Chapter 71: Charity service

Terri couldn’t quite meet Aubrey’s eyes.

Her fingers worried the hem of her sleeve as she spoke, voice catching on itself. “I—I know what I heard. I’m not guessing.”

Aubrey studied her, jaw set. “And you’re positive?” she pressed. “You’re positive Jane’s abusing Peter?”

Terri swallowed, then nodded. Grim. Certain.

Hale stood off to the side, arms folded, shoulder resting against the concrete wall. He’d been quiet the whole time, watching Aubrey and Terri whisper like the words themselves were dangerous.

Something in his chest twisted anyway.

Aubrey finally looked over. “Any ideas about what we should do, Hale?”

He grimaced.

“Or,” she added casually, too casually, “is he just another man with his own problems?”

He knew exactly what she was doing. Baiting him. Testing where he stood.

Before he could answer—

The doorknob rattled.

Everyone froze.

“Shh,” Aubrey breathed. Her body coiled like a spring pulled too tight.

Terri trembled. “D–do you think it’s Jane…?” she whispered.

Aubrey didn’t respond.

The key slid in.

Slow. Deliberate.

The door opened with agonizing patience.

I nearly stumbled through the doorway, keys slipping in my hand as I shoved it shut behind me. I grimaced, jerking my thumb over my shoulder.

“Why the hell was the door locked?”

No one answered.

Aubrey turned on me instead. “How’d it go with the commander?”

I sighed, rubbing my face. “Says I insulted him. Doesn’t seem too keen on giving us our shit back.”

I noticed their expressions harden—subtle, but there.

“There’s more than one person running this place,” I added, dropping my keys on the table. “Tomorrow I’ll ask someone who isn’t so damn hardheaded.”

I sank onto the couch, exhaustion finally catching up.

“Anybody know where Lila is?” I asked. Then frowned. “Also, what were you guys even—”

“Jane just beat up Peter.”

Terri said it so fast I almost missed it.

“No kidding,” I muttered.

Silence answered me.

I looked up.

Really looked.

My stomach dropped. “Wait… seriously? Why?”

Terri hesitated.

Aubrey spoke.

“Something about him not defending her and her daughter after I—after I called them… slut wife and…” She winced. “I don’t even remember what I said about Isabella.”

A beat.

“But we think it’s been going on for much longer than today. It has to be.”

“Wait—wait—slow down. Why would you even—…?” I held up a hand, then stopped myself.

I exhaled sharply. “You know what? It doesn’t even matter.”

The room felt smaller. Heavier.

“What do we do about this?”

No one answered right away.

Aubrey’s mouth tightened. Hale looked away. Terri hugged herself like she was bracing for impact.

Finally, Aubrey spoke.

“Well…” she said quietly, “we were hoping you had the answer for that.”

Well…of course they did.

Almost immediately, my mind began to race.

Every option felt wrong. Every delay felt dangerous.

“Well…” I said slowly, choosing each word like it might explode if mishandled, “we can’t just kick her out of the group. It’s his wife. Peter’s… attached to her.”

That was the kindest way to put it.

I paced once, then stopped, palms open like I was trying to convince myself as much as them.

“Something like someone punishing her underneath his nose sounds like it could work.”

The words tasted bitter the moment they left my mouth.

Silence followed—thick, heavy, judgmental.

I felt it before I saw it: Hale shifting against the wall. His arms were crossed, but not relaxed. Tension sat in his shoulders like a loaded spring. He drew in a breath, the kind someone takes right before saying something they know will make things worse.

“Hale?” Aubrey asked quietly.

He opened his mouth.

Didn’t get the chance.

Arms wrapped around me from behind—soft, sudden, possessive.

Lila stepped out of the shadows like she’d been there the whole time, just waiting for permission to exist. Her cheek pressed against my back, chin settling near my shoulder, breath warm through my shirt.

“I’ll do it for you, sweetie.”

The room changed.

Terri shifted uncomfortably, fingers tightening around her sleeves. Aubrey’s gaze snapped up to me instantly, her mouth moving—slow, deliberate.

Don’t.

I saw it clearly.

Lila didn’t miss it.

Her arms tightened just a fraction.

“What was that?” she asked, tilting her head.

Her voice wasn’t loud.

It didn’t need to be.

Aubrey froze.

The half-formed word died on her lips. Her jaw worked once, then she looked away, eyes dropping to the floor like gravity had suddenly doubled.

“I didn’t say anything,” Aubrey muttered.

Lila hummed softly, unimpressed.

“All I’m trying to do is play my part in this group,” she said, her tone smoothing out into something falsely reasonable. “Now I’m being stopped?”

Her fingers laced together over my chest, nails grazing fabric—claiming, anchoring, warning.

I felt Hale’s stare burn into the side of my face.

That was the moment I moved.

I reached up and placed my hand over Lila’s forearm—not pushing her away, not rejecting her. Just enough pressure to interrupt the spiral before it found momentum.

“I have no problem with you doing it, Lila,” I said.

The words landed heavier than I expected.

Aubrey’s mouth twisted despite herself. A sharp, silent scoff she didn’t bother hiding this time. Terri turned her head away, staring at the far wall like it might offer absolution.

Lila’s grip loosened.

Slowly.

She leaned around me so I could see her face. Her smile was soft, affectionate—almost proud.

“See?” she said. “I knew you’d understand.”

My chest felt tight.

“Just…” I added, quieter now. Careful. “Don’t go overboard, okay?”

For a split second—

Just a fraction of a second—

Something cold flickered behind her eyes.

Then it vanished.

“Of course,” she said sweetly. “Whatever you want.”

She kissed my shoulder—gentle, deliberate—and stepped back, melting once more into the room like she’d never been there at all.

No one spoke.

I became acutely aware of how loud my heartbeat was.

Hale pushed off the wall.

Slow.

Measured.

He stopped in front of me, close enough that I could see the disappointment etched deep into his expression—not anger. Something worse.

Recognition.

“You sure about this?” he asked quietly.

It wasn’t a challenge.

It was a warning.

I swallowed.

“We need this handled,” I said. “Quietly.”

Hale studied me for a long moment.

Then he nodded once.

A single, final motion.

“Alright,” he said.

But the way he said it told me something had already gone wrong.

As he turned away, I realized with a sick, sinking clarity that I hadn’t made a decision.

I’d allowed one.

And whatever happened next—

Whatever line got crossed—

Wouldn’t belong to Lila alone.

It would belong to me.

Somewhere in the compound…

The room was sealed.

Concrete walls. A long steel table bolted to the floor. No windows—just a humming light panel overhead that cast everything in a sterile, unforgiving white. Radios sat idle. Files were stacked in neat, nervous piles.

Commander Callahan stood with both hands braced against the table, knuckles pale.

“With all due respect, Chief,” he said, voice tight, controlled, “why is he here?”

He pointed across the table.

Dr. Tekashi leaned back in his chair, arms folded, expression unreadable. If he felt insulted, he didn’t show it.

“He’s just a doctor,” Callahan continued. “He shouldn’t be in this meeting.”

The faceless chief—seated at the head of the table, silhouette swallowed by shadow—didn’t look up.

“Who I allow into my meetings,” the chief said evenly, “is not your concern, Commander.”

Silence followed.

Tekashi’s mouth twitched.

A smirk—brief, precise.

Callahan noticed. His jaw clenched.

“He has the intelligence,” the chief continued, “even outside his PhD. That makes him relevant.”

Tekashi inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the point without gratitude.

Someone farther down the table cleared their throat.

“That’s not why we’re here,” another voice cut in. “We’re here because of what the boy said.”

Callahan straightened.

“Yes,” he said. “The boy threatened me. Threatened us.”

He turned, eyes sweeping the room.

“In my opinion, he shouldn’t be trusted.”

Murmurs rippled across the table. Uneasy glances. Folded arms. A few nods.

“I say we remove him,” Callahan continued. “Him and his entire group. Expel them from the camp.”

Before anyone could respond—

“Actually,” a woman said, fingers dancing across a tablet, “we’re seeing something very different from the video footage.”

Callahan shot her a look.

She didn’t flinch.

“He clearly identifies structural flaws in the compound,” she went on. “Accurately. Patrol timing, generator dependency, bottleneck risks. It’s… honestly impressive.”

A pause.

Someone leaned forward. “Pull up his file.”

The screen at the end of the room lit up.

ADRIAN ROMANO CARTER

Age: 18

Born: April 7, 1998

Origin: Chicago — Englewood

Juvenile Record:

– Detention (Middle School)

– Detention (Secondary)

– Detention (Secondary)

Callahan scoffed.

“You see that?” he snapped. “A delinquent brat from the South Side. And you’re telling me his little speech wasn’t a fluke?”

The faceless chief raised a hand.

“His past is irrelevant.”

Tekashi spoke before Callahan could respond.

“Right now,” he said calmly, “this camp is facing a crisis.”

Callahan turned sharply. “We’re all aware there’s an apocalypse, Doctor.”

Tekashi didn’t look at him.

“I’m not referring to the apocalypse,” he said. “You have approximately three months of food remaining.”

That landed.

“And your soldiers,” he added, finally glancing at Callahan, “are too afraid to leave the perimeter to secure more.”

Callahan’s expression darkened.

“What are you suggesting, Dr. Tekashi?” he asked.

Tekashi leaned forward slightly.

“We return his group’s weapons,” he said. “And we deploy them.”

The room stiffened.

“They lead acquisition runs. Recon. Infected response.”

Callahan slammed a hand on the table.

“Are you out of your mind?!” he barked. “We are not letting a bunch of kids take charge of anything!”

His voice echoed off the concrete.

“You have to be fucking insane!”

Tekashi didn’t raise his voice.

“He wouldn’t be replacing you,” he said evenly. “He wouldn’t be commanding your men.”

A pause.

“All he’d be doing,” Tekashi continued, “is your dirty work.”

The room went quiet.

The chief lifted a hand.

Everyone stopped.

Slowly, deliberately, the faceless chief leaned forward.

“We will not decide this on emotion,” the chief said. “Or pride.”

A beat.

“The boy identified weaknesses none of you did.”

Another beat.

“And right now, this camp needs solutions—not comfort.”

The chief’s gaze—unseen, but felt—settled over the table.

“We will vote.”

Callahan’s jaw tightened.

Tekashi didn’t smile this time.

Somewhere beyond the concrete walls, the camp lights hummed.

And Adrian Carter—without knowing it—had just become either their greatest asset…

Or the fuse waiting to be lit.

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