Chapter Fifteen #2
“Is that…?” Travis asked.
Thomas nodded, the small gesture a catalyst for us to all move at once. The space changed shape in seconds, loose clusters tightening as instinct took over.
I pulled Stella closer, one hand at the back of her head as I stood.
“Falyn, the galley.” Falyn nodded. “Abby, get your kids settled and the go bags, then you’re up top with me.
Olive,” I said, keeping my voice even. She stood immediately, eyes on me.
“You and Bodhi get the cribs and bedding and roll them to the galley for the babies and then stay there. Do it now.”
She nodded once, looking back to Bodhi as he took her hand and guided her toward the living quarters.
The rest of the family moved to their places as well.
Falyn began to guide the older children toward the back.
Taylor whispered in her ear, kissed her cheek, and then quickly retreated to their room.
Abby kissed Travis, lingering for a bit before trailing the kids and Falyn, counting heads under her breath with Carter asleep in her arms. Travis joined Thomas, Trenton and Tyler, and Ellison made her way to the door.
No one ran. No one froze. It was controlled, but far from calm.
Any pretense of it was only to reassure the children.
The distance to the galley felt longer than it had before, the sound of the siren settling into a steady beat behind us, threading through the walls and into my chest. Stella stirred against me, picking up on the change in my pulse even if she didn’t understand it.
I kept my voice low as I pushed the door open with my shoulder and crossed to the crib Olive was pushing into place.
“Bodhi, the lights,” I said.
He took a few steps to the switch, flipped it down, then turned on a second one. A softer glow came up beneath the cabinets, dim for the kids to sleep, but bright enough for Falyn and Olive to see clearly if they had to evacuate.
I laid Stella down carefully, slower than the moment allowed, adjusting the blanket by instinct even as the pressure to move welled up inside of me. Her eyes opened for a moment, unfocused, searching. I leaned in and pressed my lips to her forehead, pausing there a second longer than I should have.
“Good night, my sweet girl. I love you so, so much.” I straightened slowly, barely able to tear my eyes away, then turned to Olive. “Stay with her,” I said, meeting her eyes so there was no room for interpretation. “No matter what, don’t leave her alone. Even for a second.”
Olive nodded immediately. “I won’t. I promise.”
“If Thomas and I don’t make it back, there is a signed document in the top dresser drawer in our quarters. Don’t lose it.”
Olive’s mouth pressed into a hard line, but then she nodded. “Just… come back, okay?”
I held her gaze another second, then forced myself to step back. There was more I wanted to say, none of it beneficial, so I turned and left before my heart forced me to stay.
The corridor was already clearing as I made my way to the blast door, the siren still pulsing, a constant reminder that whatever this was had already started.
I stepped into the common area to find those going topside gathered, the energy tight, contained, but ready to spill over.
Soon, Bodhi passed us to stand near the blast door with Ellison.
Tyler walked over to silence the alarm as Abby passed out bags. Thomas stopped, standing ten feet from the blast door, shoulders squared, eyes ahead. He glanced at me once as I stepped in, a quick check, then back to the door.
“We wait,” he said. “Instructions will come from topside. It’ll be any second.”
No one argued. We held there, listening to the faint siren above and the silence between its pulses, anticipating whatever came next.
Abby shot a look my way. I wasn’t sure what expression I sent back, but I hoped it was reassuring.
“Babe?” I whispered.
Thomas leaned his ear toward me.
“I love you.”
He reached his hand to mine, squeezing it. “Stick to the plan. We’re going to be okay,” he said, sure.
I nodded, staring at the huge slab of steel before us.
The outer corridor door opened, slamming against the concrete wall loud enough for us to hear below. Boots clanged against the metal stairs, prompting us to trade glances.
Metal groaned and pressure hissed, then Zeke slipped through, breathing hard. For five days that door had meant separation, shelter, and constraint. This time it sounded like exposure.
Zeke approached Thomas without hesitation or pleasantries. His face was set, his clothes marked with dust higher up the legs of his cargo pants.
Thomas took a step forward. “I thought you didn’t come down here.”
“I do today,” Zeke said, trying to catch his breath. “Only one reason I would.”
“Bring me up to speed,” Thomas said, unconcerned with further small talk.
Zeke’s expression sharpened, then his eyes looked beyond him to the other brothers. “Naomi said the brothers and Liis should come now. There’s been an incident.”
There was no cushioning around the word. No effort to dress it up or buy time. Just that one term, flat and alarming enough on its own.
Thomas didn’t waste a second. “Travis. Trent. Taylor. Tyler.” He looked to Abby, and then me. “Let’s move.”
In the next moment, we were climbing the stairs, but by the time we hit the upper landing, I could hear it. Not one sound, but many. Voices layered over each other, orders, movement. And then, distant gun fire and explosions.
The outer door opened to a clear night sky. Red lighting washed the compound in low contrast, preserving the dark while keeping just enough visibility to move. What I saw in the first sweep was enough to confirm what the sound had already told me: this wasn’t a drill. We were on the verge of war.
Militia men and women crossed the yard at a jog, rifles up, radios pressed to shoulders, calling to one another in hushed voices.
Families were moving in the other direction, hurrying toward the bunker entrance in clusters, some carrying bags, some carrying children, some carrying nothing because there hadn’t been time to think beyond go.
A woman stumbled in the dirt and was yanked upright by the man behind her without either of them breaking stride.
Somewhere to the left, an engine revved, then cut out.
Near the perimeter, a spotlight jerked across the fence line before settling on nothing I could see from our position.
Thomas slowed just enough to take in the scene, his focus flipping from one target to the next, sorting priorities, threats, routes. “Ellie? Bodhi? You two are posted here. Ellie, go underground if the perimeter is breached.”
“But…” she began.
“Underground. Bodhi stays topside.”
“Okay,” she said, noticeably in disagreement.
We moved toward Command, leaving Tyler behind just long enough to say his goodbyes to his wife, and then he jogged to join us.
Travis spoke as we walked, just loud enough to hear. “Fuck me, this is crazy. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“I hope we never do again,” Abby said.
Taylor turned to watch the families rush to the bunker, instinct pulling him in two directions at once.
His posture went taut, feeling the conflict of leaving his wife and children behind, and knowing he had no other choice but to fight to keep them safe.
The last five days of impatience burned off in an instant, transforming into righteous anger.
The Carlisis had been a threat to the survival of our family for far too long, and I could see it in his eyes.
Zeke spoke as he walked. “We’re going to Command first,” he said over his shoulder. “Be prepared, a few of our guys were injured outside the perimeter and reported to the General first before going to med bay. They’re cleaning up the mess now.”
“We’re used to blood,” Travis said.
We cut across the yard with more families moving past us, the current of bodies so strong that more than once I had to angle sideways to avoid hitting someone carrying a child or dragging one by the wrist. Dust kicked up under boots, someone shouted for medical.
Everyone remained relatively quiet thanks to rigorous drills and training, but the pace underneath it had become more urgent.
Exchanges were shorter, movements controlled but without hesitation or confusion; the tempo a few notches faster than it had been the last time we walked these paths.
Command held the same red-lit discipline as the rest of the compound, its windows giving off only a muted glow into the night. Two armed men waited at the entrance, and neither bothered to challenge us once they saw Zeke.
Inside, the smell reached my nose before the room fully came into focus, copper threaded with antiseptic, thick enough to sit at the back of my throat as I stepped into the War Room.
Blood tracked across the floor in dark, uneven swaths, smeared where someone had begun to clean it but had been pulled away mid-task.
We might’ve been used to blood, but this volume didn’t come from a superficial wound that was quickly contained.
It was enough to wonder if whoever it belonged to had survived.
Once I pulled my focus from the smears underfoot, I took in the rest of the room.
Maps were spread across the central table, marked and reworked.
Radios cracked in overlapping bursts, each held by an officer on opposite sides, relaying updates without pause.
Marcel’s CO, Joshua Brooks, stood behind Marcel’s empty chair, his hands braced on the back edge, knuckles blanched, eyes fixed on the table.
At the center of it, surrounded by Jones and other officers, stood Marcel, one hand set against the table, his attention anchored to the map. Zeke had been right. There had been an incident, but the scope was beyond anything he’d conveyed.