2: The Last Minuteman
With Dogmeat scouting ahead of them, Preston Garvey’s weary band of refugees made their way slowly down the road, pausing every once in a while for Mama Murphy to catch her breath. He noticed that the enigmatic old woman had taken a real shine to the newcomer, but he wasn’t yet convinced that the feeling was mutual.
Myra Larimer, the young woman who’d saved their hides, had been injured a bit more than they’d initially thought in her battle against the deathclaw, and limped along as best she could on a swollen, possibly sprained ankle. The left side of her head had taken quite a beating when the deathclaw had torn her helmet off, leaving her with a deep gash across her hairline that almost looked like a coronet of blood. They had managed to slow the bleeding with one of their remaining stimpacks, but the wound would probably still scar. Fortunately for her, besides severe bruising, these were the worst of her injuries.
Unfortunately for her, her unsteady gait put her near the back of the group, so there was little she could do but try to politely listen to Mama Murphy as the old woman kept rambling to her about energy and children and other things Preston couldn’t entirely overhear from his position at the front of the party.
Preston still didn’t quite understand Mama Murphy’s “Sight,” but he couldn’t deny that the old woman’s visions had saved his life--hell, all their lives--more than once since the attack on Quincy. And given their situation, he couldn’t exactly afford to be skeptical. He needed all the help he could get.
But Myra had not lived through what he had. She had not lost the lives he’d lost, or been forced to carry the guilt of an entire militia on her shoulders. He couldn’t expect her to embrace the old woman’s counsel the way he had.
Myra kept looking around the wilderness that surrounded the fragmented roadway anxiously, as though hoping the wastes would conjure her a distraction, some excuse to peel away from the group. She idly ran her thumb down the stock of her little black 10mm pistol, having passed the laser musket she’d picked up to Sturges along with her other, heavier gear.
The great ox of a mechanic didn’t seem to mind wearing the battered suit of power armor as he bounded along next to Preston, chattering about all the improvements he wanted to make to the set.
“... and I can adjust the frame so it fits her better, too,” rambled Sturges, his voice tinny and almost robotic from within the battered helmet. “Poor girl could barely move during that fight, you know. I wonder if we can find some paint after I clean this thing up. What color do you think would look the best?”
“I don’t know, Brian,” replied Preston. “Maybe you should ask her yourself, once things settle down. It’s her suit, after all.”
As Preston stole another glance back at the young woman, her brilliant emerald eyes caught his.
“Save me,” she mouthed, and he suppressed a small chuckle.
“Keep an eye on the Longs, ok, Sturges? I need to go check on something. Just keep following this road for now.”
“You got it,” he mechanic’s familiar drawl echoed.
Preston slowed his pace, allowing Mama Murphy and Myra to catch up with him.
“Hey, Mama, how much further is it to Sanctuary, do you think?” he asked the older woman, glancing at Myra in his peripheral vision.
The white-haired young woman winked at him before quickly looking away, pretending she hadn’t noticed his arrival. So that’s the way she wanted to play it.
“Not far now, Preston,” croaked Mama Murphy, her bleary blue eyes staring into the distance. “I can almost see it… just past the gas station.”
“Excellent. Then we might make it there before nightfall. Listen, can I borrow Myra for a second?”
“Of course you can! I see a long and fruitful partnership between the two of you, you know, Preston. You’d do well to keep her close.”
He frowned as her words sunk in, pondering them carefully. Mama’s visions were usually quite cryptic, but there were only a few ways he could interpret what she’d said. She was either suggesting a romantic partnership or a business partnership. Possibly both. Either way, perhaps Myra was exactly what he was looking for.
The old crone turned to Myra, weakly clasping her narrow fingers in her leathery hand like an owl grasping a tree branch.
“I’ll talk to you later, kid,” she murmured with a weak smile. “Maybe after you bring me some Jet…”
Preston sighed, pulling Myra away. “Stop trying to get drugs from everyone, Mama.”
“Ah, Preston, I told you, we need the Sight. She needs it, too. Why do you insist on saving the life of an old woman at the possible cost of your own?”
“Someone has to protect you from yourself.”
“Mama Murphy was looking after herself long before you were even born, don’t you forget it.”
Preston sighed. There was no reasoning with the old woman sometimes. “We’ll talk about this later,” he muttered, leading their savior away. He helped Myra along as she hobbled painfully beside him, offering his arm to steady her. “Easy, hero,” he soothed. “I’ve got you.”
“Thanks, Preston,” she replied, her hand gripping his forearm tightly as she leaned into him. “I thought I was going to have to start claiming psychic powers of my own, just to get her to leave me alone.”
“Don’t mention it. It’s not like I don’t owe you one.”
“Just one? Come on, man. That lizard was worth at least four. Not to mention the raiders.”
He smiled down at her warmly. “Well, you’re probably right about that,” he replied, “But I paid you for the raiders, remember?”
“Which I explicitly asked you not to. And, by the way, you paid me in bottle caps, so, not exactly a fair trade.”
He stared at her, confused. “Did I not pay you enough? It seemed like a fair price to me.”
“It’s the bottle cap thing I’m having trouble with,” Myra replied. “Is that really the currency people use now? Talk about one man’s trash.”
“What do you mean?” He stopped walking, turning his full attention to the young woman. He gently parted the hair around the savage gash in her scalp, analyzing the wound carefully. Maybe her head injury was worse than he’d thought. Did she have a concussion?
She hissed in pain as his fingers grazed a particularly tender spot, flinching away from him with wounded eyes. “Hey! That hurts, Preston!”
“I’m sorry. I’m a little worried about your head. We’ve used caps as currency since the Great War.”
“I...I’m sorry. There’s a lot about this world I don’t understand. I only got here recently.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m from Vault 111.”
So she was a vault dweller. That made a bit more sense, and explained the Pip-Boy strapped to her wrist. He’d assumed she’d looted it at some point. “Well, for a vault dweller, you definitely fight well,” he managed. “I wouldn’t have known.”
“Thanks, I guess,” she replied with a smirk. “But like I was saying, the world’s just so different now. It’s a little overwhelming. How do you deal with all the criminals and monsters all the time? I don’t suppose there’s an abundance of jails.”
He thought for a moment. If he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t dealing with the horrors of this world particularly well. After all, he was the last of a group of so-called “good guys” who had turned their backs on the people who needed them the most. Sometimes, he felt like the only person in the world who still gave a damn about other people, and that horrified him.
He hadn’t expected them to survive Concord, and he honestly wasn’t sure he even wanted to. What was the point? His group would make it to Sanctuary, and then what? How long would it take before they were run out of there as well? There were no safe havens, and no one who could protect them. At least, that was the case if Preston Garvey was the best thing the Commonwealth had to offer. He was a failure, and he would never be more than that.
But how could he tell Myra that? She was already so alone in this world. Preston couldn’t really save anyone, not even himself. But she was new to the Commonwealth, and had already proven her salt as far as he was concerned with how she’d handled that deathclaw. Maybe, if he told her what she needed to hear, he could save her from the fear that already consumed him. And, if he was very lucky indeed, she would save them all.
“Well, I just do the best I can,” he managed. “Help people when I’m able. And protect people who need it, if I can. Sometimes, though, all I can do is slog my way through another day, and just be grateful that I’m still here.”
“Sounds like a hell of a way to live,” Myra muttered.
“I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t,” Preston replied. “But you’ll see. I still believe that there’s more good than bad out here in the Commonwealth, if you know where to look for it. I mean, it brought us you when we needed you.”
Myra blushed slightly, turning away from him and limping towards a small trail that emerged from the underbrush nearby.
Preston wasn’t sure if she’d believed him. He wasn’t particularly accustomed to lying, and frankly, he wasn’t wanting to pick up the habit. Life was hard enough when you could trust the people around you. Quincy had taught him how much worse it was when you couldn’t.
“Come on,” she called to him over her shoulder. “You said you wanted to reach Sanctuary by sundown, right? I know a shortcut.” She whistled loudly, and Dogmeat came barreling down the road toward them, barking excitedly. “Come on, boy!” she exclaimed. “This way!”
“Do I even want to know how you already know about Sanctuary?” asked Preston, eyeing her curiously.
“I used to live there, before the War. Come on, I’ll show you!”
“Before the… hey! Wait! Before the War?”
He motioned to the others before following her down the trail towards what he hoped would become home.
::::
As they entered the dilapidated subdivision, an old Mr. Handy unit rushed towards them, its motor whirring frantically. “Miss Myra!” scolded the Mr. Handy. “You promised if I let you go alone you would take care of yourself! What do you call this?”
“I’m alive, aren’t I, Codsworth?”
“Oh, tut-tut, mum. You know as well as I do that survival is hardly the baseline for a successful venture. And who are your new friends?”
Preston removed his hat in salute to the robot. “I’m Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen, and these people are settlers, under my protection. We are… well, we were hoping to live here, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not! If Miss Myra trusts you, then I shall trust you. It will be good to see the old place full of life again. It’s been so quiet since everyone went away, you know.”
“Thank you. I promise we’ll take good care of the place.”
“You had best, or you’ll have me to deal with, sir.” The robot swiveled its eyes back to Myra, clicking in annoyance. “Well, come on inside, then. Sit down on the couch, and let’s tend to those injuries, shall we?”
“I’m fine, Codsworth. Stop fussing.”
“You can barely walk! Oh, and your poor head! I really must insist you let me tend to you.”
“Oh, all right,” Myra sighed, “but I’m not waiting for a clean bill of health from you. I’ve got other things that need to get taken care of. These people need a place to sleep, for starters.”
“Whoa, there, young lady,” piped Sturges, “your robot’s absolutely right. You need to rest. Don’t worry. I can get started on the repairs to our little settlement without you. It’ll take long enough just to get the debris cleared.”
Preston nodded in agreement. “Trust me, there will be plenty for you to do once you’re back to full strength. You’re no good to anyone if you aggravate that ankle of yours.”
Myra sighed, rolling her eyes. “Fine. But I’m helping you first thing tomorrow, no matter what.”
Preston nodded. “Well, I’ll hold you to it, then. Good night, Myra.”
“Good night, Preston.”
::::
The next day, Preston awoke to the sound of hushed cussing and heavy dragging from beyond his room. He slipped out of his sleeping bag, grabbed his laser musket, and quietly stalked into the living room of the derelict house he’d laid claim to.
“Stupid piece of shit,” muttered Myra, grunting in effort as she tried to move a pile of twisted metal and fabric that had once been a couch towards the second bedroom of the house. Her face screwed up in pain as a piece of rebar fell from the pile, smacking her on her already sore ankle, but she stifled her scream of pain by biting her bottom lip.
Preston flung his musket over his shoulder and rushed over to her, lifting the far side of the junk pile fairly effortlessly. “Here, let me help you with that,” he offered.
“I’ve got it, Preston,” she replied coolly, glaring at the minuteman. “Please. Just...just let me do this.”
“And let you keep hurting yourself? Come on, Myra. What are you trying to prove?”
“Nothing. I’m just trying to build you and your friends some proper beds. I don’t need your help. Nor did I ask for it. Please, just leave me alone.”
He sighed heavily, lowering the pile of scrap to the floor. So this was how it was going to go. “Fine,” he replied. "But sooner or later, you’re going to realize that you can never have too many friends in this world. And I hope you won’t have burned every bridge still standing by the time you figure that out.”
He stormed out of the house and went to find something to eat. He’d need all the strength he could get if they were going to make this settlement secure.
As Preston moved towards the cooking fire, Brian Sturges caught his eye. His friend jogged towards him, concern darkening his handsome face. “What mole rat broke into your storeroom this morning, Preston?”
“Just that damned vault dweller. I’ve never met anyone as frustrating as her in my entire life.”
“That bad, huh? What did she do this time?”
“She’s just… I don’t know. I don’t understand how someone can care so much about other people, but still be such an asshole. She woke me up trying to rearrange the furniture in my house, and then bit my head off when I tried to help her.”
“Well, did she want help?”
“No, but she needed it. She’s going to hurt herself, trying to do that alone with her leg still messed up like it is.”
“Well, did it ever occur to you that maybe she’s scared of being seen as weak?” asked Sturges.
“I...what?”
“Think about it. She’s out of her element, here. The world’s not the same as what she’s used to. I’d bet she’s terrified that if she shows weakness, she’ll be picked off. Hell, even people who have lived in the Commonwealth their whole lives are afraid of that. Don’t you think that might be a possibility?”
“But she doesn’t have to be scared of us! Doesn’t she understand that?”
“No offense, Preston, but she just met us yesterday. And with the reputation the Minutemen have these days…”
Preston rubbed his eyes with a sigh. “You’re not wrong, Brian. But we need her. And that means we need her to trust us...to trust me.”
“Then give her some space, and let her get to know us before you start barking orders at her, ok? Being pushy will just alienate her more. Let her come to you.”
Preston nodded. “You’re probably right. Let’s see what’s cooking, and then you and I can get to work on fortifying the main road. I’ll let Myra figure her own schedule out for now.”
::::
Several hours passed in sweat and strain as the refugees from Quincy labored to turn the derelict subdivision into a passable home. Marcy and Mama Murphy had begun planting crops along the riverbank. Jun, for his part, was hard at work sorting through the rubble of the ruined houses for useful materials, which Preston and Sturges then used to build fortifications. Any extra goods were added to the storage room in Sturges’ house to be used later. It was a long, hot, exhausting process, even in the chilly October air.
Preston and Sturges had just finished building the frame for a large gate near the entrance to the island when Jun ran up to them, breathless. “Hey, um, did you guys hear that scream?” he asked in his soft, sad voice, his dark eyes wide with fear.
They looked at each other, shaking their heads.
“Well, um, it came from one of the houses, I think,” he continued. “Do you think it’s ghouls or something?”
Preston wiped his grimy hands on his pants before sliding the strap of his laser musket off his shoulder, readying the weapon. “I’ll go check it out,” he reassured the shell-shocked man. “Jun, stay with Sturges until I say it’s safe, ok?”
The slight asian man nodded in reply, and Preston shot a gentle smile of reassurance at him before heading deeper into the cul-du-sac.
He found the source of the noise quite quickly, thanks to Dogmeat. The large german shepherd paced frantically outside one of the houses, whining and scratching at the wall repeatedly with his paw.
“What is it, boy?” Preston asked. “What’s in there?”
“Um, hey Preston,” sighed a familiar voice from inside the house. “Don’t laugh, but I could really use some help.”
“Myra? What’s going on?”
“Quicker would be better,” she hissed in reply.
He entered the house carefully, looking around the living room for her. She was nowhere to be seen.
“Um, hey. Up here.”
He turned his gaze towards the roof, and had to stifle a deep chortle at the sight before him.
The vault dweller’s entire lower body dangled from the ceiling like an embarrassed chandelier, her chest firmly caught in the twisted wreckage of the roof. Her injured leg dangled uselessly while she kicked at the air with the other, desperately trying to knock herself loose to little success
.
“What the hell happened to you?” asked Preston.
“I was going after a duffle bag up here and I slipped,” her voice rang out from beyond the ruined roof. “Yes, I know, it’s ridiculous. Can you get me free or not?”
“Are you saying you’d like my help?” Preston asked, grinning at her.
“Yes, please.”
“I don’t know… maybe I should just make you wait it out for a little bit.”
“Please, Preston! I don’t want anyone else to see me like this.”
“Okay, Myra. Here’s the deal. I’ll get you out, but you have to promise me that you’ll take a lesson from this. You can’t do everything on your own all the time. There’s no shame in asking for help.”
“I don’t know about that,” she muttered angrily. “I’m feeling plenty of shame right now.”
“Or I can leave you there, and we’ll see how Mama Murphy likes her new ceiling decor. Personally, I think it’s a pretty interesting piece. Lots of drama.”
“Will you shut up and get me down?”
“Will you agree to stop being such a jerk when someone’s trying to be nice to you?”
Myra stopped kicking for a moment, contemplating his offer. “No promises. But I’ll try,” she added.
“Then I’ll try to get you down,” he shot back.
He thought for a moment. It would be little trouble for him to grab the ladder Sturges had made that morning and use it to reach the roof, or he could ask Myra how she’d gotten up there. But that still left her stuck in the ceiling. There was really only one solution. They had to widen the hole. “Hang on, Myra,” he called to her. “I’m going to go get a mattress.”
“What? Why?”
“Just… just hold on.” He headed to the bedroom, grateful that they’d at least gotten a basic mattress finished for this place, and hauled the lumpy rectangle back to the living room, placing it under Myra. “Ok, now, this is the hard part,” he said, readying his laser musket. “I’m going to need you to stay very still.”
“Why? What are you… did you just crank your stupid musket? Are you crazy? Preston, no! You’re going to kill me!”
“Only if I miss. Now hold still.”
The laser blast was deafening in the enclosed space. The crash that followed was a little more so.
“Oww! What the hell?” cried Myra, rubbing her midsection gingerly as she lay sprawled out on the mattress, covered in debris. “I think you singed me a little!”
“Well, if you can whine, I know you’re alive,” replied Preston cooly. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
“Thanks, I guess.”
He knelt beside her, peering into her angry green eyes. “Look, Myra, I’m sorry for earlier. I know I should have asked if you needed help before I tried to intervene. But I wasn’t meaning to imply that you were weak or anything. I just wanted you to take better care of yourself, and let the rest of us pick up some of the slack. You saved our lives, and helped us find a home. We owe you.”
“I know, Preston,” she replied with a sigh, glancing away from him to study the floor. “I’m sorry for snapping at you. I just… it reminded me of something Nate would do, helping me without asking, like I was made of glass.”
“Nate?”
“My husband. He...he died. In the vault. Someone murdered him, right in front of me. He was always so strong, so brave, and they just… He wasn’t even able to fight back. I guess I…”
“You’re afraid of the same thing happening to you.”
“Ever since I woke up, I’ve felt like I’m not in control of my own life. I barely remember even leaving the vault, do you know that? I remember seeing the sun, then waking up on my couch with Codsworth fussing over me. Apparently, some wastelander brought me home. I could have been killed, or worse, and I wouldn’t have even known.”
“That sounds pretty awful. I’m sorry.”
“Then, I got to Concord, hoping to find some help, and I found you guys instead. I had to help you, but I had no idea what I was doing. I killed people, Preston.”
“They would have done worse to you if you hadn’t.”
“I know that. But still...that’s not me. I’m not a fighter. I’m Myra Larimer, fresh out of law school, wife and mother. I’m not...I’m not cut out for this.”
“Myra,” Preston soothed, placing a hand on her shoulder, “do you really have a choice?”
She stared at him in surprise. “A choice?”
“The Commonwealth is brutal. You need to either continue adapting to it, or it will kill you. And you don’t seem like the kind of person who’s ready to die, not yet. Trust me. I know that kind of person all too well. So there will be times that you have to become more than what you think you are. And that’s not something to be afraid of. It’s just something that has to happen, like you killing that deathclaw.”
He saw a flash of something like guilt in her eyes, which she quickly swallowed away. “So it’s fight or die?”
“Exactly. Which are you going to choose?”
She thought for a long moment before hauling herself off the filthy mattress, using his shoulder as a handle. She stared down at him with defiant eyes, her mouth set in a firm line. “Well, then, I’m going to fight.”
“Excellent. That, I can work with. Now, let’s find a way you can help that takes weight off your leg, okay? At least for a couple days. Then, when you’re feeling better, I think I have a job you’d be perfect for.”
::::
A week passed quickly, and Sanctuary was swiftly becoming a functional settlement. With Myra’s help, the former residents of Quincy had managed to clean up much of the surrounding area. The houses that were beyond their ability to repair had been dismantled, and most of the other dwellings had been repaired to habitable condition.
At Preston’s insistence, they had built enough beds to house three or four people in every house, save one right by the main gate which Marcy Long, Jun’s wife, had turned into a bar and mess hall. It had given the fearsome woman her own domain, keeping her busy and the rest of the settlers safe from her ire. Preston thought this was for the best.
They were making steady progress on a wall around the island, punctuated every twenty feet or so with a guard post and turrets. Sturges had designed the whole defense system, and he made sure everyone knew it.
Myra’s leg had healed to the point at which she could put her full weight on it again, and she was restless. Preston could see it in her eyes as she threw the switch on the settlement recruitment beacon they had set up that afternoon.
“Excellent work, Myra!” he exclaimed, beaming at her. “With a little luck, our settlement can grow into a nice little town now!”
“We’ve certainly accomplished a lot. Sturges says the water purifier's almost up and running, so we won’t have to keep boiling the crap out of the river water and hoping for the best.”
“That’s great news.”
“Isn’t it? Well, hey, if you don’t need anything else right now, I thought I’d take a walk, check on the farm.”
“Actually, I do have something else for you,” he replied, “if you don’t mind.”
“I’m listening.”
“I got word from a settlement nearby, asking for help from the Minutemen. And right now, that’s just me. I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind running over there and finding out what they need.”
“You know I’d love to get out of here for a few days,” said Myra, “but why can’t you do it?”
Preston’s heart dropped. “I...I can’t. After what happened at Quincy, I can’t look those people in the eye and tell them they can count on me. But you have a way with people. Maybe, if they see you instead of the last remnant of a failed militia, they’ll be more inclined to trust the Minutemen again.”
She stared at him silently, her face blank, so after a moment, he continued.
“Look, I’m not asking you to lie to them. But we need to start gathering allies, or our little settlement here isn’t going to survive very long. We can build all the walls we want, but if no one’s out there to help us when we’re under attack, we’ll die. And the same goes for all the other settlements out there. The only way we all can stay safe is if we work together. I just need you to remind them of that.”
Myra sighed. “And you want me to, what, unite them under your flag again?”
He shook his head. “For now, I just want you to find out what they need and help them, if you can. Will you do that for me?”
“All right. But if they make me do something weird, I’m blaming you.”
“Noted.”
Myra dashed to her house, returning a few minutes later with a backpack full of supplies, her pistol resting comfortably on her hip. She grinned at him widely. “Ok, I’m ready to go.” Dogmeat plodded up to her, his tail wagging enthusiastically. She leaned down, scratching the large german shepherd behind his ears. “Keep Dogmeat with you, Preston,” she requested. “I’ll feel better if I know someone’s looking after him.”
“You’re sure?”
She nodded vehemently. “I can’t bear the thought of him getting hurt because of me. He’s a good boy, and I’ll miss him, but he’s safer here in Sanctuary.”
“Well, I won’t complain about having him nearby, that’s for sure,” Preston replied, a worried smile on his face,” but what if you need help?”
“Relax, Preston. I can handle myself.”
“If you say so. Look, Myra, I have to be honest with you, if there was anyone else I could trust, I wouldn’t be sending you out there. After what you went through for us in Concord, no one would blame you if you said no.”
“But you said it yourself, Preston. There is no one else. And those people need help. I’m not so vulnerable that I’ll turn my back on someone who needs me.”
“You’d make a fine minuteman, you know.”
“Well, let’s just see if I come back in one piece first, okay, Preston?”
“Sure thing, Myra.”
She waved goodbye lazily with one hand as she made her way to the bridge. He watched her for a few moments before pulling the gate shut behind her, obscuring the young woman from view.
“Well, I’d say she’s a keeper,” crooned Sturges, walking up from the side of house he was refurbishing.
“She’s certainly something,” replied Preston, smiling grimly at his friend. “Now, let’s go see what we can do about fortifying the northwest side of our new home. I have a feeling that the old trail there is a bit of a highway for wild animals.”
“I was just about to suggest that. Well, add it to our to-do list, at least. Even with Myra’s help, it’s going to take a lot more work to make this place a real home.”
“Here’s hoping we actually have the time to make it one.”
::::
A few days later, Myra appeared at the gate, caked in blood and gunpowder, her hair blown loose and wild about her filthy face. She shot Preston a thumbs-up, smirking up at him. “Honey, I’m home! Please tell me we have clean water finally.”
Preston tore down the guard post steps and opened the gate hastily, ushering her inside.
“What the hell happened out there?” he cried. “You look like death.”
“The good news,” Myra piped, “is that Tenpines Bluff has agreed to support the Minutemen again. The bad news is that they wanted me to clear a huge automotive factory full of raiders before they’d agree to it.”
“Damn,” he cursed. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting that. I thought they might need help scaring some raiders off, but they sent you after the gang at Corvega instead? I wouldn’t have agreed to that if we had a whole squad at our disposal! This is why we used to ask people to tell us what their problem was before we sent troops out.”
“Well, it wouldn’t have changed anything,” Myra replied. “I mean, I was the only one you could send anyway, so what difference would it have made?”
“I could have at least made you take a bigger gun.”
“But I like my gun. It’s compact, yes, but it’s comfortable and accurate. I don’t need anything else.”
“Or maybe I could have encouraged you to wear some actual armor.”
“What? And cover up my lucky shirt? I love this shirt.”
“Myra,” he warned, “can you please take this more seriously? You could have died.”
“But I didn’t. And most of this blood isn’t even mine. Okay, well, some of it isn’t mine. Are you just going to lecture me, or can I get a bath first?”
He sighed heavily. “Fine. Go ahead. But you and I need to talk when you’re cleaned up.”
“If you insist,” she muttered, stalking off towards her house.
Preston eased himself down on the steps of the guard post, resting his head in his hands. He had begged and wished for someone to help him, to save the Minutemen. And whatever twisted powers governed such things had sent him Myra Larimer. He wasn’t sure who was more insane, her for being so willing to throw herself into danger, or him for deciding to rely on her. Maybe it was better to give up now, to recognize that the Minutemen were really gone for good. At least then he wouldn’t be leaving their fate in the hands of a half-crazed vault dweller.
But was he really ready to let the dream of a united Commonwealth go, when he’d finally found another person willing to die for it? Boston itself was steeped in the stories of great men and women who had attempted even more ambitious things than that. How many of those powerful figures of the past were considered just as foolhardy as he now saw Myra? Perhaps she was exactly what he’d been looking for.
Either way, he knew he couldn’t wait around for someone else to lead them, and he certainly wasn’t up to the job. He could barely keep himself together, let alone the whole Commonwealth. But there was something about her that told him that she might be able to pull it off, if he just gave her the right guidance.
Myra returned to the gate a while later, her brilliant white hair once again tucked into a messy bun under her cap. Her favorite shirt was missing, probably soaking, and she was instead wearing a tattered brown leather jacket that was way too big for her frame, along with a ratty pink skirt. “Well, I feel worlds better. Thank God for Sturges, and thank Sturges for clean water!”
“It’s definitely a luxury,” he agreed. “Now, do you have time to talk?”
She nodded, saying, “I’ve braced myself for more lecturing. Let’s do this.”
“I wasn’t planning on a lecture. Unless you think you deserve one.”
“Nope. I’m good. What did you want to talk about?”
“Well, first, I wanted to give you this,” he said, handing her a flare gun and a few flares. “We used to use these to signal to other Minutemen when we needed backup. It’s not much use now, but hopefully it will be in the future.”
“You mean when there are more Minutemen again?”
He nodded, studying her face. What would she say, once he asked her? Was she ready? Would she ever be? “Myra, I...I wanted to ask you for another favor. I know all I’ve done is ask for help, but I promise that, if you say no, this will be the last thing I ever ask of you.”
“What is it, Preston?” she asked, her rich emerald eyes shining with curiosity as she palmed the flare gun.
“I… The Commonwealth needs the Minutemen, Myra. I think you already see that. But I can’t bring them back. Not alone. People need someone they can trust to rally behind, someone brave and strong and compassionate who can really give them something to believe in again. And I think… I hope, that that’s you.”
“Are you asking me what I think you’re asking me?”
“Myra, please, will you rebuild the Minutemen? Will you lead us?”
“Did you hit your head while I was away? Why on earth would you ask me to do that? I don’t know the first thing about leading an army.”
“I know. I know. But I’ll help you.”
“Then why can’t you do it yourself?”
“Because… because I don’t have what it takes. The aftermath of Quincy proved that. I’m not a leader, Myra. I’m a footsoldier, an advisor at the very most. But we need someone who can be more than that. I believe what we need is you.”
“Can I think about it? This is… this is a lot to take in.”
“Of course. Take as long as you need. And no matter what you decide, know that you’re always welcome here.”
“Thanks, Preston. I mean, I’d hoped so. This is my home, after all.” And with that, she wandered back towards her house, leaving him alone again.
“I really hope this works,” Preston muttered to himself. “I don’t know what we’re going to do if she says no.”