Chapter 7: Fortress

At the intersection, several police cars idled in the rain, their warning lights casting reflections on the wet pavement that shimmered with a painterly texture. The traffic cones blocking the road were equally visible in these watery mirrors—all arranged to ensure the convoy’s unimpeded passage.

A detained driver leaned out his window. “Officer! Why block us? The traffic lights work fine! Just let us follow the signals!”

The duty officer, a short-haired policewoman, stepped forward. “This is an official government convoy. Your cooperation is appreciated.”

“What kind of mission? VIP escort? Military drill?” The driver gestured at the imposing procession of Coaster vans and Mengshi armored vehicles. “Quite the spectacle!”

As if on cue, the thwup-thwup-thwup of helicopters passed overhead. The driver retreated into his car with a defeated “Well damn…” slamming his window shut.

Quinn Cheng watched the exchange, her expression unreadable. The convoy’s tail soon appeared—a rugged police SUV bringing momentary relief to her features. Her eyes tracked its approach until it blew straight through the checkpoint without slowing.

As Quinn Cheng stood bewildered, the window of her patrol car rolled down. A small head popped out from the driver’s seat—a cherubic girl, barely preschool-aged, with flushed chubby cheeks and glossy jet-black pigtails. Her eyes sparkled brighter than any child’s.

“Mama! Someone’s calling!” she chirped in a piping voice.

Quinn Cheng instinctively patted her pockets. Finding her phone secure, she realized the ringing came from the police radio. “Nalia, pull your head back in! You’ll catch rain!”

In three quick strides, she yanked open the passenger door and grabbed the radio. The frequency readout showed a private comm channel. Hesitating, she spoke: “Sir?”

“Quinn Cheng.” A man’s unctuous voice oozed through the static. “Last night’s report says you’re still in contact with that traffic accident party—Lin Feng. Did I not warn you? Public officials cannot fraternize privately with case subjects!”

“But… I just felt sorry for him—” Quinn Cheng began before catching herself. “My apologies, sir. It won’t happen again.”

“Warnings mean nothing to you.” The voice hardened. “Your clearance is revoked. Xiao Wu takes your slot.”

At these words, Quinn Cheng’s decades of police discipline evaporated. “Chief… why? Nalia… she’s just a child!” she stammered.

“Your slot was secure,” the man sighed theatrically, “until you obsessed over that traffic accident, angering Mr. Lei! With Xiao Wu’s report… my hands are tied.”

Quinn Cheng’s throat convulsed, silencing her.

The chief pressed on, admonished with faux sympathy: “The nation can’t save backwaters like ours now. We survive by Mr. Lei’s goodwill—he funds our survival.”

“Keep my spot,” Quinn Cheng pleaded through gritted tears, “but take Lin Nalia! If civilization endures, shouldn’t children live? My husband died serving—”

“We’ll breed new children. Our way.” The chief’s voice shed its mask, glacial now. “Quinn Cheng—thank you for your service. Consider yourself relieved.”

A burst of static severed the call.

Quinn Cheng’s composure shattered. A raw, animalistic scream tore from her throat—“Agh… ugh…!”—rattling the car’s windows.

Nalia burst into terrified tears. “Mama… why… hic… Mama cry, Nalia cry too…”

The wail died abruptly. Quinn Cheng froze, tears glinting on her lashes, then crushed her daughter in a desperate embrace. “Mama’s not crying… Mama’s not…” Her whisper frayed. “Mama will fix this.”

Outside, horns blared and voices roared: “Convoy’s gone! Move the damn barricades! Fuck!”

Quinn Cheng wiped her face with her sleeve. “Stay here, bǎobèi. Mama will be back.”

Nalia sniffled, pigtails bobbing. “Nalia good girl. Nalia wait.”

Straightening her uniform cap, Quinn Cheng stepped into the rain, her eyes now vacant as ash. With a curt nod, junior officers scrambled to clear traffic cones and patrol cars. The logjam dissolved like blood in water.

She keyed her radio, addressing all units: “Stand down. Return home. Cherish your families.”

A rookie gaped. “Captain… home? Not HQ?”

“Home.”

The gridlock eased, though navigating through would still take ten-plus minutes. The pickup crawled forward as Lin Feng analyzed the convoy’s scale and purpose. No routine operation demanded such grandeur—over 200 vehicles, mostly coaches and cargo trucks laden with supplies.

Their trajectory pointed toward Riverwatch Peak, the mountain overlooking Northspire Haven’s valley basin. The Jade-Sand River snaked below, its course visible from the peak’s vantage.

“Why head into the mountains?”

Maeve Chen scanned the horizon before gasping. “I know where they’re going!”

“Where?”

She furrowed her brow, recalling village lore. “My hometown’s near Riverwatch Peak. Elders spoke of construction during the ‘dig deep tunnels and stockpile grain’ era—they hollowed the granite peak!”

“A bomb shelter?”

“Retrofit it, and you’ve got a doomsday fortress!” Lin Feng’s voice tightened. The government was acting—just covertly. Their secrecy confirmed his worst fears.

“Let’s check out Riverwatch Peak!” Maeve Chen’s eyes sparkled with urgency. “Even if we don’t know the bunker’s exact location, we’ve got to try!”

Lin Feng weighed the odds. A fortified shelter beat fending alone in the fungal wasteland. “Done.”

“I’ll call my parents first—tell them to pack!” Maeve snatched her phone, only to freeze at the signal bar’s glaring ✕. “No service?!”

“Grids fail first in apocalypses.” Lin Feng’s voice turned leaden. “It’s begun.”

“Then we fetch them now!” Maeve gripped the dashboard. “Before the shelter’s overrun!”

“Go.”

The pickup lurched forward as traffic finally relented, reaching the intersection in minutes.

Lin Feng spotted a familiar figure lingering in the rain—Quinn Cheng. He pulled over, rolling down the window. The officer stiffened, startled to see Lin Feng and his girlfriend in the modified pickup.

For a heartbeat, bitterness surged in Quinn Cheng’s chest. If I’d never met him last night… But the thought dissolved. Neither had wronged the other. Her eyes dulled to smoldering ash.

Lin Feng and Maeve Chen stepped out, rain speckling their jackets as they approached.

“Officer Cheng. Small world.”

“Hm. Very.” Quinn Cheng’s reply floated somewhere beyond the conversation.

Lin Feng’s smile faded at her hollow stare. “You know, don’t you? About… all this.”

A flicker of surprise crossed Quinn Cheng’s face. Her gaze drifted to the truck’s survival gear—useless trinkets, she thought, when even governments crumbled. What hope had civilians?

She gave a near-imperceptible nod.

“Perfect!” Maeve Chen cut in, buoyant. “We’re heading to Riverwatch Peak! That convoy might’ve been going to a bunker—a real shelter!”

Quinn Cheng froze. She knew exactly what lay within the mountain: a retrofitted doomsday fortress, its access slots reserved for elites.

She too had once held a precious slot.

Yet she withheld the truth, instead gesturing vaguely. “County Road 307, 150-kilometer mark. Take the concrete path up the mountain.”

Lin Feng’s gratitude burned bright. “Officer Cheng—thank you. For everything. Finish up here and come soon.”

“Duty first.”

After final thanks, Lin Feng hauled Maeve Chen back into the truck, laid on the horn, and accelerated into the gloom.

Quinn Cheng watched them vanish. Her lips quivered, eyes hardening to gunmetal gray—a storm of emotions compressed into monochrome.

Letting them chase a dead end was her only vengeance.