Megaton Dreaming

The sun cut through the damaged atmosphere over the subtropical desert with all its usual relentlessness, pouring through windows that had last seen glass two hundred years ago (if that) and shabby curtains to fall precisely into everyone's eyes as they slept. The room was full of battered, dried out mementos of another age, mostly toys and books, all cracked and crumbling. A slight humming came from somewhere underneath them, almost drowned out by a staticky radio playing Cole Porter. The air was still and heavy, touched with a scorched, chemical smell that hung over everything, a strangely inorganic smell that seemed to overpower any hint of living things. No hint of anything green, of sweat, even of decay, just that smoky, biting trace in the air. Someone with an unnaturally heavy step was moving in the house, and the sheet metal that made up most of the place softly squealed its protests. The very air hummed with a strange energy, like it was about to storm, though it was so dry it didn't seem like rain was the remotest possibility.

In other words, home. Indrani shifted in bed, head pillowed on her copy of The Wasteland Survival Guide, two ancient stuffed bears and Dogmeat curled beside her, and was perfectly content for a moment. Then she realized it was months, maybe a year, since she'd woken in her own bed, and she hauled herself upright, looking around hurriedly.