novelraw Chapter 89: Unwelcome Neighbors
Chapter 89: Unwelcome Neighbors
The rec center sat ten minutes from the cabin—too close for comfort and definitely close enough to feel like a weight in Sera’s ribs. She stared out of the window as Lachlan drove anyway from the cabin, her jaw set as she stared out at the soft snowflakes that were starting to fall.
It looked like they were in a snow globe, but while it looked pretty, it was hell to drive in. It wasn’t the snow that bothered her, especially since she was sandwiched between Alexei and Elias, but knowing what was supposed to come next was enough to set all of her instincts on edge.
Taking in a deep breath to try and calm herself down, she looked around the inside of the massive vehicle. Zubair rode shotgun, saying nothing, his profile cut clean against the gray morning. Elias sat behind him, half-turned the way he always was, professionally nosy, cataloguing exits and heartbeats as if the world were a lab and everyone inside a sample.
Alexei had the far seat, just to her left, idly palming a coin like he was testing his reflexes or daring someone to take it from him.
They rolled into the cracked lot without fanfare. The rec center was one of those all around placed for people who were either newly wed or nearly dead. It squatted low and square across the landscape, and at the moment, its many windows were fogged from too many bodies and too little air.
A tired pair of double doors stood propped by a sandbag and a dented trash can. Noah was already there, of course—leaning against the cinderblock wall like he owned it, his hands deep in his jacket, watching the world with that sideways grin that promised trouble and delivered more often than not.
Inside, the noise was wrong for a crisis. Not the chaotic pitch of panic—no shrieking, no wailing—but a careful hum. The army had done what armies do: folded the mess into lines and rules. Folding tables had been dragged to the center of the open gym and repurposed into intake, supply, and triage.
Soldiers paced the perimeter in squeaking boots, and the very few people not in uniform, and most likely were civilians, were hunched on metal chairs with blank stares, clutching blankets and paper cups. It smelled like overboiled coffee, damp wool, and a hundred anxious breaths turning the air stale.
Someone who had appeared to be the man in charge found them halfway across the floor. He had the look of a man who’d lived too long on deployments: his spine was ramrod straight, his eyes were like a measuring tape, and his mouth was set in impartial lines because it was easier than deciding whether to smile or frown.
"Extraction’s delayed," he grunted, doing the military thing by skipping hello and getting right down to the heart of the matter. "More survivors than anticipated. It’s taking longer to clear them."
Sera let her eyes sweep the room once, noting the stacked cots leaning up the far wall, the knot of children sitting cross-legged with crayons and no paper, the officer hunched over a printout of bus schedules like paper could make any of this add up.
"You’d think a bunch of soldiers would have no problem handling a few mental patients," she replied.
Her voice was even, almost mild, but her words seemed to echo around the room like she had shouted. A couple of uniforms paused, then carefully didn’t react. The commander’s jaw shifted one notch tighter, and a woman walked briskly over to her, a clipboard in her arms.
The woman, she must be the commander’s second or something, looked the part. Her short, wiry, hair was slicked back tight enough to pull the skin at her temples and her uniform was so crisp that she probably didn’t need a knife to cut someone.
"We are more than capable of handling a few mental patients," she assured Sera with a flat voice. "But that is not in our job description. We are here only until we leave. Now, while you’re here," she continued crisply, holding a clipboard like a weapon, "we could use a few items."
Zubair didn’t sigh, he didn’t bristle, instead he simply pivoted a fractional angle, which in Zubair meant ’You have until I decide you don’t’. "List," he grunted, his voice turning deep and rough.
She handed the entire clipboard over as if that was the only answer she needed.
Sera leaned in over his shoulder, already prepared to hate it. It turned out that she didn’t have to prepare very hard. Chocolate bars. Ice cream. Whipped cream. Vegetables. Coke. Pepsi. Monster. Rock Star. Red Bull.
But what really got to Sera was the request for both sparkling water and mineral water, like all these people were at a resort instead of waiting for an extraction from a hostile environment.
The handwriting was neat, and the requests were outrageous. She looked back up at the woman, who stared back as if she’d just asked for gauze and antibiotics.
"You want dessert," Sera said after a moment, cocking her head to the side.
"Morale matters," the woman returned without flinching. "People need comforts."
"People need to not die," Sera replied just before handing back the list back. "If this is what you want... Find it yourselves."
She was already turning away when Alexei slid in front of her like water finding a new path. He didn’t touch her—he never did unless it was just them—but he moved close enough that she could smell metal and smoke under his soap. That coin of his clicked once against his knuckles, then disappeared. "Of course," he agreed, a smile on his face, his voice as smooth as a knife laid flat. He tucked the paper into his jacket as if it had always belonged to him. "We live to serve."
Sera’s eyes narrowed a fraction. He didn’t look at her. Didn’t even glance. The commander did, though—just the briefest flicker of relief that someone had said the right thing in public.
"Zubair," the commander added, like he’d been waiting for the chance. "We could use you here. Extra hands, extra calm. Your team can handle the run."