“Yes,” I said.
She pressed her lips together and stepped aside.
This was how it always went. There were never any speeches. No reassurances. Just people deciding whether or not to keep being decent in a world that punished it.
I returned to the clinic through a different route, my heart beating a little faster with every step. The military station sat three blocks south, its windows glowing too brightly, its flag hanging stiff and clean above the entrance.
I didn’t look at it.
In the back room, the boy stirred as I knelt beside him. His eyelids fluttered. He frowned up at me.
“Doctor?” he whispered.
“Where are you taking him?” the mother asked sleepily.
“Shh,” I replied gently. “We’re going on a short trip. Come on. You too.”
I wrapped him in a thick coat. It was too big for him, but it would be warm. Then I lifted him carefully. He was light. Too light. My chest tightened at the thought of why.
The three of us slipped out through the rear stairwell and into the alley, the city swallowing us whole.
Every sound felt amplified. A bottle breaking somewhere nearby made my grip tighten around the boy. Voices carried from across the street, then a quick burst of laughter, coarse and careless.
I kept walking.
Thankfully, we reached the bakery without incident. The woman opened the door just enough to let us in, then bolted it behind us.
“You’re late,” she murmured.
“I had to be careful,” I replied.
She gestured toward the back. “He’ll take you from here.”
The man she was talking about turned out to be someone I’d never seen before. He was tall, had his hood pulled low, and had eyes that glinted with alert restlessness. He didn’t speak. Just nodded once and led us through a trapdoor into darkness.
The tunnels beneath London were older than the Collapse. Brick-lined, damp, smelling of mold and secrets. We moved quickly, the man ahead of me silent as a ghost.
At the end of the tunnel, we emerged into a disused rail spur, the tracks half-buried under debris. A small transport waited there, its engine idling softly.
The man finally spoke. “This batch will be sent to Ireland.”
The boy stirred again, murmuring something incoherent.
I hesitated.
This was the point of no return.
I reached into my coat and pulled out a small comm device. It was old tech, and very heavily modified.
I thumbed it on.
Static hissed, then cleared.
“This is Tierney,” I said quietly. “I have one.”
Silence stretched long enough that I thought I’d been discovered.
Then a woman’s voice finally came through.
