Chapter 244: Sunset Over Basa
The problem with living inside a city built by survivors was that privacy had become an endangered species.
Adrian realized this approximately twelve minutes after leaving the market with Chandrika.
A passing logistics truck slowed down just enough for the driver to lean out the window and offer him a thumbs-up.
A pair of mechanics sitting outside a repair garage suddenly became extremely interested in sweeping the same patch of concrete for nearly five straight minutes while watching them from the corner of their eyes.
One elderly woman selling vegetables outright smiled at them and said, "You make a good-looking couple."
Chandrika nearly walked into a lamp post.
Adrian considered requesting artillery support.
Unfortunately, none of those options solved the problem.
"Why is everyone like this?" Chandrika asked after they escaped the vegetable stall.
"I genuinely don’t know."
"You absolutely know."
"I have theories."
"Which are?"
He thought about it.
"Ryan."
She considered that answer.
Then nodded.
"Actually, yes."
That sounded correct.
The roads became quieter as they moved away from the market district and toward the western side of the base. Residential buildings gradually gave way to workshops, storage depots, and maintenance facilities. Beyond those stood newer construction projects where engineers and civilians continued expanding the settlement farther toward the coastline.
Several cranes moved slowly against the afternoon sky.
Generators hummed in the distance.
The sounds of welding echoed from somewhere nearby.
Life.
Always life.
Chandrika slowed as they passed one of the schools.
Children occupied the playground beyond the fence while several teachers supervised from nearby benches. One little girl ran across the field carrying a paper airplane while a boy chased after her insisting that fighter jets were faster than cargo planes.
The argument sounded surprisingly serious.
"They opened another school?" she asked.
"Last month."
"There are that many children now?"
"More than six hundred."
Her eyes widened.
"Seriously?"
Adrian nodded.
"When the outbreak started, one of our biggest concerns was keeping people alive."
"And now?"
"Now we’re worrying about classrooms, teachers, and playground equipment."
She smiled softly.
"That’s a nice problem to have."
He couldn’t argue with that.
A few moments later they reached one of the newer sections of the base where the roads overlooked the coastline to the west. The sea stretched endlessly toward the horizon while the afternoon sun painted the water gold.
Several naval vessels remained anchored offshore.
Destroyers.
Supply ships.
Transport vessels.
Guardians watching from the sea.
Chandrika leaned lightly against the railing overlooking the water.
"It’s beautiful."
"It is."
Neither spoke for a while.
The breeze coming from the ocean carried the scent of salt and distant rain. Somewhere below, waves crashed softly against the rocks near the shoreline defenses.
For a few minutes, the apocalypse felt very far away.
"I used to hate sunsets."
Adrian looked toward her.
She seemed almost surprised by her own words.
"Hate them?"
She nodded slowly.
"Back in the hotel."
Understanding came immediately.
Sunset meant darkness.
Darkness meant infected movement.
Danger.
Fear.
Another night survived if you were lucky.
Another night trapped if you weren’t.
"The evenings were always the worst."
Her fingers tightened slightly around the railing.
"You’d spend the whole afternoon watching the sun go down and thinking..."
She hesitated.
"Thinking maybe tonight would be the night something got through the doors."
Adrian stayed quiet.
Some memories didn’t need interruption.
"The funny thing is..." she continued softly, "...I don’t even remember what sunsets looked like before all that."
The wind caught several strands of her hair.
"But I remember every single one from the hotel."
He understood.
Trauma had a way of making certain memories permanent.
She looked toward the horizon again.
"I think this is the first sunset I’ve actually enjoyed in over a year."
Adrian followed her gaze toward the sea.
Orange light reflected across the water while the silhouettes of destroyers rested quietly in the distance.
Home.
Safety.
Tomorrow.
Things that hadn’t existed for a long time.
"I’m glad you’re here for this one then."
The words came naturally.
Too naturally.
She looked toward him.
Neither said anything afterward.
Neither really needed to.
A Black Hawk passed overhead several minutes later, flying low toward the airfield with supplies suspended beneath it. The helicopter crossed the setting sun briefly before disappearing inland toward the logistics district.
Life continued.
It always did.
Eventually Chandrika broke the silence.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"When do you sleep?"
He blinked.
"What?"
"I’m serious."
She turned toward him fully now.
"Every time I see you, you’re coming from a briefing, heading toward a briefing, leaving a meeting, returning from an operation, or pretending coffee counts as nutrition."
"Coffee does count as nutrition."
"It absolutely does not."
"I disagree."
She gave him a look.
Unfortunately, it was a very convincing look.
He surrendered immediately.
"Fine."
"Good."
The victory seemed to satisfy her.
Then her expression softened slightly.
"You know you’re allowed to stop sometimes, right?"
The question caught him off guard.
"Stop?"
"Rest."
She gestured toward the ocean.
"Sit down for an hour."
"Read a book."
"Take an afternoon off."
"You don’t always have to be the Commander."
The answer came immediately.
"Yes, I do."
The moment the words left his mouth, he realized he meant them.
Not because he wanted to.
Because he believed them.
If he stopped paying attention, something might break.
If he looked away, someone might die.
If he rested, maybe somebody else wouldn’t get the chance.
Chandrika watched him quietly.
Then she smiled.
"That’s a very stupid way to live."
He stared.
"What?"
"You’re one person."
"I know."
"You can’t carry everything."
"I know."
"You keep trying anyway."
"...I know."
Her smile widened slightly.
"At least you’re self-aware."
He laughed despite himself.
She wasn’t wrong.
That was the annoying part.
They eventually found an empty bench overlooking the water and sat down as the sun continued sinking toward the horizon.
The city behind them slowly came alive with evening lights.
Street lamps flickered on one after another.
Windows illuminated across residential districts.
Restaurants opened for dinner service.
Somewhere farther away, music drifted from the market area.
For the first time since the outbreak began, Basa looked less like a military installation preparing for war and more like an ordinary coastal city settling into evening.
It was beautiful.
A group of children ran past chasing one another down the road.
One stopped suddenly after recognizing Adrian.
His eyes widened.
"Commander!"
Adrian looked up.
The boy saluted.
A truly terrible salute.
Adrian returned it anyway.
The child grinned before running off to tell his friends.
Chandrika watched the interaction.
"You know that’s adorable, right?"
"It absolutely isn’t."
"It absolutely is."
He chose not to argue.
Because unfortunately she was right again.
She seemed to be doing that more often lately.
The sun finally touched the horizon.
Orange became gold.
Gold became red.
The sea reflected all of it.
Neither spoke.
Not because there was nothing to say.
Because some moments deserved silence.
Eventually Chandrika spoke quietly.
"You know..."
"What?"
"If someone had told me a year ago that I’d survive the apocalypse..."
She smiled toward the sunset.
"...this isn’t where I would’ve imagined ending up."
He looked toward her.
"Disappointed?"
She laughed softly.
Then shook her head.
"No."
Her gaze remained on the horizon.
"Not even a little."
For some reason, that answer stayed with him.
Long after the sun disappeared.
Long after the lights of the city grew brighter.
Long after they finally stood and started walking back toward the center of the base.
Neither noticed the pair of mechanics sitting on top of a nearby maintenance building.
Neither noticed the binoculars.
Neither noticed the notebook.
Ryan did.
Unfortunately for Adrian, he had apparently delegated observation duties.
The pilot accepted the report with great interest.
According to the mechanics, the Commander had smiled nine times during the afternoon.
Nine.
Ryan considered that statistic historic.
He also considered charging admission for future sightings.
For now, however, he decided not to interfere.
Mostly because he was enjoying the show far too much.
Some things, after all, deserved time to grow on their own.
Even in the middle of the apocalypse.