Brotherhood of the Last Shelter

Take It Slow

The silence that followed was heavy and unsettling.

My ears were still ringing from the loud explosion at the transformer. The sharp smell of dry chemicals and burning plastic filled the room, but at least the breaker room was quiet now. The tall machine lay motionless on the concrete floor, looking like a heap of discarded metal. The orange light in its chest had gone out.

Donald sank against the cool wall, breathing heavily. He wiped the yellow powder from his eyebrows with his sleeve, which was still trembling slightly.

“Is it done?” he asked. His voice sounded rough from inhaling the dust.

“It's done,” I replied, dropping my empty extinguisher.

I took out my flashlight and switched it on. Its yellow beam cut through the lingering haze, revealing Donald's exhausted face. He looked worn out, but his hands had stopped shaking.

“Good,” he muttered. “Because I don't think I can lift another red can today.”

“Come on. We need to check on Luggard and Marcus.”

We left the breaker room and made our way back between the tall metal shelves. Luggard was still kneeling beside the forklift tire, pressing a thick white gauze pad against Marcus's injured shoulder. Marcus leaned back with his eyes half closed, breathing slowly and shallowly.

When our flashlight beams reached them, Luggard looked up. Relief spread across his pale face.

“You killed it?” he whispered.

“Donald fried its brain,” I replied, crouching beside them. “How is he doing?”

“The bleeding has slowed down a little.” Luggard's fingers were stained with blood, but he kept the gauze firmly against the wound. “The spike is buried deep in the rubber behind him. Donald, can you free him without making the injury worse?”

Donald approached and directed his flashlight at the thick iron rod. He knelt beside Marcus, examined the space between his shoulder and the tire, then reached into his leather belt and pulled out a compact hand hacksaw.

“I won't use the torch,” he told Marcus gently. “The heat could burn you. I'll cut through the rod by hand instead. Your arm will shake while I'm working, so try to hold still.”

Marcus gave a weak nod. “Do what you have to do, son.”

“Take it slow,” I reminded Donald.

He positioned the saw against the iron and began working it back and forth with steady strokes. The sound of the blade scraping against the metal was the only thing breaking the silence in the warehouse.

While he worked, I turned my attention to the wooden pallets around us. For once, we had a little breathing room. There were no sirens, no countdowns, and no hounds chasing us through the tunnels.

I used my pry bar to open the lid of a green wooden crate. Inside were neatly packed meal rations, sealed bandages, bottles of iodine, and four large rechargeable battery banks designed for subway signals.

I brought up my system screen.

Available Inventory Slots: 1/10.

I removed the useless pieces of iron I had collected earlier and tossed them aside to make room. Then I stored two large crates of dry food, three complete trauma kits, and two heavy battery banks.

Storage Status: 6/10 Slots Used.

Each crate weighed around forty pounds, comfortably below the fifty-pound limit. I felt a little more at ease. We finally had something worth bringing back. Even if the city shut down tomorrow, we would have proper food and a reliable source of power waiting for us underground.

A soft metallic sound came from beside the forklift.

“Last tooth,” Donald whispered.

The iron rod finally separated with a small snap. Donald caught the loose end before it could scrape against Marcus's skin.

“Luggard, help me lift him carefully,” he said, slipping his arms beneath the older man's knees.

Together, they eased Marcus away from the tire. Luggard kept the gauze pressed firmly against the wound while wrapping long strips of clean bandage around his chest to hold the broken iron piece in place.

“We shouldn't remove the spike here,” Luggard said, wiping his bloody hands with an old rag. “This room is filthy, and there's too much dust in the air. We need clean water and proper lighting before we attempt anything in our shelter.”

Donald straightened up and took a moment to catch his breath.

“He's right. If we drag him through all that dirt and sludge, an infection could finish what the machine started.”

Marcus slowly opened his eyes. He looked at Donald, then Luggard, before finally turning his attention to me.

“You boys aren't with Thorne's crew,” he said weakly.

“No, we're not.”

“His men came through here yesterday. They took all the big diesel generators and left the doors unlocked. They didn't care about the people working the shift.”

“We have nothing to do with Thorne,” I replied. “We're just trying to keep each other alive.”

Marcus gave a weak chuckle, but it quickly turned into a cough.

“Good. Because Thorne is a snake. If you're heading back to the old lines, use the staff elevator shaft in the back corner. The cable broke years ago, but there's a metal service ladder inside. It leads straight down to the main line, so you won't have to go through the sewer water.”

Donald looked at me with a tired smile.

“No more wading through cold sludge with an injured man. That's a gift.”

“We'll rest here for twenty minutes,” I said, lowering myself onto the concrete floor. “Drink some water and eat something. We need our hands steady before we carry him down.”

Donald didn't argue. He leaned against a wooden crate, opened a packet of water crackers, and offered half to Luggard. Luggard accepted with a quiet nod and settled beside Marcus. His shoulders finally began to relax.

For the first time since I had opened my eyes in my old bedroom, the knot in my stomach loosened a little.

We were bruised, covered in dust, and running out of daylight, but my brothers were alive. We had medicine, food, and supplies waiting to be taken home.

And beneath our feet, the tunnel leading back to our shelter was waiting.