30. Don’t Wait For Me
Chapter thirty
Don’t Wait For Me
Matt
The safe house has become a prison.
Three weeks. Three goddamn weeks of silence. We’ve rationed supplies to the bone, stretching what should’ve lasted two weeks into nearly a month.
We rotate shifts, keep security tight, but the longer we stay in this concrete tomb, the more it feels like we’re just waiting to die.
The city has changed. At first, the streets crawled with militia—searching, blocking exits, making movement impossible. Over time, they’ve pulled back, leaving only occasional foot patrols and convoys.
That should make me feel better. It doesn’t. They aren’t looking anymore because they think we’re dead.
I sit against the cold wall, rifle on my lap. Across from me, Steele nurses his laptop—rationing the battery, keeping it alive in short bursts. Demo’s antsy, running a sharpening stone over his knife for the hundredth time. Charlie’s quiet, too quiet, hands folded over his med kit.
Bishop and Steele’s injuries haven’t worsened, but they haven’t improved either.
“Clock’s ticking, Mason,” Steele announces, fingers hovering over the keys. Gravelly, exhausted. “One last chance at pulling something off this drive before I lose power for good.”
I sit up. “You got something?”
“Maybe. But you’re not gonna like it.”
He turns the screen. “A flight manifest from an airstrip outside the city—scheduled for tonight.”
“Who’s on it?” I ask.
“No names. Just ‘secured personnel transport’.”
Demo’s sharpening slows. “As in… prisoners?”
“Possibly,” Steele says. “Or someone who knows what the hell is going on.”
The realization lands. The airstrip isn’t just our way out. It’s our only shot at answers.
Bishop’s jaw tightens. “What kind of security?”
Steele rubs his face. “I don’t have those details.”
“We’d be walking in blind.” Demo replies.
“Not necessarily,” Steele mutters. “If Hale’s alive, he might know more.”
Hale. We haven’t heard from him since his last broadcast. For all we know, he’s already dead.
“We give it until sundown,” Bishop says. “If Hale doesn’t make contact, we take that plane.”
Everyone nods in agreement.
We stack rucks and strip nonessentials, boots whispering on concrete as hands work with practiced speed. Demo slams fresh mags into his vest and runs a quick comms check while Steele seals his laptop in a dry bag. Charlie double-checks Steele’s dressing and cinches Bishop’s tourniquet.
Then the radio crackles, and the entire room freezes. A familiar voice— “Movement confirmed. Window closing. Standby for exfil.”
It takes a second to process. But I’m already moving. “Hale?”
“Yeah, it’s me.” The transmission is weak, like he’s broadcasting on the move. “Tell me you’re still breathing.”
Bishop takes the radio. “We’re up. You got something?”
“I picked up enemy traffic. They’re using short-range comms inside the city.” His breathing is ragged. “They’ve been talking about an airstrip for the past two hours. I don’t have all the details, but a high-value transport is happening soon.”
A pit settles. Bishop’s voice stays steady. “We know. Steele pulled the manifest. You in position?”
“No. I was trying to get to you, but I got cut off—city’s heating up. I’m headed to the airstrip now. If I don’t make it, don’t wait for me.”
Fuck that. We’re not leaving him.
Demo scoffs. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Hale snaps. “You get to that airstrip before they shut it down. I’ll find my own way out.”
“How much time?” Bishop asks.
“Hours. Maybe less.” Hale’s last words shred into a shrill hiss, then the line goes dead.
Bishop doesn’t hesitate. “We move now.”
Demo loads his last mag. “Still think we should go in loud.”
Charlie snorts. “Yeah, ‘cause that’s worked for us so far.”
Bishop looks up. “We do this smart, or not at all.”
Steele’s external battery flashes its final indicator before the laptop flickers and dies. He closes the lid slowly, like he’s shutting a coffin.
Bishop’s gaze cuts to Steele. “Transit time?”
“Depends on the route,” Steele says. “Fast and visible, or slow and possibly too late.”
Bishop thinks, then turns to me, “Thoughts?”
Neither option is clean. Only one gets us out alive.
“We go fast,” I start. “Stick to secondary roads, keep low, fight our way out.”
Silence falls. No safe house to come back to. No backup waiting.
Bishop secures his rifle and stands. “We move in five.”
No arguments. Nothing left to say.