Page 40 of Hell Breaks Loose

“Noted, Boss Lady.”

They keep chattering on as I shovel food into my mouth. Exhaustion and too many days without anything good to eat make the bland, bulk-prepared food taste pretty amazing, but the action and energy required to eat it make it a chore.

It's all rote military maintenance. Input fuel.

Then sleep.

But there’s still questions. There’s still my racing brain that won’t shut off.

Like the populace of Camp Clive.

Families. Kids everywhere.

People who only a few weeks ago wouldn’t be caught dead associating with an MC, biker gang like the Block. I suppose saving their asses bought a little bit of goodwill.

Or no other options.

A positive, optimistic person would see it as a bonding experience, a future in Sanctum of unity instead of secretive, divisive sects.

Sadly, it’s more likely that when this is over, if it ever is, these folks will forget who helped them.

They’ll return to their boring, mindless jobs and purposely forget.

“Do we have any idea how many died?”

The question stops every conversation around dead.

Alaya and Ora circle in closer, waving for others around us to go on about their business.

“Sorry. That’s not a very thoughtful question.”

“No, but it’s one more reason we’re glad to have you back,” Ora says softly, sighing. “Ballpark right now is fifty, maybe as many as a hundred. Every day, new calls make it in, new people make it out, and we find more survivors.”

“Communication has been spotty, makes it hard for people to check in.”

“I noticed the old main office of this campground has an antenna. Receiver. It work?”

“We’ve been trying to get it to work. Gofer and Tomlin have been trying to work on it, but I was kinda hoping you and Tell might have better luck. More your wheelhouse.”

“Those two can fix any bike or car, but pre-wireless electronics are apparently another bucket of chicken altogether,” Alaya grumbles, her accent peeking through more than usual.

“Time in the country bringing back old habits?” I smirk.

“Piss off!” She laughs, picking her fingernails with a twelve-inch blade. Despite the smile, the casual pastime, she’s different. Quieter. Morose.

Asking the tough question helps me get up the courage to ask an even tougher one.

“Tell me. About Hellena, Tell. Vice. Everything. Have you found any sign of…” I swallow. “Evan?”

Ora shrinks in on herself a little, her tiny shoulders slouching. “No. Not a trace. And I promise we have looked. For any sign. But until just a few days ago, we couldn’t get to the far side of town at all to check his place, his old office.”

“We’ll keep looking. We have to.”

“I’m doing the best I can with what we have. Things are spread so thin.”

“I wasn’t trying to say you weren’t. I’m just…”

“A fucking mess without your woman?” Alaya smirks. “You always were a sap.”

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