6. Finn
As Finn drove up the winding mountain road, the hum of the engine was a low, steady sound beneath the whistling wind. The urge to go to the ocean had been quieted after his pit stop at that beautiful angel’s shop.
The landscape was quiet, the forest dense with trees reaching toward the darkening sky.
He kept one eye on the path ahead and the other on his Way Station watch.
The silver band around his wrist tracked his location, vitals, let the Conductors message each other, and opened the front door to the place.
The Way Station served as a witness-protection base for Atlas, but it specialized only in those affected by Legion.
Families and people who had been targeted by Legion or had lost someone to it were welcome here with open arms. It was a place to be safe.
Most chose to move on and be relocated with new identities around the country.
Others stayed here. And those who wanted justice became Conductors like him and were trained by Atlas to become field agents.
Atlas, the off-branch of the CIA, specialized in homegrown terrorism. Atlas had other bases for other operations, but that wasn’t Finn’s concern. He could only handle what was happening at home.
Atlas was in DC, in a big building Finn hated going to: too many bureaucrats, traffic, and plausible deniability.
Finn thought it was funny, in a sort of bleak, comic way: growing up with nothing, running scams to survive, living paycheck to paycheck, and now being trusted with a badge that didn’t officially exist and fighting a war no one would ever claim.
He didn’t think of himself as a secret agent.
It sounded too much like a bad spy movie.
Life handed him a shitty deck, and he owed it to himself to play the game anyway.
He owed it to Sabrina, who pulled him out of the dark and gave him a family and a purpose.
Heavy timber beams braced the abandoned tunnel. It had been sealed decades ago—at least, that’s what the sign claimed:
FEDERAL PROPERTY—TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED
Along with a smaller one hanging next to it that read:
UNSAFE STRUCTURE—NO ENTRY
Rusted chains were draped over the boarded-up entrance. Most people would hike on by the forgotten track.
Finn didn’t.
This was exactly where he wanted to be.
The car idled as he lifted his wrist. The old-timey lantern hanging from the brick side began to glow green, pulsing in sync with his wrist communicator, letting the synchronization complete before he drove forward.
Dalton should be on guard duty on the other side of the tunnel, accepting his frequency and conducting all security checks before letting him in. If he didn’t, Finn would make him redo it over and over until he could do it blindfolded.
He couldn’t even think of the catastrophe if someone broke into the Way Station.
Deep within the rock, a lock disengaged.
The boarded-up wall shifted to the right until it disappeared into the mountainside.
Finn stomped on the gas. The door was motion-activated, but what if the door closed on him and crushed his car?
The tunnel was as foreboding as ever, a yawning maw of darkness that seemed to swallow the car whole as he entered. The lights on his Jeep automatically turned on. His shoulders sagged as a shaky breath escaped his lips.
Yes, it was true. Badass Finn, leader and general of the Way Station, was afraid of the dark. It freaked him out, and he hated surprises.
Except for the surprise in the sundress today.
Finn thought he was going to pass out when she blushed and bit down her lip.
Shadows pressed down around him.
The drive might as well have been a journey through the center of the Earth. Finally, a faint light appeared at the other end.
As Finn emerged from the tunnel, the Way Station roared to life.
He could hear children laughing and playing in the distance.
It was a place of refuge, a hidden sanctuary where those who knew its secret could find shelter.
A mix of new and old buildings, repurposed from their original uses to serve families and individuals in need.
The Way Station brought hope to the families affected by Legion’s murder rampage. But being here, in a way, made him an outcast. But not a part of a club he had any desire to join?—
Finn was the only one at the Way Station who hadn’t lost anyone to Legion.
But that didn’t give him any less of a reason to stop them.
Years ago, Sabrina had found him in some dirty ditch outside DC. He didn’t know what Sabrina saw in him, but she gave him a home. A place to belong. A family. Everything he didn’t feel like he deserved, but was so damn proud of. And he didn’t want to disappoint Charlie and Sabrina. Or Henry.
Dalton was on guard duty, standing near the entrance, watchful. He nodded in greeting as Finn approached.
“You’re late. Missed practice,” Dalton said with an air of cockiness Finn didn’t miss or appreciate.
“Luckily, I don’t report to you, but you do report to me. Gotta drop this off. We’ll talk about our missed practice later.”
Finn made his way to the general store, the familiar scents of wood and butterscotch filling the air as he walked in.
The store was near the main lodge. It was one of the larger buildings, stocked with everything from food to tools. The rule was simple: take what you need. There was always an abundance.
The system worked well enough, a balance of trust and necessity. When things couldn’t be found, lists were made, and others who felt comfortable going into the outside world went on trips. Others traded and bartered.
After giving an older woman a tattoo to remember her family, he’d received homemade pickles as a gift. The tattoo was supposed to be free, but Vera insisted. Then word got around that he’d started tattooing survivors; he’d been busy all summer. He still got the occasional request.
Finn couldn’t remember whether he was a tattoo artist in St. Joseph or St. Louis, but either way, he was grateful for the skill. Half of his sleeve was a direct result of his insomnia.
The window and the shop door were both open, letting the fresh pine air sweep in.
Shelves of candies, flashlights, food, bed sheets, and batteries were all carefully organized by season of use, pantry staples, home goods, and fresh produce from the orchards and fields they had on base.
At the counter stood the storekeeper, an older woman named Makayla Hidalgo, who oversaw the inventory. She lost her husband to Legion three years ago.
Ms. Makayla was the unofficial grandmother of everyone here. She had long white hair, topped by a weathered brown leather hat with a colorful feather sticking out of the brim, which Abuela Hidalgo said her husband made for her. She wore her usual patched jean overalls and red cowboy boots.
She had a South Carolinian accent with a drawl made out of honey, but it could quickly turn to vinegar if you pushed her buttons, like Finn lovingly did. He put the bags of barley and flour on her counter and kissed her on the cheek. The woman placed her weathered hands on either side of his face.
“Where did you get off to?” she said, her gray eyes twinkling up at him with youthfulness.
“Went on a drive,” he said, shrugging his shoulders as if he didn’t feel like his entire life had changed that morning.
“I’ve never seen this logo before,” Abuela Hidalgo said, eyeing the bags as she lowered her hands from his face.
“We were running low on flour and barley, so Chucky asked me to get some.”
Abuela Hidalgo tilted her head, observing him. She always caught his bullshit, but didn’t call him out this time.
“I heard how the raid went last night. I’m sorry,” she admitted, picking up her trusty clipboard and going back around the counter to do inventory.
Finn nodded. “We’ll get them next time,” he said, watching her record the items. The process was simple yet necessary; they couldn’t afford to lose track of their resources.
His watch beeped again. The lead meeting was starting in a couple of minutes, and he had almost missed it.
“All set,” Abuela Hidalgo said, finishing her notes. “Anything else you need?”
“Not tonight,” Finn replied. “Just making my rounds.”
“Well, if you think of anything, you know where to find me,” Abuela Hidalgo said with a warm smile.
“Here.” She held up a tray. “I made cinnamon rolls. Take one on your way up to your meeting. You don’t look like you’ve had anything to eat all day.
” Finn gladly took one of her nutmeg-and-cinnamon apple rolls.
He took a large bite, practically eating half of it in one bite. He gave her another kiss on her cheek, with frosting now on her sun-kissed, wrinkled face. “Te quiero, Abuelita.”
She wiped the frosting off and swatted him away. “Get out of here. I have work to do.”
He finished the bun in two more bites. Between her and Charlie’s baking, he needed to be at the gym constantly.
Not that he minded. It didn’t seem like others minded either.
A gaggle of three ladies passed him, giggling on their way up to the lodge as he passed the message board.
Sabrina’s new victory was in bright pink letters for all to see:
Finn rolled his eyes and hid a smirk; oh yeah—he’d get her back for that.
The Way Station was in full swing the next day. The sun beat down relentlessly, baking the asphalt and making the air shimmer with heat.
Finn had spent the better part of the sweltering afternoon sprawled under the hood of his black Jeep, a familiar frustration knotting his brow. Sleep wouldn’t come, so he might as well be productive.
He thought he’d fixed this problem last time—something about the engine sputtering when it shouldn’t. He had been at this for over an hour, and irritation was starting to boil over.
Sweat trickled down his back as his leather jacket and black shirt lay discarded on one of his tires. Finn glanced, noticing a few women nearby who were giggling and stealing glances. He had more pressing concerns, like getting his damn Jeep to cooperate.
As Finn reached for a wrench, he heard the familiar jingle of dog tags and looked up to see Charlie approaching, with Sabrina’s little furball, Artemis, trotting happily beside him. The Australian shepherd’s tail wagged as it caught sight of Finn, tugging forward on the pink leash Charlie held.
“Looks like ‘Brina’s got both of you on a leash,” Finn remarked with a smirk as he came up from the engine. He would deal with it later. Nothing was working.
Charlie chuckled. “Just wait till it happens to you.”
Finn shook his head. “Nah, I’d look terrible with a collar on,” he said, scrubbing his hands with the oily rag hanging from his right back pocket.
Charlie laughed again, shaking his head.
“Nah, I don’t know. Pink could be your color,” Charlie said, handing him the wrench he’d been looking for.
“Yeah, well,” Finn muttered, turning back to what was under the hood of his car. “Good for you. But like I said, I don’t have time for that.”
“Bet you five bucks,” Charlie said, raising an eyebrow at Finn.
“For what?” Finn scoffed, leaning closer to the engine and tightening a bolt with the wrench Charlie had just handed him.
“I bet by the end of the summer someone will have caught your eye,” Charlie bartered. “You’ll fall so head over heels in love you won’t know which way’s up.”
“We’re betting on my love life now?”
“If you don’t think it’s going to happen, whaddya have to lose?” Charlie smirked.
“You’re on,” Finn said, holding out his oil-stained hand to Charlie. Charlie gripped it back.
Charlie gave him a friendly pat on the back before continuing down the street, now cuddling the fidgeting puppy and peppering her with kisses.
This would be the easiest bet he’d ever win.
Blue eyes broke through his memory, and he shook his head. He was not going to fall in love. He’d simply just stop visiting her.
His palms started to sweat.
Yeah, sure. Easy enough.