#Chapter 112: Shelter

The caravan arrived just before dusk, the long line of vehicles snaking through pine-shadowed hills like a scar winding deeper into unknown territory. I watched through the dusty window as the sun dipped behind the ridge, casting long shadows over the road. We had traveled for hours in tense silence, the weight of the evacuation pressing down on every glance, every clipped word. People didn’t speak unless necessary, and even then, only in low tones that carried the weariness of the past forty-eight hours. The road curved sharply, and then the forest began to fall away. There, nestled against the base of a granite slope, was the bunker. Sleek, fortified, and silent. It didn’t look like a shelter. It looked like a statement. Concrete and steel, half-swallowed by the earth, yet somehow commanding. As we drew closer, I could see the details: security towers positioned like teeth, hidden surveillance arrays embedded in the surrounding hills, and a central vault large enough to admit milit