The safe house appears after a mile. Single story. Adobe walls. Reinforced steel door. Solar panels on the flat roof catching moonlight.
Ash and I stocked this place six months ago. Canned goods, water, weapons. Everything we’d need to disappear if things went south.
Now they have.
I kill the engine and sit for a moment, listening. Nothing but wind and the distant yip of coyotes.
“Stay here,” I tell Bonnie.
I get out and do a perimeter check. Windows intact. Door still locked. No tire tracks except the ones we just made. Nobody’s been here since we left it.
Good.
I unlock the door and clear each room. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, a small kitchen, and a living area. Weapons cache under the floorboards in the main bedroom. Generator in the shed out back.
Secure.
I go back to the truck. Bonnie’s still sitting in the passenger seat, staring at nothing.
“Clear,” I say. “Let’s get you inside.”
She moves slowly, like everything hurts. I grab both our bags and follow her in.
The safe house smells like dust and stale air. I flip the breaker, and the lights flicker on. The generator hums to life outside.
Bonnie drops onto the worn couch and pulls her knees to her chest. “How long do we have to stay here?”
“As long as it takes.”
She wraps her arms tighter around herself. Small. Vulnerable. Nothing like the fierce woman who wanted to stay and fight.
I should go to her. Hold her. Tell her we’ll get through this.
But I don’t know how.
I pull out my phone. One bar of signal. Then none. Then one again.
Fuck.
The cell service out here is shit—spotty at best, nonexistent most of the time. We’re cut off from the compound. From Ash and Titan. From everything.
I have no idea if they’re under attack. If they’re safe. If Marcus has already made his move.
And there’s nothing I can do about it.
“I’m going to check the supplies,” I say.
Bonnie nods but doesn’t look at me.
I leave her on the couch and head to the kitchen. Canned soup, beans, pasta. Bottled water. Everything still sealed and fresh.
The bedroom closet has blankets, first aid supplies, and toiletries. The weapons cache holds two rifles, three handguns, and enough ammunition to hold off for a day or two nonstop.
We’re set. We can last weeks here if we need to.
I just hope we don’t need to.
When I return to the living room, Bonnie’s lying on the couch with her eyes closed, but she’s not asleep.
