Chapter 33. Powder Keg

  Raven moved with purpose, keeping his focus on the path ahead but his mind kept drifting back to the group they had sent toward the hospital. Nearly two hundred people, all expecting safety, food, and shelter. Wilkes wanted numbers, but Raven doubted he had expected that many within half a day.

  He could already imagine Wilkes rubbing his temples, calculating supplies, and muttering under his breath about logistics. But knowing him, he’d have a plan in place before the first of them even made it through the gates.

  Oh well. That was Wilkes’ problem now. Raven had his own job to do, and by the time he got back, things would already be moving along.

  Carlos walked beside him, his usual cocky grin still firmly in place. The guy was probably still running on the high of turning an entire building into a bonfire. Raven didn’t blame him—it had been a sight to see.

  “Think they’ll make it back without trouble?” Carlos asked, breaking the silence.

  “They should,” Raven replied. “We cleared the streets between here and the hospital. Plus, Wilkes has people patrolling now. If anything goes wrong, they’ll handle it.”

  Carlos nodded, satisfied. Raven exhaled, rolling his shoulders. “Let’s keep moving. There’s a lot of ground to cover before nightfall.”

  Raven and his group moved cautiously through the city, the signs of devastation becoming more apparent with every block they passed. Buildings leaned against each other like drunks in an alley, their structural integrity failing. Roads had cracked open, with vines and strange plants forcing their way through the asphalt, reclaiming what had once belonged to nature. Their world was falling apart, and it was doing so at an alarming rate.

  They cleared the last of the apartment district without encountering another soul. No signs of survivors. No makeshift barricades. Nothing but silence and ruins. Raven was beginning to suspect they had gotten lucky with the last group. If that many people had survived in one place, how many more could really still be out here? The thought gnawed at him.

  Their next destination was the business district, closer to the heart of the city. If anyone else had made it through the Reckoning, they might have holed up somewhere near the infrastructure meant to keep things running—government buildings, police stations, even banks.

  The quiet didn’t last. As they approached the business district, distant noises began filtering through the air—sounds Raven hadn’t heard in a while. The sharp, percussive burst of gunfire. The screeching of monsters in pain. A firefight.

  The group tensed, instinctively closing ranks as they moved forward, more alert than ever. They had no idea what they were walking into, and that alone made it dangerous.

  As they reached a crossroad, Raven slowed, scanning their options. To the left, the gunfire continued, sporadic but intense. Ahead, towering over the nearby structures, was City Hall.

  Between them and City Hall stood a military barricade—one that made the half-assed police blockade at the hospital look like a pile of road cones. Dozens of uniformed soldiers guarded fortified checkpoints, automatic weapons in hand. The roads were a mess of bodies, but not just the dead. Hundreds, no—thousands—of people had gathered here, packed into tents and makeshift shelters in the streets, clinging to what remained of order.

  At one of the barricades, Raven watched as a squad of soldiers gunned down the last few goblins in a group that had rushed the checkpoint. The battle was over in seconds, the bodies of the creatures slumping to the pavement, green blood pooling at their feet.

  Raven exhaled slowly.

  “Well,” Carlos muttered, rubbing his chin. “This just got interesting.”

  Pulling back from the crossroads, Raven gathered his team in a narrow alleyway, ensuring they were out of sight from both the military and the chaotic encampment beyond. He exhaled, running a hand through his hair as he considered their next move.

  “They’re organized,” one of the officers noted. “Maybe they don’t need us.”

  “Or maybe they’re one bad day from collapsing,” Raven countered.

  Carlos looked uneasy. “I’m not sure we should trust that the people in charge are allies?”

  Raven frowned. “We won’t. That’s why I’m sending runners back to the hospital. If something happens, Wilkes will need to know.”

  He turned to two of the recruits. “Head back. Let Wilkes know what we found here. If you run into trouble, avoid it. We cleared the path, so it should be safe.”

  The two recruits nodded and took off, leaving the rest of the group standing at the alley’s edge.

  Carlos sighed. “Alright, what’s the approach?”

  “We go in cautious,” Raven said. “Keep your hands where they can see them but stay sharp. No sudden movements.”

  With that, they stepped out and made their way toward the nearest checkpoint.

  As they neared the soldiers, one of them raised his rifle and called out, “Halt! Identify yourselves. Civilians, hunters, or scavengers?”

  Raven exchanged a quick glance with Carlos before answering. “Hunters.”

  The soldier’s posture remained rigid, but he gestured them forward. “Step up and report.”

  The group moved cautiously, stopping just short of the checkpoint. The soldier, a hard-faced man with a buzz cut and a deep frown, eyed them warily.

  “IDs?” he asked.

  Raven hesitated. “We don’t have any. We just arrived here.”

  The soldier’s frown deepened, but it wasn’t just suspicion in his eyes—it was exhaustion, maybe even paranoia. “Yeah? Then where’d you get that gear? Doesn’t look like something you just found lying around.

  Raven remained silent for a beat, weighing his options. He had no idea how this place functioned, what rules they followed, or what set them off. So, he went with the simplest response.

  “I’d like to speak with someone in charge.”

  That clearly wasn’t what the soldier wanted to hear. His brow furrowed, and his fingers tightened around the rifle's grip. “That so? And why should we let you do that?”

  Raven remained calm, but he could feel the tension rising in the group. “Because we might have information that’s valuable to you.”

  The soldier scoffed. “You might also be a bunch of looters looking to get inside. If you don’t start giving me real answers, you’re gonna find yourselves in a cell until you decide to be more cooperative.”

  Carlos tensed beside him, but Raven held up a hand, keeping him from saying something that might escalate the situation.

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  “I’m asking for a conversation, not a fight,” Raven said evenly. “If you’re locking up everyone who shows up looking for answers, that tells me a lot about how things work around here.”

  The soldier’s eyes narrowed. Then, with a sharp motion, he turned to his squad mates and gave the order.

  “Take them to processing. If they don’t wanna talk, they can sit in holding until they do.”

  More soldiers moved forward, weapons at the ready.

  Raven sighed. Well, this was going well.

  The soldiers led them through the checkpoint, weaving past rows of barricades and past a throng of civilians who watched them with wary, sunken eyes. The people gathered here weren’t the hopeful survivors Raven had seen back at the hospital. These were tired, beaten-down remnants of society, clinging to whatever structure they could find. The air smelled of sweat, unwashed bodies, and the faint metallic tang of gunpowder.

  They were taken into a large tent near the edge of the encampment. Inside, rows of tables were set up with stacks of paperwork, clipboards, and personnel working diligently behind them. It had the efficiency of a military operation but none of the warmth. The place reeked of control.

  As soon as they entered, a sharp-eyed woman in uniform snapped a few quick orders, and Raven, Carlos, and the last officer with them—a guy whose name Raven still hadn’t caught—were separated and ushered toward different tables. A man in a grey uniform gestured for Raven to sit across from him.

  “Name?” the man asked, wasting no time.

  Raven leaned back slightly in the chair. “Raven Tucson.”

  “Where did you come from?” The man’s pen scratched against the clipboard.

  Raven hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering. “The east side of the city.”

  The questions came in rapid-fire. How long have you been out here? How have you survived? Have you encountered hostile forces? What skills have you unlocked? What traits do you possess?

  Each one was delivered in a crisp, emotionless tone, but Raven could feel the intent behind them. They weren’t just cataloguing him—they were testing him. Looking for inconsistencies. Weaknesses.

  He kept his answers vague, playing the fool when necessary. “Skills? I know how to use a bow.” “Traits? Not sure what you mean.” “Hostile forces? A few monsters here and there.”

  “You’re dressed like a combatant, moving in an organized squad, and you expect me to believe you’re just some civilian with a bow?”

  Raven met the man’s stare, forcing himself to look casual. Inside, his mind ran through the possibilities—were they planning to lock him up? Take his gear? Line him up against a wall?

  He smiled, letting his voice come out easy. “I expect you to believe whatever makes this conversation end the fastest.”

  The officer exhaled sharply through his nose, clearly displeased. His eyes flicked over to a soldier standing nearby, and Raven caught the barely perceptible nod. They weren’t buying it.

  Across the tent, Carlos wasn’t having a better time. He was gesturing animatedly, clearly arguing with his interrogator, while the last officer with them looked stiff and uncomfortable at his own table.

  Raven forced himself to relax. He’d known walking into this place was a risk, but now it was starting to feel like a mistake.

  After what felt like an eternity of relentless questioning, Raven and Carlos were finally hauled out of the processing tent and led toward the edge of the camp. A makeshift holding area had been set up in an abandoned shop, its windows reinforced with wooden planks and metal bars welded crudely over the entrance. The guards took their possessions and locked them in a cell. A single guard sat outside, rifle resting across his lap, looking far too bored to be paying full attention.

  The moment they were shoved inside and the door locked behind them, Carlos scoffed. "Well, that went about as well as I expected."

  Raven leaned against the cold wall, exhaling through his nose. "Could’ve gone worse. They could’ve shot us."

  Carlos let out a low chuckle and shook his head. "Give them time."

  The small cell they were placed in was barely lit, the only light source coming from a distant lantern hanging outside the window. The air smelled of sweat and damp wood, and the wooden benches lining the walls were hard and uninviting.

  Carlos paced, rubbing his jaw in irritation. “I say we bust out of here now. Bet you five bucks I could roast that lock before anyone outside even blinks.”

  Raven shot him a warning glance. "Keep your voice down. We don't know who’s listening."

  Carlos rolled his eyes but complied, slumping onto one of the benches. "So, what now? We just sit here until they decide what to do with us?"

  "More or less," Raven muttered, settling into a meditative pose against the wall. "I’m going to scout the place tonight."

  Carlos blinked at him. "Scout? In case you haven’t noticed, we’re locked up."

  Raven only smirked and said nothing. He closed his eyes and let his focus drift inward, drawing in the ambient ether from the world around him. The ether swirled lazily around him, a faint pulse beneath his skin. It was weaker here, not as vibrant as it had been in the hospital, but Raven could still feel it—thin as smoke, yet almost alive. It pressed against his skin, flowing as though something in the city was actively drawing it.

  A sink, he realized. There’s another one nearby.

  He filed that information away for later. For now, he just had to wait. He tried to keep his mind from wandering into negative thoughts—Wilkes and the people at the hospital were relying on him to get this first interaction with the faction right, if he made enemies of these people, it would be bad for the people he had helped save.

  He exhaled, shaking off the weight of the situation. Wilkes thrived on structure, but Raven had learned that sometimes the best strategy was to let the chaos unfold, then move in and seize the pieces when they fell into place

  Hours passed. The last light of day faded into the deep black of night, and the sounds of the camp grew quieter. The distant conversations and movement of soldiers dwindled until only the occasional shifting of a restless guard remained.

  Raven opened his eyes and scanned the room. Their jailor outside had slumped forward, chin to chest, deep in sleep. It was time.

  Moving with deliberate silence, he stepped over to Carlos and whispered, "I'm going to scout. Stay put."

  Carlos gave him a dubious look but didn’t argue. “Just don’t get caught.”

  Raven smirked, phasing through the wall.

  The moment he emerged on the other side; the night embraced him like an old friend. Deep, dark shadows stretched between the tents and barricades, perfect for concealment. Keeping low, he began moving through the camp, drifting like a ghost between shelters, keeping close to structures where the torchlight didn’t reach.

  He listened as he moved, catching snippets of conversation from civilians and soldiers alike.

  "...food's running low again. We won’t last another two weeks like this."

  "...water situations getting worse. Some of the taps we were using have dried up."

  "...the guns aren’t holding up. The damn barrels keep wearing out. It’s like something’s corroding the metal faster than it should."

  The more he listened, the clearer it became—"The place had the bones of a fortress, but Raven had seen enough, to know the difference between strength and desperation. This wasn’t a sanctuary—it was a pressure cooker. The kind of place that worked fine until one thing went wrong. Then, it would all come crashing down.

  The real question was whether he should bother trying to hold it up… or just let it fall."

  Raven continued toward City Hall. The building loomed ahead, mostly dark except for a handful of candle-lit rooms. He phased through the outer wall and began creeping through the hallways, moving between rooms with practiced ease.

  On the second floor, voices caught his attention.

  He approached cautiously, stopping just outside an office door where a man and woman were talking inside. Their conversation was tense, and Raven listened intently.

  “We can’t stay here,” one voice said firmly. “The water’s running dry, and we’re burning through supplies faster than we can replace them.”

  “And where exactly do you suggest we go?” the second voice snapped back. This one was more measured, but there was an unmistakable undertone of frustration. “We move out of the city, and we’re exposed". “Out there, we’re sitting ducks,” the second voice snapped. “You think people will follow orders if they’re scattered, running through forests like animals? Here, they listen.”

  The first man scoffed. “They’re starving.”

  “They’re alive.” A pause. Then, softer: “A desperate man with a full belly is dangerous. A starving man follows orders.”

  A pause. Then the second voice spoke again, this time lower, thoughtful. “What about a controlled retreat? Not everyone at once. We find a location with running water, fertile land, and start setting up something sustainable.”

  “You think people will agree to leave? They’ll riot.”

  “They’ll riot either way. At least if we leave on our terms, we get to choose how we survive.”

  Raven could tell the first man was pragmatic, trying to keep everyone alive. The second man? He had a different priority.

  Control.

  Raven’s instincts told him that while one of them wanted to help these people, the other was focused on maintaining order—by any means necessary.

  The conversation was wrapping up. Not wanting to be caught, Raven phased through another wall and slipped out of the building. Moving swiftly, he made his way back through the camp, avoiding the occasional patrol.

  Once back at the holding cell, he phased inside. Carlos raised an eyebrow. “So?”

  Raven sat back down, exhaling. “They want to move the camp before they starve, some of them anyway.”

  Carlos’s eyes narrowed. “And the others?”

  Raven hesitated. "One of them wants to save these people. The other wants to keep them in line. And I don’t think they’ll hesitate to choose control over survival when the time comes."

  Carlos muttered a curse. “Great. So, we’re either dealing with reasonable people or power-hungry pricks.”

  “Basically,” Raven said, closing his eyes. “We’ll figure it out in the morning.”

  He didn’t have all the answers yet, but one thing was certain—this place was a time bomb. And they were sitting right in the middle of it.