Chapter 18: Chapter 18: The Last Safe House

My eyes scanned the street. Most storefronts were shattered ruins, their windows like gaping mouths. Halfway down the block, an auto body shop stood with its bay doors down, a steel tortoise hunkered in its shell. A long shot, but better than leaving the cruiser to be torched for fun.

I peered through a grimy window in the office door and saw a kid's sneaker sticking out from under a desk. I knocked, hard. The sneaker vanished.

“Police!” I yelled, trying to sound more reassuring than I felt. “We need some help.”

An old man’s face appeared, creased with worry. He cracked the door open, his body blocking the gap.

“We need to stash our vehicle,” I said, keeping my voice low. “The streets are a mess. We'll be back for it.” I started to add something about compensation from the city, but the words felt hollow and stupid. What city? “We just need it off the street so it doesn't get torched.”

The old man looked at the cruiser, then back at us. The calculation was plain on his face: were we more or less dangerous than what was outside? He made his choice and opened the door. Two small kids peeked out from behind his legs, their eyes wide and terrified.

My gut tightened.

Shit. The whole damn city was breaking down, and here was a grandfather trying to shield his grandkids from it. They were hiding from the looters, from the chaos in the streets. They had no idea. No idea that the real danger wasn't human anymore, that there were things out there that made a riot look like a damn block party. We had to protect them. Not just them. Everyone like them. This was the job, stripped down to its studs. This was all that was left.

The thought cleared my head, cutting through the exhaustion. I have to get my shit to do. There is work to be done.

“Stay inside. Barricade the door. Stay away from the windows,” I told him, my voice firm with a renewed sense of purpose. “Don’t open it for anyone unless you hear my name, Stormson, on a bullhorn. Got it?” He just nodded, his eyes wide.

Kira started unloading our gear from the trunk while the old man raised the bay door with a low groan. I grabbed my go-bag and rifle. I tried to shrug back into my vest, but the damn thing wouldn't close. The side straps were a good two inches short. The stat points weren't just a feeling; they were physically rewriting me. I left it unfastened, a useless piece of kevlar flapping against my ribs as I drove the cruiser into the bay's oily darkness.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

We helped the old man push a heavy workbench in front of the office door before we left through a side exit. He locked it behind us with a heavy, final-sounding thunk.

We broke into a jog. Kira, despite the shotgun and the magic stick in her inventory, moved with an easy, athletic grace. She glanced over at me, a mischievous grin breaking the tension on her face. "You think you can keep up, old man?"

I shot back a grin of my own. "Hey, that's senior officer to you, rookie. Show some respect and try not to choke on my dust."

The joke was stupid, but it felt necessary. A little piece of normal in the middle of the crazy.

Back on the street, the noise hit us. A dull, angry roar, the sound of a city chewing on itself. We stuck to the alleyways, the stench of piss and overflowing dumpsters a familiar companion. After a few blocks, we saw it. The detachment. It looked like a fortress. A handful of our guys in full riot gear stood behind a reinforced gate, looking like pissed-off turtles. On the roof, a sniper. Lethal overwatch. A small, familiar knot of relief loosened in my chest. At least our house was still standing.

“Mikey! It’s Elias,” I called out, raising my hands as we approached.

The guy in the middle of the formation, Mikey, let out a visible sigh of relief. “Fuck, Elias! Where you been? Shit’s wild!”

“You’re telling me,” I said as they unlocked the gate. “What’s the situation?”

Mikey’s face went grim. “It’s fucked, Elias. Total chaos since the blackout.” He gestured vaguely toward the city. “And get this. Jake from C-squad came in an hour ago, ranting about a monster. A giant green lizard, he said. We all figured he'd finally cracked.”

My blood went cold. I glanced at Kira. Her eyes were wide. We're not the only ones. The thought wasn't comforting. It was terrifying. It meant this wasn't an isolated incident. It was an outbreak.

“Where’s the brass?” I asked, my voice tight.

“Chief’s in the briefing room. They’ve turned it into a command center.”

“Thanks, Mikey. Stay safe.”

“You too, brother,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder as we stepped through the gate into the organized chaos of the station's parking lot. It was time to see the Chief. And I had one hell of a story to tell him.