The group moved in a quiet but companionable silence, the tension from their recent battle with the lightning otters giving way to a shared determination. Joel, Craig, and Darren were no longer just co-workers thrown together by survival; they were becoming something closer, hardened by the dangers they had faced together and the necessity of depending on one another.
They found Kevin and Alex huddled in the storage office, visibly relieved when Joel’s group reappeared. Kevin's face was pale, his eyes wide as he looked between them, searching for reassurance in the wake of whatever chaos he had imagined outside. Alex looked equally wary, but relief softened his expression when he saw Craig give a thumbs-up.
As they approached, Kevin's eyes widened, darting from their dirt-streaked faces to the hints of bruises and scratches peeking out beneath their coveralls. “You guys... you’re alive,” he breathed, visibly relaxing as he stood up from his spot by the fire in the office. “I thought—”
“Thought we’d be toast?” Craig interrupted with a grin, though there was a tiredness in his eyes. “Well, it was close, but we got through.”
Alex let out a relieved sigh, stepping forward. “You three look like you’ve been through hell.”
“You could say that,” Joel replied, giving a small, reassuring nod. “But we made it.” He started to gather an armful of supplies. “We found the medical stash. Figured we’d need all we could get.”
Kevin reached for a pack of bandages, his hands trembling slightly. “Thanks. I... I was starting to think maybe I wouldn’t see any of you again.”
Darren, grinning but equally tired, clapped Kevin on the shoulder. “Guess it’ll take more than a couple of electric furballs to knock us out. Besides, we need every set of hands we can get.”
Kevin was shocked, “What?1”
“Good to know you’re back,” Alex added, his expression softening as he looked over the three. He gave a broken short laugh, from a man who was at the edge of giving up hope. “For a moment there, I thought we were on our own again.”
Joel chuckled, glancing between Alex and Kevin. “Nah, we’re in this together now. Let’s make sure that’s how it stays.”
Joel looked around the cramped office, his eyes settling on each of his coworkers. "Look, we can’t stay holed up here much longer. We’re sitting ducks if anything else comes through, and this office wasn’t exactly built to withstand… well, anything like those otters."
“Again, what?”
Joel took a breath, then continued, “There’s that workbench we passed earlier—it’s strange, yeah, but it seems to be connected to the system. It could have resources we’ll need if the system’s recognizing it. We set up camp there, regroup, maybe even get some answers.”
Craig raised an eyebrow. “You think it’s safe?”
This time Kevin and Alex, “What?”
“Safe enough,” Joel replied. “It’s a risk, but it’s better than hiding here waiting for something else to break through. We’re gonna need all the supplies, space, and… whatever else that bench might have to offer.”
Darren gave a small nod. “Better than waiting to get picked off here. I’m in.”
Joel gave them a reassuring look. “Alright. Then let’s move before it gets any darker. We’re gonna need every advantage we can get.”
“Don’t worry, guys,” Craig said with a reassuring grin, gathering Kevin and Alex close as he filled them in on what had gone down while they’d been securing the depot. “We’ve handled the worst of it for now, but we’ll need to get creative about defenses if anything else tries pushing in.”
Meanwhile, Darren and Joel worked fast, sweeping the office and nearby storage for anything they could haul back to their makeshift camp. They found some hand carts and a dolly in one of the maintenance closets, which made transporting supplies faster. Within thirty minutes, they’d managed to stockpile a decent cache—medical supplies, canned food, a few cans of fuel, and even a sturdy stash of nails, two-by-fours, and other building materials they could use to shore up their new bunker.
It took only a few more trips to pile up everything by the workbench, and as they set down the last load, Joel gave a tired but satisfied nod. “Alright,” he muttered, “let’s turn this place into something that can last us at least through the night.”
If there was one thing these men were good at, it was getting to work.
Darren handed them each a portion of the medical supplies they'd gathered, and together they set to work organizing the makeshift camp. “We’re lucky to have even this much,” Joel murmured as he packed gauze, antiseptics, and bandages into small, easily accessible piles. They were low on most things, but any supplies, no matter how limited, felt like a lifeline.
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Joel and Darren hauled one of the otter corpses to a distant spot at the edge of the supply yard, wanting to put distance between the bodies and their temporary refuge. The air was heavy with the lingering metallic scent of ozone, the aftershock of electricity still faintly crackling around the otters’ mangled bodies. They worked quickly, their expressions set with grim resolve, not willing to let the corpses become an attraction for anything that might be lurking in the dark.
Joel and Darren worked in silence, the weight of their grim task settling in as they approached the body slumped against the corner. The metallic tang of rusted blood hit first, mingling with the sharper odor of spilled oil and salt, cold air. Darren scrunched his nose, his breath shallow as he gripped the corpse’s shoulders. The corpse’s skin felt rough and cool to the touch, textured like old leather, sending a chill up Joel’s spine as he held onto its legs. With a heave, they lifted, the weight heavier than expected, as if burdened with all the dread and desperation of the man’s final moments. A slight scraping sound echoed from the dead man’s tool belt clattered against the floor, the noise echoing in the quiet space. Joel tightened his grip, and they shuffled backward, each strained breath releasing as a visible puff in the chill, dragging the figure toward the far side of the depo.
Once the bodies were dealt with, they gathered planks and broken shelving units to block off the storage unit entrance, then pulled the metal gate back down. Then began to wedge metal scraps and thick boards together until they formed a barrier. Joel tested it, giving a final, firm shake to ensure it was solid.
“Good enough,” he said, exhaustion pulling at his voice. As the group settled inside the storage unit, the tension finally eased. The space was cramped, the smell of oil and metal heavy in the air.
Alex had managed to start another fire, its crackling warmth filling the makeshift shelter as he set about cooking some of the canned food they had scavenged from the office kitchen. But like the flashlight they had tried earlier, anything that relied on electricity remained frustratingly useless. Despite the limitations, the flickering flames created a cozy glow, casting dancing shadows on the walls and lifting their spirits.
The warmth of the fire was a welcome relief against the chilling air that seeped in around them, a shared sense of safety enveloping the group. They settled into their corners, wrapping themselves in whatever they had found: space blankets covered in a few old tarps, jackets, and a few wool blankets. They felt like they were clinging to the warmth like a lifeline as the cold night, or new reality, pressed in around them. Joel caught Darren's eye and managed a small, reassuring smile, feeling a flicker of hope amidst the chaos, even as the sounds of the distant wilderness reminded them of the dangers lurking outside.
Joel took the moment to take Darren in. The first real moment of peace. The other man was a bit shorter than him but that only seems to sharpen Darren’s quick wit and adaptability—a trait that made him a natural fit as a rigger. Joel smirked to himself. Darren’s had a sturdy, compact build that he carries with an easygoing confidence, his hands scarred and calloused from handling lines, cables, and the intense labor of rig work.
Then he took a second to take in Craig. That man stood taller than most, his broad shoulders and solid build lending him a presence that was hard to ignore. His head was shaved smooth, catching the light in a way that highlighted the lines of grit on his face—a face hardened by years of labor, marked by a fierce dedication to his work. A tattoo of a classic sailing ship, its sails full against imagined winds, curled up his forearm, a nod to his roots and a reminder of the freedom he’d always craved.
Craig’s smile was a rare sight, but when it appeared, it held a rough-edged charm that made people look twice. There was something dangerous in it, a glint just under the surface, as though he was always holding back—like he knew more than he let on or had been through things he never spoke about. His smile hinted at stories untold, battles fought in silence, and a tenacity that went beyond words. It was the kind of smile that could put people at ease or set them on edge, depending on what they saw reflected back.
With their stomachs full and the fire crackling softly, casting a warm glow in the makeshift shelter, the tension began to ease among the group. Laughter and light conversation filled the air at first, as they reminisced about mundane things—old jobs, favorite foods, and even silly pranks they’d pulled in the past. The warmth and camaraderie wrapped around them like a comforting blanket, a temporary refuge from the chaos outside.
But soon, a lull settled over the conversation, and silence crept in. Joel's gaze drifted towards the fire, but his mind began to wander back to Oliver. Memories of their nights together flooded his thoughts—the laughter, the quiet moments shared over cups of coffee, the way Oliver would playfully nudge him when he fell asleep during movies. The warmth of those memories clashed with the cold reality of the world he was currently trapped in, making him feel a pang of longing. He wondered if Oliver was safe, if he had been able to escape the chaos, or if he was searching for Joel, just as he was searching for a way home.
The crackling of the fire brought Joel back to a different time—a time before the Greens rose to power, before the climate crisis reshaped the coastline, erasing familiar landmarks. He recalled how the people from Vancouver, driven by desperation, began moving north, transforming communities and igniting tensions over dwindling resources. The world had changed, but some memories remained untouched, glimmering like stars in the darkness.
He thought of the Peace River, where he and Oliver had shared their first fishing trip, laughter echoing beneath the bridge leading to Hudson Hope. The cool breeze felt distant now, but he could almost feel the sun on his skin, a stark contrast to the chilling reality around him. Joel's body ached for Oliver—longing for the warmth of his touch, the way his fingers traced over Joel’s skin, igniting sensations that felt far too precious now.
He remembered the moment he nearly fell into the rushing water, heart racing with adrenaline, only to be yanked back by Oliver’s strong hands. The panic faded as Oliver’s body pressed against his, grounding him in that brief, perfect moment. The warmth of their closeness lingered in Joel’s mind, a bittersweet reminder of what he fought to return to amidst the chaos surrounding him.
That was the first time Joel had ever told another man he loved him. The words had slipped from his lips in a rush, mingling with the rush of the river and the soft rustle of leaves overhead. Oliver was the first, and he hoped he would be the last man to hold such a place in Joel's heart. In that memory by the river, with the warmth of Oliver's body against his, Joel felt an unwavering resolve settle within him. He would watch the rest of the world burn if it meant he could keep Oliver safe. The depths of his love ran deeper than the river’s currents, fierce and protective, anchored by the memory of that connection. In the midst of a crumbling world, Joel clung to that feeling, a lifeline to the man he longed to return to, the one who made every battle worth fighting.
In that memory, Joel drifted off to sleep