in Arefu, and her comments about the fall catalog and how lovely everyone's lawns looked. "It's certainly something," she said. "What do you do here?"

"I feed my family and I love my wife and daughter," Bill said. "What else more is there to life, stranger? Family first! And any man who says anything different is saying something wrong. And you should hit that man. With a stick."

...o-kay.

"Listen, I've got some work to catch up on," said Bill, "but you might want to stop by and pay the Smiths a visit. I'm sure they'd love to fill you in on everything around here. That's their house across the way- tell them I said hi, would you?"

"All right," said Ellen. "Thank you, Bill."

"You're welcome! And have a fantastic day."

Ellen shook her head and turned to call Dogmeat over to her side, but the dog was gone. Where he'd run off to, she couldn't say. Probably he'd smelled another mole rat. She'd look for him again in a bit. For the moment, figuring out what this place's deal was- and maybe renting a bed for the night- ranked a little higher on her list of priorities. She strode over to the Smiths' door and knocked with one metal-gloved hand. The woman who answered wore a faded pink sundress that couldn't possibly have been less than two hundred years old. No one had made fabric like that since the War! "Well, hello!" the woman said with a smile. "Welcome to Andale! Winner of the best town in the USA contest!"

"There's a competition?" Ellen blurted. "Seriously?"

"Well- I don't really know who else enters, the woman admitted. "But we're the best one, isn't that what matters? I mean, we're the winners. Us. Not Springfield. Not Rockville. Us."

Ellen blinked.

"So like I was saying," the woman continued blithely, "welcome to Andale. What can the Smith family do for you?"

"Um... my name's Ellen Park," Ellen said. "I'm just trying to find out a little bit about the town-"

She'd meant to continue with before deciding whether to spend the night here, but Mrs. Smith's whole face lit up with a grin as she leapt into the conversational opportunity. "It's the best little town there is," she said. "We don't have a care in the world here. I mean, honestly, what more do you need to know?"

"I've never seen anywhere this... open," Ellen said carefully. There was something about the relentless good cheer that didn't really sit quite right. "It's kind of amazing."

"I know, isn't it?" Mrs. Smith said. "We've got my husband and Bill to thank for that. They're out there every day keeping all of us fed and this whole place just as safe and spiffy as can be. I can't think of anywhere I'd rather live!"

"It really is kind of incredible," Ellen said. It occurred to her that Mrs. Smith was not smiling, for all the cheer in her voice. "Ah..."

"I don't mean to be rude, dear, but my goodness look at the time," Mrs. Smith said. "I've got to go and get dinner ready- would you like to join us for supper? You're welcome to use the upstairs bathroom to wash up if you like."

"I, um- sure," Ellen said, not really certain how to go about getting out of it. "Thank you?"

"Oh, it's no trouble at all," Mrs. Smith said. "Although you might want to change out of that armor. I don't think any of our chairs are really built to hold its weight. Will you need to borrow something to wear?"

"No," said Ellen, thinking of the contents of her pack. "No, I've got my own clothes. I'll be fine, thank you."

"Wonderful. See you soon!"

Ellen trudged up the stairs to the bathroom, which was about as clean as anyone could keep anything in this day and age. There was a pitcher of almost-pure water on the sink, to her surprise; she stopped up the drain and washed her hands and face thoroughly as soon as she was out of the armor. Her Regulator leather duster was almost as stout as real armor, and looked more respectable than her old Vault suit; if she were being perfectly honest, the suit was starting to look rather frayed around the edges... well, it would do under the coat, at least for now. She shimmied into the suit and pulled on the coat, checked for the concealed alien pistol in one pocket, wondered once again where Dogmeat had run off to, and headed back down the stairs.

The presumed man of the house was waiting for her in the living room. His head was shaven, his eyes were blue, and he wore a red button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to mid-bicep. "Hello there, stranger!" he said. "Good to meet you. Name's Jack Smith. I hear you've already met my wife. Sweet lady, isn't she?" He smiled. "But anyway, welcome to Andale, the best little town in Virginia!"

"Um," said Ellen. "Virginia? But I thought-"

"That it was gone? No, ma'am, not in Andale," laughed Jack. "The great Commonwealth of Virginia is alive and well. In fact, we just voted ourselves a new governor!"

"Really?" said Ellen, fascinated despite herself. "How does that work?"

"The adults walked right on down to the polling location and dropped ballots into the box," Jack said. "How did you think it works? Yessir, it's every American's civic duty to cast his vote for his favorite Republican candidate. Am I right?"

It... it was Nathan Vargas, in Megaton, all over again. At least the man wasn't mentioning the Enclave, though. "Okay," said Ellen, even as she started calculating how fast she- damn. She couldn't run for the door, could she, her armor was upstairs...

"Yessir, democracy is God's best gift, right after family, of course," Jack continued.

"Well," Ellen said brightly, "it's good to meet you, Jack." Now please stop talking.

"And it's good to meet you too!" Jack said. "Feel free to stay in Andale as long as you'd like. You'll be joining us for dinner, am I right?"

"Mrs. Smith invited me," Ellen said, "so yes. Is it ready yet?"

"No, not quite," said Jack. "Linda's putting on a few finishing touches as we speak."

"In that case, do you mind if I step outside for a moment?" Ellen said. "My dog ran off when I was talking to Mr. Wilson earlier, and I want to make sure he's all right."

"Why sure," said Jack. "Be back in ten minutes, though, or your portion's going to get cold!"

"Of course, sir," Ellen said, and made for the door. The instant it closed behind her, she ran both her hands over her face. This was not where she wanted to be. Whatever was going on here, she wanted no part of it. No human being was that flatly cheerful all the time. It was like talking to Andy, back in the Vault; she half expected a rotary saw or a flamethrower to pop out mid-conversation. Hopefully she could get through dinner without trouble, then round up Dogmeat and her armor and get the heck out of town. She'd find somewhere less disturbing to sleep, like a yao guai den.

Speaking of which, where was he? "Dogmeat?" she called.

There came a faint whuf! from around the far side of the Smiths' house. Curious, Ellen started in that direction- and then stopped. Dogmeat was trotting towards her, covered in dirt as if he'd been digging. His ears were perked, his tail held high, and he had a half-skinned human arm clenched in his teeth, the hand trailing in the dust.

Ellen couldn't have moved if her life depended on it. As Dogmeat dropped the arm at her feet and barked, she whispered, "Where did you get that?"

He barked again and darted off. Ellen followed.

---

Ellen emerged from the ungodly stench of the root cellar, gasping for untainted air and shivering with a cold no coat could ever remedy. Ohgod. Ohgod. Ohgod. I just. They. I lost count. Ohgod.

She was looking around frantically for a place to throw up for a third time when "Hey there, stranger," reached her ears. She jerked up straight, turning swiftly to find herself face-to-face with Jack Smith. The man looked as neat and proper as before, but he had a scoped revolver in his hand, ready to fire; behind him, Mrs. Smith was thumbing the blade of a large kitchen knife, and Bill Wilson was loading his own gun. "I've got something I wanted to talk to you about. I couldn't help but notice somebody was poking around in my cellar."

There was absolutely nothing of a smile to either his voice or his eyes.

"So, did you find what you were looking for in there?"

Her mouth didn't work. Her voice didn't work. Ellen turned and cast a glance into that Godforsaken hole behind her, tried not to breathe in.

"Well?"

"Yes, and I saw what you're hiding in there, you sick bastard!" she blurted out.

"I'm disappointed in you, stranger," Jack said. "So quick to judge us. Did you ever stop to think that I had a family to support here?"

"That- what- like that?" Ellen wailed, waving a hand at the hole. "You-"

"'Judge not, lest ye be judged,' like the Good Book says," Jack answered smoothly. "Honestly, how many people have you killed? The only difference between us is that I'm bringing home the bacon for my family."

Ellen's jaw snapped shut at that. Sir, she thought, half dazed and half swamped with rage, you did NOT just say that.

"There's nothing wrong with me, anyway," he continued. "We've lived this way for decades. After the war, four families survived here. They continued on just like we have. But when their shelters ran out of food, they had to eat something. Family is everything, my friend. I wouldn't expect a wasteland wanderer like you to understand."

You so did not say that...

"Now," said Jack, "I'm going to give you one more chance to think it all over. Really, it's not that hard a decision to come to. Put up a stink, and, well, we know where our next meal is coming from. Treat our way of life with the respect it deserves, and we'll let you go. Peacefully, quietly, and completely without incident."

The daze dropped away. There was only a clean, blue-white fury that annihilated all the uncertainty in her thoughts.

"No," Ellen said, and her hand curled around the grip of her concealed alien pistol. "Not without incident."