Note from the Wasteland: The following entries are from a series of letters discovered in the former city of Boston, Massachusetts, in 2340 AD. They are from a woman named Daphne, out in a small wasteland settlement known as Croup Manor, to her sister in Diamond City. Many of the letters contained photographs that I have interspersed throughout the narrative, with her captions where possible (in quotations) and mine where there was no description.
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April, 2288
Dearest Lucy,
So, from the chaos has emerged the Institute. The dropships are gone, and as Miranda puts it, so has 'all chance for peace in our time'. She likes to be dramatic. It's not like there was much peace before. But now we have these robots walking around telling people they’re in charge now. Apparently they fired up a new reactor that’s supposed to mean clean water for everyone. No more fighting bands of Raiders for scraps and stims. I guess down there in the big city you'd know more about it than I do. Do you think we'll really have peace here? I suppose time will tell. But how much time do we really have?
What I know is, I’ve bought myself some. I've come here to a place called Croup Manor, drawn to it by a signal beacon. I'd been sleeping in a ditch inside a ruined house and I was running low on water and had five measly .38 rounds in my pocket. I'd like to say I just needed a place to regroup for a while, trade some caps for some food and ammo before setting off again. But the truth is, I was tired, big sister, so I thought I’d do what you keep telling me to do and settle in somewhere rather than wandering the wasteland forever. Well, here I am.
This settlement was built by the guy that helped the Institute (they call him the Wanderer), so I figured that’s a good sign. I mean, at the very least I’m on the side that’s winning. Well, for now. It’s a nice place, a big old house on a hill, a little worse for wear, like all of us. It’s a little remote, but it’s out on a peninsula so it’s relatively easy to defend. That's what Miranda says anyway. I guess we’ll find out soon enough.
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| 'The Croup Manor. This was taken the day before the defences started going up.' |
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| 'Miranda heading to work. It's not a good idea to get in her way.' |
I don’t know about all that. Fact is now I got a roof and a bed to call my own. I got corn and carrots and mutfruit and potatoes, grown by our own hands, and clean water. Oh Lord, the clean water! What a relief that is. Maybe my stomach can finally settle down, as my weary bones have.
The Wanderer (his real name is Marius) put up walls around this place and turrets to protect us at night. I guess he liked the look of me, because he assigned me to the east guard tower and gave me a shiny new hunting rifle he said he’d modded himself. The thing takes .308s! It damn near took my shoulder apart the first time I fired it. It sure as hell beats that crappy little pipe pistol I’ve been carrying around with me these last few months. I think even the radroaches laughed at that peashooter. He gave me some metal armor too. Not sure about it yet, but it is protection. I guess carrying a little extra weight is a small price to pay for safe refuge.
The thing I like most, and this is silly… it’s the sunglasses. He gave me a pair of sunglasses. They’re not much, a little rusty and one of the lenses is scratched, but I don’t mind. During the day they cut the awful glare from out there in the Glowing Sea, and sometimes when I put them on at night I can, for just a moment, imagine that I’m somewhere else. In a world and a time that existed before the great god fell through the Earth and the land of steel and oil was consumed by fire.
Anyway, we’ve got guns, we’ve got food, we’ve got water and shelter and those beautiful turrets (my first night, their constant rattling back and forth gave me the best night’s sleep I’d had in some time), and so for now, we have hope. There are seven of us here so far, but the recruitment beacon is still turned on, humming away, so others may yet come to join us here in our little patch of paradise.
The best days here are when the Wanderer comes to check on the farm. He brings his dog with him. While his owner fiddles at the workshop, Dogmeat scurries about. He comes up onto my guard tower sometimes and sniffs at my boots. I like that. He must really love that dog. He built a doghouse for him. That more than anything else, more than the turrets, more than the ten-foot high fences, more than the guns, makes me feel secure. Because maybe if he feels the need to build a permanent shelter for a friend who has travelled the wasteland with him, and been through god-knows-what hells and seen and done god-knows-what unspeakable things to survive… I figure maybe it means we’re going to be here awhile.
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| 'Our little patch of paradise. That's Dogmeat in the lower left.' |
I’m not sure about the Wanderer yet. He’s mysterious, really quiet, but there is danger about him. He seems to have access to a lot of weapons and armor, which tells me only one thing so far – he’s a survivor. I arrived the day after the guy had taken off with the equipment the Wanderer had given him. Everyone was assembled by the bell. The Wanderer asked if we’d seen the thief leave (no-one had), and then just walked slowly around the group, as if counting us. He didn’t say anything, just turned and left. From my tower I saw him, rifle drawn, scouring the peninsula looking for the guy. In the distance I heard gunfire, then a few hours later he returned and deposited some fresh Mirelurk meat in the workshop. A lot of Mirelurk meat. Then, silently, he counted us again, and then he left.
I know the owner of the weapon I was given met some awful fate: the Wanderer had wiped the blood clean but I can see spots where it soaked into the wood of the stock. He wasn’t forthcoming, and I didn’t ask. I don’t even want to know where my armor came from (or more specifically, from whose body it was torn). Anyway, apparently at first the Wanderer spent lots of time here, putting up the fences, installing the turrets, planting the crops. Now, he comes and goes every few days. Sometimes he takes some of our food with him, other times he walks around checking on the turrets and the fences. Sometimes he just stands up on the top floor of the old house and looks out over the landscape. It’s like he’s searching for something. Maybe one day I’ll work up the courage to ask what. I know one thing: I am glad he’s on our side.
Well, the sun is coming up, I will bid you bye for now, dear sister. I have to get out there and stand my post for another day. I can hear Miranda in the next room, awake, fiddling with her rifle and muttering about something. If I get to my post after she does, she’ll never let me hear the end of it, so I better go. Hopefully this reaches you safely (the Wanderer said he’d take our letters with him next time he goes to Diamond City). Til I receive your reply, give my love to Jacob and tell him his Aunt Daphne loves him and is doing just fine.
Love you sis. Daph x
PS. I've included a picture of me. It was taken the day after I arrived...write me soon
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