Chapter 21: Rumors of a Haven
The days following the raid on the precinct were a blur of preparation. The riot van was a game-changer. It was not just a vehicle; it was a mobile fortress, a tangible symbol of their plan to escape. Quinn and Hex worked on it relentlessly in the building’s secure underground garage. They reinforced weak spots, checked the engine, and loaded it with their growing cache of supplies.
Lily, in the meantime, had developed a cough.
At first, it was just a small, dry tickle in her throat. Quinn told himself it was just the dust, the stress, the poor air quality. But it persisted. It grew deeper, wetter, until her small body was wracked with coughing fits that left her pale and breathless. He checked her for a fever constantly, his heart seizing with terror every time the back of his hand touched her forehead. There was none, but the cough was getting worse. He knew, with a gnawing dread, that she needed medicine they did not have. Simple antibiotics. A child’s cough syrup. Things that had once been trivial but were now as precious as gold.
One night, while Quinn was trying to coax Lily to drink some water, Hex called him over to the comms desk, his expression tense.
"I’ve got something," he said, pointing to his laptop, which was connected to a salvaged shortwave radio. "It’s been cycling for the last hour. Faint. Heavily encrypted, but the encryption is sloppy, civilian-grade. I was able to break it."
He hit a key, and a voice filled the quiet apartment. It was a woman’s voice, calm and professional, repeating the same message over and over.
"...to any survivors. This is a secure broadcast from the St. Michael’s Community Clinic. We are operational. We have a doctor. We have medical supplies. We are accepting sick and wounded. I repeat, St. Michael’s is open. We are located at the corner of Westmoreland and 12th Street. We are a place of hope. God be with you."
The message ended, followed by a few seconds of static, and then it began again.
Quinn listened to the loop three times, his mind racing. A clinic. A doctor. Hope. The word felt alien, a language he no longer spoke.