“We know it’s unlikely,” Luna added, “but if the human population turns against shifters, we want to be ready. It’s especially urgent for the smaller prides and packs, the ones without training or fallback points.”
Karl nodded. “You’re talking civilian evac.”
“Yes,” Luna said simply. “Matt said you have experience we could use.”
“You need load calculations, escape routes, caching. Silent travel protocols. You need to know how long people can stay off-grid before the solution becomes as bad as the problem.”
Matt nodded, his mouth tight. “We’re just shaping ideas right now, but I want expert guidance on what we should be considering.”
Karl stepped forward and looked over the map spread on the desk, with a blue dot representing every pack. A few black dots stood out between them. Cat prides, presumably, though from what he knew of cats, they didn’t all live in prides. And even when they did, it wasn’t the same. Prides were looser than packs, more like a network of people who shared territory and occasionally got along. A pack—when done right—was family.
Cats were too independent, which meant they had no one to rely on when things went to hell. It was why they didn’t care when they gave the orders that sent othersintohell.
He shook off the unsettling memory. “Depends if you want to go for larger fallback sites, which would be easier to set up and defend but would be more discoverable, or to have shifters disappear into the communities and country around them.” He glanced up and held Matt’s eyes. “And that depends on whether this is going to be a blip in shifter and non-shifter relations, or a new normal.”
Matt looked suddenly ten years older. God, Karl wouldn’t have wanted the choices that had weighed on his shoulders—protect his mate, and potentially cause problems for every shifter in the country, or spend the rest of his life waiting for Jesse to be snatched by people with resources he couldn’t defend against. Which would probably end up in trouble for every shifter anyway.
“Let’s game out both scenarios,” Luna said, her calmness somehow reassuring rather than annoying. Yeah, she’d definitely learned to hide the worst of her cat traits.
“Okay, well, whichever option we’re talking about, you’ll want as many sites as possible near the borders in case they need to get out of the country.”
Luna nodded slowly. “We’d thought of that. Not everyone could get that far, though.”
“Sure. Which means the other regional sites—some should be remote, and others urban.” He tapped his knuckle lightly on the map. “You want options so that no one path becomes predictable.”
Matt leaned forward. “What about actual locations? What kind of sites would you choose?”
Karl hesitated just a breath. “Not obvious shelters.”
Luna raised an eyebrow.
“I mean not places people would expect someone on the run to use, like abandoned cabins or barns. You want ordinary and unremarkable. Vacation rentals no one’s touched in a year, or houses that’ve been on the market forever, with working locks.Quiet places no one checks because they’re not abandoned. And because they’re just there, the way they’ve been for a while, no one sees them anymore.”
Luna’s voice was very quiet. “Hide in plain sight.”
Karl nodded. “Exactly. Keep your stockpiling purchases spread thin and random—nothing with a digital footprint, not even a credit card. But don’t use piles of cash in a local store, either. We need silence, with no pattern and no trail. And we have to train people to think like prey, without panicking like prey.” He huffed an unamused laugh. “At least wolf nature is on our side there.”
Luna’s silence was somehow deafening.
“As is cat nature, of course,” he added, with only the merest suggestion of grudging acknowledgement.
Matt asked, “How many people can you realistically move like this?”
Not enough. Not nearly enough, that was for sure. “It depends. To start with, are they moving as wolves or cats, or as humans? Let’s say some at least will be in human form, because no matter how well prepared people are, there are some items that they just won’t leave behind.” Even if it cost them their lives. He’d read of people in airplane crashes burning because they stopped to get their belongings out of the overhead locker. He’d seen worse himself.
“You could easily move dozens that way. Maybe a hundred, if they’re trained and disciplined. But if you’re moving elders and kids, and people with mobility or medical needs, you’re not going to keep everyone off radar indefinitely.”
Luna’s expression didn’t change. “What happens then?”
Karl looked her in the eye. “Then someone makes noise in the wrong direction and creates a trail. Bleeds out time for the rest.”
The silence that followed was not a comfortable one.
Matt finally spoke. “We don’t want to go this route. But if we have to, I’d rather be prepared than scrambling.”
Karl inclined his head slightly. “Then you’ll need drills. Codes and staging plans that can flex without notice.”
Luna nodded, face unreadable. “We’ll work them through with you, if you’re willing.”
