Brotherhood of the Last Shelter

One Step at a Time

The crackers tasted like dry flour, but chewing them gave my hands something to do while I rested.

Marcus had fallen asleep against the wooden crate. His breathing was quiet, and some color had returned to his hollow cheeks. The clean bandage Luggard had wrapped around his chest was still dry. For now, the bleeding had stopped.

Donald finished his half of the crackers and took a small sip from a plastic water bottle before offering it to me.

“How long before someone notices this building has gone dark?” he whispered.

I drank enough to soothe my dry throat, then passed the bottle to Luggard.

“Not long,” I said quietly. “The moment that breaker tripped, the transit substation downtown would have recorded a power drop. Thorne’s scouts monitor those grid panels. When they see a sudden outage in a closed district, they’ll send a truck to find out whether it’s looters or machines.”

Luggard took a drink, capped the bottle, and checked his phone. The battery was down to fifteen percent.

“The staff elevator shaft Marcus mentioned is about twenty feet past the chemical station,” he said, pointing his flashlight across the warehouse floor. “I know the layout of these transit stations. The shaft drops twenty-five feet onto the dry inspection platform for Line 2. From there, it’s a straight walk to our maintenance room. No water, no sludge, and no broken rebar.”

Donald stood and stretched his back. His bones cracked in the quiet room.

“Marcus is the problem,” he said, glancing at the sleeping man. “He can’t climb an iron ladder with half a spike still sticking out of his shoulder.”

“We’ll make a harness,” I said.

I walked over to the wooden pallets. Near the forklift sat a spool of thick nylon tow strap used to move heavy battery boxes. It was two inches wide, clean, and strong enough to pull a truck.

Donald came over and tested the strap between his hands.

“Good webbing,” he said. “I can make a seat harness with two loops. One of us goes down first and guides his feet from the platform. The other two lower him from above, using the forklift frame as an anchor.”

“I’ll go down first,” Luggard offered.

Donald and I turned toward him.

“I’m the lightest on the ladder,” Luggard explained calmly. “And I know where the floor opens onto Line 2. If the platform is damaged, I’ll find out before anyone puts their weight on it.”

Donald looked at me, then back at Luggard. A small smirk appeared on his face.

“Look at the college boy giving orders,” he said, though there was warmth in his voice. “Fine. But test every rung with your boot before you step on it. Don’t go falling into the dark.”

“I’m not stupid, Donald,” Luggard replied, rolling his eyes slightly.

We returned to Marcus. I knelt beside him and gently shook his good arm.

“Marcus,” I said. “It’s time to move.”

He opened his eyes and blinked at us through the gloom. A soft groan escaped him as he shifted, but he didn’t complain.

“The elevator shaft?” he asked, his voice rough.

“Yes. Donald made a harness. We’re lowering you to the dry tracks.”

“Just don’t drop me,” Marcus murmured, managing a faint, painful grin. “My wife always said I was too stubborn to die in a basement.”

Donald secured the nylon straps around Marcus’s thighs and chest, taking care not to touch the gauze or the jagged iron rod. He tied a heavy slip knot that would tighten under the weight.

We helped Marcus across the concrete floor, supporting him on both sides. The dust from the chemical blast had settled, leaving a thin grey film over the machinery.

At the end of the corridor, Donald opened a narrow metal door marked with yellow warning stripes.

Beyond it was the empty elevator shaft. A steady draft rose from below, carrying the smell of old iron and dry stone. A steel maintenance ladder ran down the concrete wall into the darkness.

Luggard switched on his flashlight, secured it in his chest pocket, and gripped the ladder.

“Going down,” he said.

He climbed carefully, his boots making faint metallic clicks against the rungs. A minute later, his light settled on the wide concrete inspection platform twenty-five feet below.

“The floor is solid concrete,” he called up. His voice echoed through the shaft. “All clear. Lower him.”

Donald looped the nylon strap twice around the solid steel handrail beside the doorway to control the descent.

“Keep the slack steady, James,” he said, moving to the edge. “One step at a time.”

We eased Marcus over the threshold. He clenched his jaw as his weight settled into the harness, his face pale with sweat, but he kept quiet. Donald supported his upper body while I slowly fed the strap through my gloved hands.

Ten feet.

Fifteen feet.

Below us, Luggard reached up and caught Marcus's legs, steadying his hips so he wouldn't swing against the concrete wall.

“His feet are on the ground,” Luggard called. “I've got him.”

I let the remaining strap slide down the shaft. Donald took a deep breath, wiped his hands on his trousers, and grabbed the ladder.

“See you at the bottom,” he said.

He descended with practiced ease.

Before I followed, a soft chime sounded in my ear.

The blue screen appeared in the empty doorway.

Perk Triggered: Shelter Evacuation Efficiency (+10%).

Survivor Status: Stable.

Notice: Surface Grid Failure Detected in 3... 2... 1.

Through the open warehouse doorway behind me, the deep electrical hum suddenly stopped.

The distant sounds of the city disappeared with it. No air-conditioning units, no faint car horns, and no streetlights humming through the fog.

The entire sector above us had gone dark.

Thorne’s quarantine hadn’t waited forty-eight hours.

The blackout was already here.

I gripped the ladder, pulled the metal door shut behind me, and climbed down into the darkness.