Page 56 of What Remains

Finally, Jay clicked the radio. "Same plan."

Cara slipped out before the radio clicked off, disappearing between parked vehicles with her bow drawn, moving with her usual quick, quiet certainty. Seth circled wide around the opposite side with his rifle raised, boots crunching softly through the snow.

The side entrance held firm when he tested it. No pry marks, no blood. He peered through the narrow window into darkness and emptiness, then gave Jay the all clear.

Jay tried the front entrance. It was unlocked—a testament to how fast the world had gone to hell; that they hadn't even locked the door. The door creaked inward with a groan that echoed far too loudly in the silence, and everyone froze. Nothing answered.

Jay motioned them forward.

The smell hit first: old smoke, dust, and engine oil. It smelled normal, almost painfully so, as if emergency responders had simply walked away mid-shift and might return any minute. Helmets still hung on their hooks. Coffee mugs sat forgotten on a table beside a half-finished crossword puzzle and a newspaper folded open to a sports section, displaying mid-season standings for a league that never finished its year.

Seth swallowed hard. The end had come to places like this on one ordinary morning, over one ordinary cup of coffee, and then—nothing. No one had come back to finish the puzzle.

Cara swept the upstairs. "Clear!"

Jay checked the kitchen. "Clear."

Seth searched the bunk room, finding six neatly made beds, family photos taped inside open lockers, and a pair of children's drawings still pinned to a bulletin board with careful pride. He shut the nearest locker and moved on before his mind could start putting names to the faces.

He had to clear his throat before the word would come out. "Clear," he called.

They regrouped in the apparatus bay, where the two massive garage doors remained sealed. Jay looked up at the rusted chain mechanisms. "Let's get them open."

It took all three of them, the metal shrieked as Jay hauled downward while Seth shoved up with his shoulder.

"For the love of⁠—"

"Keep pushing!” Jay yelled.

Cara planted her boots and added her weight. With one final groan, the first door lurched upward, letting the cold air rush inside. One at a time, they backed both vehicles into the garage, and the moment the doors rattled closed again, silence settled over them.

Jay slid the manual lock into place. "There."

Seth turned a slow circle, assessing. No visible windows from the street. Concrete floors, heavy walls, one main entrance, and a side door they could barricade.

"I'll take this over sleeping outside."

"Every day," Cara agreed.

They spent the next twenty minutes checking every window, shoving a tool cabinet against the side entrance, and covering the small panes with heavy blankets pulled from the bunk room. Only when Jay had circled the building again did he finally nod.

"I think..." He looked around one last time. "...we're safe enough."

Seth raised an eyebrow. "You gonna say it?"

Jay smiled tiredly and reached into his pack. "Yeah. Let's have a fire."

Cara sighed with relief. "Oh, thank God."

Within minutes, they'd dragged an old steel burn barrel in from behind the station and positioned it in the middle of the bay, feeding it broken chairs, splintered shelving, and scrap lumber—enough fuel to last the night. Seth struck a lighter, and the dry wood caught almost instantly, orange flames climbing upward until warmth and dancing light filled the garage.

Layla, wrapped in a blanket like a cape, wandered toward the fire, her small face aglow.

"It's warm," she announced, as if delivering important news.

"It is," Josie agreed, kneeling to adjust her daughter's hat. She brushed snowmelt from Layla's curls and kissed the top of her head. "Stay where Mommy can see you."

"I know."