Crossing the Still

DATE: 8.23.2224
LOCATION: Fred Hartman Bridge - Baytown, Texas
STATUS: Continuing East
SIGNAL: Active
RADIATION: Elevated

The Fred Hartman Bridge is bigger than I remembered.

I took my time crossing it.

The cables rise above the roadway like great steel lines reaching into the sky, stretching across the Houston Ship Channel and connecting La Porte to Baytown. Even after everything that has happened to this place, the bridge still carries itself like it was built to matter. Something about standing that high above the water makes the world look different. Smaller, maybe. Or just easier to see for what it is.

Radiation was high.

The Pip-Boy kept reminding me of it.

I kept walking.

To my left and right, the water and shoreline told a different story. Rotting structures. Abandoned industrial sites. Things half-submerged and things that should have been submerged but weren't. The farther I went, the less I wanted to stop and investigate any of it.

The bridge was exposed.

But exposed meant I could see.

Four men approached from ahead.

Bay Runners.

Same kind of people I'd encountered before. Armed, organized, and apparently feeling confident enough to decide who gets to cross their road.

They stopped me.

They wanted caps.

I had about thirty.

They wanted six hundred.

I laughed.

Not because it was funny.

Because six hundred caps for crossing a bridge was a hell of a way to announce you didn't understand the value of what you were standing on.

They didn't care.

One stepped closer and asked what was in my bag.

I told him it was mine.

He grabbed it anyway.

That changed the conversation.

They pulled it open.

Corn.

Fresh corn.

One of them reached for it.

I took my bag back.

They attacked.

There wasn't much time to think about it. Four men, one direction to move, nowhere to hide, radiation climbing, and a long drop on either side.

One of them came at me hard.

I caught him.

For a second, we were both standing there above the water.

Then I put him over my shoulder.

Suplex.

He went over the side.

Gone.

The other three looked toward the railing.

Then at me.

Then back toward the water.

They suddenly remembered they had somewhere else to be.

They ran.

Yelling obscenities the entire way.

I didn't chase them.

I picked up my bag.

Checked the corn.

Still there.

Then I kept walking.

The bridge was still there.

So was I.

I stayed on course until the steel and concrete finally gave way to dry land.

Only then did I stop.

I wasn't injured.

That didn't mean I wasn't exposed.

The radiation had been high the entire crossing, though, and I wasn't interested in pretending that didn't matter.

I checked the Pip-Boy.

Then I looked ahead.

A large red rocket stood in the distance.

Red Rocket Truck Stop.

That was my current point of interest.

I had no idea what was still inside, who might be using it, or whether it was worth the trouble. But it was there, and it was closer than anything else that looked useful.

The hospital could wait.

For now, I had somewhere to look.

I picked up my bag, checked the corn one more time, and started walking toward the rocket.

PIP-BOY FIELD NOTE

KNOWN: Fred Hartman Bridge remains traversable.
OBSERVED: Bay Runner toll enforcement active on bridge approach.
ENCOUNTER: Four hostile Bay Runners.
DEMAND: 600 caps.
POSSESSION: Approximately 30 caps; fresh corn; personal supplies.
OUTCOME: One hostile displaced from bridge during defensive engagement. Three withdrew.
INJURY: None observed.
RADIATION: Elevated during entire crossing.
CURRENT POINT OF INTEREST: Red Rocket Truck Stop.
ACTION: Proceed toward Red Rocket.
PRIORITY: Recover what can be recovered. Continue east.

SIGNAL REMAINS ACTIVE.