The truck pulled up to the edge of the Outer District just after midnight, its headlights off to avoid detection. Kalen parked behind a pile of rusted car parts, and they climbed out, their weapons at the ready. Masoud's men spread out, scanning the area for Blackstone guards.
"Warehouse 12 is two blocks that way," Masoud whispered, pointing to the east. "The guards change shifts at 0100. We have ten minutes to get in, grab the meds, and get out."
Kalen nodded. He checked his machete, ensuring it was sharp, then pulled out his M1911, checking the magazine. Three bullets left. He'd need to make them count.
They moved silently through the streets, sticking to the shadows. The Outer District was quiet, most scavengers asleep. The only sounds were the wind blowing through the shacks and the distant barking of a dog. Kalen's heart raced as they approached Warehouse 12—a large metal building surrounded by a chain-link fence, with two Blackstone guards standing at the entrance.
"Distraction time," Rico said, grinning. He pulled out a firecracker he'd salvaged from a crashed carnival truck and lit it, tossing it into an alleyway. It exploded with a loud bang, and the guards jumped, their guns raised.
"Check that out!" one guard yelled, running toward the alley. The other guard followed, leaving the warehouse unguarded.
"Go!" Kalen whispered.
They climbed over the fence and rushed to the warehouse door. Masoud's men used bolt cutters to slice through the lock, and they slipped inside. The warehouse was dark, illuminated only by the moonlight streaming through the windows. Crates lined the walls, and in the center of the room, Kalen saw it—a stack of crates labeled "Medical Supplies—Fragile."
"That's it," Masoud said, his voice filled with relief.
They rushed to the crates and opened them, revealing hundreds of bottles of antibiotics—real antibiotics, their labels crisp and legible. Kalen grabbed a bottle and examined it, his hands trembling. This was what his mother had died for. This was hope.
"Load them up!" Masoud yelled.
They began carrying the crates to the truck, working quickly. Kalen was carrying his third crate when he heard a voice behind him.
"Freeze!"
He turned, and saw Tyson standing in the doorway, his baton in hand, flanked by a dozen Blackstone guards. Their guns were pointed at Kalen and the others.
"Drop the crates," Tyson sneered. "You're not going anywhere."
Kalen's mind raced. They were outnumbered, outgunned. But they couldn't let Tyson take the meds. Not after everything they'd been through.
"Now!" Kalen yelled.
Masoud's men opened fire, and the warehouse erupted in chaos. Bullets flew, hitting the metal walls with a loud clang. Kalen ducked behind a crate, firing his M1911 at the guards. He hit one in the shoulder, and the man fell to the ground, screaming.
Rico threw a grenade, and it exploded near the door, sending guards flying. Masoud grabbed a rifle and began firing, his aim steady. Kalen drew his machete and charged, slicing through the air, hitting a guard in the chest. The man collapsed, and Kalen grabbed his gun, continuing to fight.
The battle was brutal. Blackstone guards fell left and right, but they kept coming. Kalen was hit in the arm by a bullet, and blood soaked through his jacket, but he didn't stop. He thought of Miguel, of Jake's sister, of his mother. He thought of all the people who needed these meds to survive.
Finally, the last guard fell, and Tyson was left standing alone. He looked around, his face filled with rage. "You'll pay for this, Voss! Victor will kill you all!"
Kalen charged at him, his machete raised. Tyson swung his baton, but Kalen dodged, slicing through Tyson's leg. Tyson fell to the ground, screaming. Kalen stood over him, his machete at Tyson's throat.
"Where's Victor?" Kalen snarled.
Tyson laughed, blood dripping from his mouth. "You'll never find him. He's untouchable. The UG protects him."
Kalen raised his machete, but Masoud stopped him. "Leave him. We have the meds. Let's go."
Kalen hesitated, then lowered his machete. He kicked Tyson's baton away, then turned and ran toward the truck. They loaded the last of the crates and drove away, leaving Tyson bleeding on the warehouse floor.
As they drove toward Zoe's clinic, Kalen wrapped a bandage around his arm, wincing at the pain. Rico handed him a bottle of water. "You okay?"
Kalen nodded. "I'm fine. Let's get these meds to Zoe."
They arrived at Zoe's clinic—a small, cramped basement beneath a derelict building—at 0200. Zoe was waiting for them, her eyes red with exhaustion. Miguel lay on a cot in the corner, his breathing shallow, his skin pale.
"Did you get them?" Zoe asked, her voice urgent.
Masoud nodded, handing her a bottle of antibiotics. "Real meds. Medical-grade."
Zoe's eyes filled with tears. She rushed to Miguel's cot, opened the bottle, and poured the pills into her hand. She helped Miguel swallow them, then sat back, watching him anxiously.
After a few minutes, Miguel's breathing steadied, and his color began to return. Zoe smiled, relief washing over her face. "It's working. Thank you."
Kalen smiled. "We're not done yet. We need to expose Victor's fake meds operation. We need to find the North Star Outpost."
Zoe nodded. "I'm in. Victor's men have been harassing the clinic for months. They want me to stop treating scavengers. They want me to sell their fake meds. I refused. My sister died because of those pills. I'm not going to let anyone else suffer the same fate."
Kalen extended his hand. "Welcome to the team."
Zoe shook it, her grip firm. "What's next?"
"Next, we find Lena Kovac," Rico said. "She's a journalist. She's been investigating Victor's corruption. She has evidence—photos, videos, audio recordings. If we can get her on board, we can expose Victor to the world."
Kalen nodded. "Where is she?"
"Staying at a boarding house in the Outer District," Rico said. "But Victor's men are watching her. We'll have to be careful."
They spent the rest of the night planning their next move. Masoud gave Kalen a map to the North Star Outpost, marking its location in the mountains north of the Safe Zone. He also told them about Victor's supply chain—how he imported chemicals from a lab in the Wastes, mixed them with sawdust and other fillers, and sold them as antibiotics.
As dawn broke, Kalen looked around the clinic. He saw Rico sitting next to Miguel, talking to him softly. He saw Zoe organizing the meds, her face focused. He saw Masoud cleaning his rifle, his eyes determined.
For the first time in years, Kalen felt like he belonged. He had a team. He had a purpose. He had hope.
"We leave at dusk," Kalen said. "We find Lena. We expose Victor. We find the North Star Outpost. And we make things right."
The others nodded, their faces set in determination.
The fight was just beginning. But this time, Kalen wasn't alone.