Chapter 18
The early morning air was heavy with fog, wrapping the camp in a thin veil of gray. Axel stood in the command tent, his back turned to Hank as he packed the last of the essentials—maps, water, a combat knife, a spare pistol, and a small pack of tools for Jason.
Hank stood tall, arms crossed, waiting for Axel to speak.
Finally, Axel turned.
"You're in charge while I'm gone."
His voice was steady, but there was an undertone—something sharp beneath the surface. He reached into his coat and handed Hank a folded piece of paper.
"These are the orders. Daily tasks, patrols, food rations, watch rotations, everything."
Hank took it with a nod, eyes scanning the neat, harsh handwriting.
But before Axel turned to leave, he paused—his hand resting on the edge of the tent's flap. Then he stepped close, voice dropping so low only Hank could hear him.
"If anyone questions you…"
His tone sharpened like a blade.
"…if anyone disobeys or starts something they shouldn't…"
He glanced toward the direction of the old storage cabin—now repurposed as a prison.
"You know what to do. It's still standing for a reason."
Hank's eyes narrowed slightly, but he nodded. "Throw them in."
"Good," Axel said. "No hesitation. No mercy. If something starts while I'm gone, I expect to come back to silence, not chaos."
A long silence stretched between the two men. Then Axel stepped back, and his face softened—not with kindness, but clarity.
"Clear?"
"Crystal," Hank said.
Axel gave a short nod. With that, he stepped out into the fog, Jason already waiting by the truck.
As the engine roared to life and the gate opened, Hank stood at the edge of the watchtower stairs, watching the only man who ever brought order to this broken world disappear into the mist.
And in his hand, the list of laws written in Axel's hand might as well have been scripture.
---
The road was silent.
Dust kicked up behind the old truck as it rolled down the broken path, tires crunching over gravel and old branches. Axel sat in the passenger seat, his eyes locked on the woods ahead, unmoving, unreadable. Beside him, Jason gripped the wheel tightly, his knuckles pale.
Neither of them spoke for the first twenty minutes.
Axel finally broke the silence. "How far to the river station?"
"About ten miles," Jason said. "If the map's right."
Axel gave a single nod. "It's right."
Another long pause. The world around them was eerily quiet. No birds. No wind. Just the low growl of the engine as they moved forward.
Jason glanced at him. "What do you think we'll find there?"
Axel didn't look at him. "Hope. Or a grave."
Jason swallowed hard, adjusting his grip. "I thought we were looking for parts. Power cells. Engines."
"We are," Axel said. "But places like that… abandoned stations… sometimes you find more than supplies."
Jason didn't ask what he meant. He could hear it in Axel's voice—the past hanging in every word.
They kept driving.
Halfway there, Axel leaned out the window, scanning the tree line. His hand drifted to his katana strapped beside his leg.
"Slow down."
Jason obeyed. "You see something?"
"Movement. Back left. Might be a deer. Might not."
Jason stopped the truck. Both men got out silently.
Axel moved first, his body low, steps silent against the damp forest floor. Jason followed, slower, but careful.
A few minutes passed. They crouched behind a fallen log, eyes watching the brush.
Then—they saw it.
Two figures. Ragged. Human. One with a crude machete, the other with a rusted hunting bow. Scouting. Maybe lost. Maybe bandits.
Axel studied them.
"They haven't seen us," he whispered.
Jason nodded. "What do we do?"
Axel didn't answer at first. His eyes never left them.
"We test them."
He stood, stepping out from cover with purpose. Not stealthy. Not afraid.
The two strangers froze. The one with the bow drew an arrow but didn't raise it.
Axel stopped five feet away.
"You lost?" he asked.
The man with the machete narrowed his eyes. "We're surviving."
"Where's your camp?"
"Gone."
Jason stepped out slowly. "We're heading to a station. There might be power there."
The two strangers looked at each other. The man with the bow lowered it slightly.
"We don't want trouble," he said.
Axel nodded. "Then don't make any."
He handed them a small wrapped cloth—dried meat, enough for a day. "Take this. Head west. You'll find a camp. Ask for Hank."
"Who are you?" the machete man asked.
Axel stared him down. "The reason that camp exists."
They left without another word.
Back in the truck, Jason finally let out a breath. "Why'd you let them go?"
Axel's eyes narrowed. "Because we'll need people. Fighters. Workers. Survivors."
"And if they're liars?"
" .Then Hank will find out. He got good eyes he can see the truth in them. so there's nothing to be worried about"
The rest of the drive was quiet again.
When they arrived at the river station, the building loomed—half-collapsed, moss-covered, but intact enough to explore. Axel stepped out first, weapon drawn. Jason followed with a flashlight and a wrench in hand.
They searched room by room—offices filled with moldy paper, generator rooms filled with dust, storage closets, lockers. Finally, Axel found what he was looking for: a backup generator, untouched. Still intact.
Jason crouched beside it. "This thing… this could give the camp power for months."
"If it works," Axel said.
Jason examined it for a few minutes, then smiled. "It will. But we'll need fuel. And a tow truck."
"We'll make it happen."
They took what they could for now—cables, solar batteries, tools. Enough to hold the camp for another week.
On the way back to the truck, Jason stopped.
"Hey, Axel…"
Axel turned.
"You ever think about what this place could be… if we really made it work?"
Axel stared at the station, then the road back.
"It's already working. One piece at a time."
Jason looked at him, unsure whether Axel was building a home—or a kingdom.
They drove back in silence.
But Axel… was already planning the next move
---
.
.
.
You can contact me through my official page on the following Accounts:
telegram:
miraclenarrator
tiktok:
miracle_narrator
instagram:
miracle_narrator