This Broken Earth

Chapter 9: Still Watching

Chapter 9: Still Watching


The heavy door loomed behind them, half-closed but not yet sealed.

The control panel emitted a low, steady buzz—systems armed but incomplete until Dane finished the sequence. Lex leaned her shoulder against the cool concrete wall and exhaled. The familiar shadows of the bunker felt sharper tonight—like even the quiet had edges.

Nate stood a few feet away, rolling his shoulders as he shrugged off his backpack and let it drop with a soft thud. He unscrewed the cap on his canteen, took a long pull, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes didn’t quite meet hers.

Lex sat on the edge of a storage crate, still catching her breath. Her water bottle was already half-empty, the rest dripping down her chin and soaking the collar of her jacket as she drank too fast to care.

They didn’t speak at first.

The silence wasn’t awkward—it was natural, expected. The kind that settled after adrenaline faded but before the mind was ready to rest. But even in the quiet, something about Nate felt… restrained. He crouched to unclip the last of his gear, movements steady, methodical. He looked calm, but his usual offhand remarks were missing—like whatever he might’ve said never made it past his teeth.

Lex glanced over. “Thanks for having my back tonight,” Lex said quietly. “I think I spiraled a little.”

“You did better than you think,” he replied, still not looking at her. His voice was even. Measured.

She shook her head slightly, voice low. “You were so focused and centered. I’m glad one of us was.”

A faint, reflexive smile tugged at his mouth before he turned back to his rifle.

Lex watched him for a moment, but he didn’t say anything else.

They were safe now. But her body hadn’t caught up. Her pulse still raced. Her muscles stayed braced.

She told herself it was just adrenaline. Leftover nerves.

But deep down, she wasn’t sure if that was the whole reason she couldn’t quite catch her breath.

Bootsteps echoed down the corridor.

Dane appeared a second later, tapping a code into the side panel. “It worked,” he said. “Cameras picked up all three leaving. They didn’t come back.”

Lex stood, pulse skipping at the confirmation.

He keyed in the final command, and the outer door sealed shut with a deep, resonating thud.

For now, the bunker held. It would have to be enough.

He didn’t linger. Just gave the sealed door a final glance before turning back to them. “Get some rest. The mission briefing can wait until you’ve got some sleep under your belts.” His voice softened. “You both did good work tonight.”

Lex nodded, her body already aching with fatigue. Nate gave a short, silent nod in return.

They walked the familiar halls in silence, footsteps muffled on the concrete floors. By the time they reached the stairs, Lex could barely keep her eyes open. Neither of them mentioned food or showers. They just kept moving—side by side—because stopping meant the exhaustion might swallow them whole.

At the second level, their steps slowed. Lex stopped outside her door, one hand already on the handle. Nate lingered, gaze flicking down the corridor before settling on her again.

“Night, Lex,” he said—her name carrying more weight than one word should’ve allowed.

She paused, looked up at him. The exhaustion was there, sure—but so was something quieter. Something steadier.

“Night. Thanks for not letting me fall apart.”

Nate’s brow lifted slightly. “Pretty sure you handled that on your own.”

Lex’s mouth tugged into the faintest hint of a smile. She gave a quiet nod, then slipped into her room. The door hissed shut behind her.

Nate stood there a second longer than he needed to—then finally turned and walked away.

*

Lex didn’t remember falling asleep.

But the dream came anyway.

She stood in the middle of a cracked street, the air thick with smoke and the stutter of distant sirens. Storefronts were shattered, trash and torn flyers swirling through the air like ash. People were shouting—running—but it all sounded underwater.

Above her, a low mechanical hum cut through the chaos.

She looked up.

A drone hovered overhead—sleek, black, silent. Its red eye blinked slowly, scanning the crowd with unsettling calm.

Once, they had kept order.
Kept people from looting. Pushed the sick into containment zones. Locked down neighborhoods with barricades and warning drones and lines you weren’t allowed to cross.

They were feared, yes—but not like now. Not like this.

Back then, they enforced. Now, they hunt.

The world had been unraveling, and the drones had stepped in like steel-voiced shepherds. Tireless. Unblinking. Immune.

They were the solution. The control. The calm in the chaos.

Until they weren’t.


*

Lex sat cross-legged on her cot, still in sweatpants, a sketchpad balanced on her lap. The faint scent of soap lingered from her earlier shower. The dream hadn’t shaken her—just left her thinking.

Her pencil moved slowly, tracing the creature’s long limbs, hunched frame, and strange face. But this time, she didn’t make it monstrous.

She softened the claws. Loosened the posture. Added depth to the eyes.

There had been something in the way it moved, that felt more like survival than malice.

She finished the sketch, ran her thumb along one of the lines, then tore the page free.

A strip of tape held it to the wall by her cot. The paper fluttered gently in the recycled air, almost like it was breathing.

Lex stepped back to look at it, then stretched, her muscles stiff from sitting too long. She changed into jeans—soft and worn in all the right places—and tugged on an old, oversized Twilight T-shirt. The faded graphic showed Edward and Bella mid-brood, their eyes practically glowing, as dramatic as ever.

It was ridiculous. Completely out of place in a half-collapsed world.

And she kind of loved it.

She’d found it weeks ago in one of the communal clothing bins, tucked between two oversized hoodies and a flannel missing half its buttons. At first, she’d laughed and tossed it aside. Then she’d kept it.

Now it was part comfort, part armor.

No one cared what you wore as long as you showed up when it counted. So Lex wore the vampire romance tee without apology.

“Iconic,” she muttered under her breath, tugging the hem down.

She twisted her hair half-up, pinning it back while the rest fell loose around her shoulders.

Her eyes drifted back to the sketch taped above her cot. The creature stared out from the page—still wrong, still otherworldly—but there was something almost human in the way she’d drawn it. Something alone.

Lex didn’t know what that meant.

But she didn’t look away.

On her way to the lower level, Lex passed two adults she barely knew—but recognized.

Reed, mid-thirties, ex-paramedic, walked with a limp and spoke with the kind of careful, quiet hands that made you pay attention. He stood close to Marah, a sharp-eyed woman in her forties with dark hair always braided down her back. Lex had never spoken more than a few words to either of them, but she knew their names. Knew they were part of Dane’s unofficial “council”—people he trusted when things got shaky.

They were speaking in low voices, but Lex caught pieces as she passed:

“…vent system isn’t stable… if it collapses in on Corridor E, we’re screwed…”

“…kids haven’t had enough protein in a week. They’re already showing signs of…”

The rest faded behind her.

It sounded like things were being held together by threads.

Lex grabbed a cup of what passed for coffee, then headed up to Dane’s office. She’d gone over the night in her head at least twice already and didn’t want to let it settle any deeper before she spoke.

The door was open. She knocked once anyway, then stepped inside.

Dane was at his desk, focused, scribbling something into one of his beat-up notebooks. He glanced up when she entered.

Good morning,” Dane said as she stepped in. “Come on. Have a seat.”

Lex dropped into the chair across from his desk, the chair creaking faintly beneath her. She held the mug of lukewarm coffee in both hands, more for something to do than the caffeine.

“Hope you slept well,” Dane added, glancing up from his notes.

“Define ‘well,’” she muttered, then tried to smooth her tone. “I got some.”

He nodded, pen scratching across the page one last time before he set it aside.

“Should we wait for Nate?” she asked.

He already briefed me,” Dane said. “About two hours ago.”

Lex blinked. “Two hours ago?”

“Yeah.” Dane leaned back slightly in his chair. “I reckon he didn’t sleep much. But after everything that happened, I’m not surprised.”

“He could’ve woken me,” she said, trying to keep her voice even—like it didn’t matter. But it did, just a little.

Dane shrugged lightly. “He didn’t want to wake you. Thought you could use the rest.”

Lex didn’t answer right away. She just nodded once, slow and small, eyes fixed on the swirl of her coffee.

“I got Nate’s input,” Dane continued. “But I’d really like to know yours.”

Lex gave a quick rundown—drone, warehouse, the creature.

Dane listened, jotting a few notes, then looked up. “It didn’t try to hurt you?”

She shook her head. “No. If anything… it was trying to protect me.”

He leaned back, silent for a moment. Then he shut the notebook.

“You did good,” he said. “Better than good. Take the day off from bunker duties. Just rest.”

Lex blinked. “I’m not tired.”

He gave her a look. “That’s not a suggestion.”

She stood slowly, still gripping her half-empty mug. “Alright.”

“Thanks, kiddo.”

She gave a small nod and left the office, not sure what to do next.

Lex wandered the halls without direction, her thoughts looping restlessly. The bunker felt too quiet. Too still.

She passed the kitchen, hydroponics, the commons—nothing pulled her in.

Then a soft sound stopped her.

Lex turned the corner and found herself at the school room door. The light inside was dim but warm. Familiar.

She pushed it open the rest of the way.

Inside, Wren stood near the front, guiding Ryker’s hand as he traced something on the chalkboard with dramatic flair. The soft scrape of chalk pulled Lex forward.

Wren glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “Look who decided to stop by.”

Lex smirked faintly. “Shouldn’t you be elbows-deep in a broken generator or something?”

“They pulled me off mechanical for now,” Wren said, straightening. “Apparently I’m more useful shaping young minds.”

Lex raised a brow. “You replacing me?”

“Only temporarily.” Wren grinned. “Don’t worry—I’m keeping the sarcasm torch lit.”

Before Lex could reply, Wren turned back to the board.

“I swear if this is another fake math equation,” she warned.

“It’s not!” Ryker insisted, eyes wide with innocence.

Wren narrowed hers. “It says two plus dinosaur equals fireball.”

“It checks out!”

She stared him down—then cracked a grin and handed him a fresh piece of chalk. “Okay, then show your work, professor.”

Lex snorted, leaning against the wall. For the first time all morning, her chest didn’t feel tight.

Wren stepped beside her, then gave a theatrical once-over. “Nice shirt, by the way. Really brings out your post-apocalyptic sparkle.”

Lex rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her mouth. “It’s iconic. Don’t start.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Bella,” Wren said with a smirk.

She dropped her voice as Ryker launched into a new chalk equation involving jetpacks. “By the way… I heard a little about what happened up there.”

Lex tensed slightly.

“But what I really want the deets on…” Wren tilted her head, winking. “Is you and Nate. So spill—before I start making stuff up.”

Lex blinked. “Seriously?”

“Oh, absolutely. The tension could’ve snapped one of those cheap bunker pencils.”

Lex hesitated, then glanced toward Ryker. “Honestly… I thought things were heading somewhere. Slow, but… something. I even thought he was going to kiss me at one point.” She gave a small shrug. “But then he backed off. And after we got back last night, he just felt… off. Distant. Maybe I’m overthinking it.”

“You definitely are,” Wren said. “It’s obvious he’s into you. Maybe he thought it wasn’t the right moment. Or maybe he’s trying to be respectful. Or…”Maybe your age has him conflicted. Not because of you—just… the rules we were all raised on, you know?”

Lex’s expression shifted, sharper. “It’s the end of the world. Who cares how old I am?”

Her voice came out more heated than she intended. Wren didn’t flinch—just nodded slightly, more thoughtful now.

“Maybe it’s not your age at all,” she said. “Maybe it’s about what he said before you left. About losing someone.”

Lex went still.

“We’ve all lost people,” Wren added. “But it sounded like this one mattered. A lot.”

Lex didn’t answer. Her gaze drifted to Ryker, who was now giving his dinosaur a jetpack. The lines were jagged and uneven, but determined.

A soft scuffle outside the school room door caught her attention.

Wren noticed too. She followed Lex’s glance, then smirked. “I think someone’s anxious to talk to you.”

Lex turned just in time to see Gray pop his head around the doorway—half-in, half-out, pretending like he wasn’t obviously hovering. He offered a small, casual shrug when caught.

“Baby bro likes to keep us on our toes,” Lex muttered under her breath.

Wren raised a brow. “Something like that.”

Lex stepped into the hallway, folding her arms as she leaned against the doorframe. “You spying on math class now?”

Gray shrugged, hands deep in his hoodie pockets. “Gotta keep tabs. Word is Ryker’s equations are rewriting the laws of physics.”

She arched a brow. “And by physics, you mean bunker logic?”

“Exactly. It’s two plus dinosaur equals survival, Lex. Keep up.”

Lex smirked. “So what’s up, genius?”

Gray’s expression shifted—just briefly. A flicker of something softer before he buried it again. “Heard about the warehouse. And the creature.”

Lex nodded slowly. “You worried?”

“Pfft,” he scoffed. “Nah. I just figured if you got eaten, someone would have to sort through your sketchbooks—and that’s a psychological risk I’m not willing to take.

She gave him a look.

His smirk faded, just a little. “Okay. Maybe I was a tiny bit worried.”

“You were pacing, weren’t you?”

He scoffed again. “No. Just… dramatically walking back and forth with purpose.”

Lex smiled—real this time. “Thanks.”

Gray didn’t answer. He just bumped her shoulder lightly with his own.

They stood in the hallway a moment longer, the noise from the school room softening into the background. Gray leaned against the opposite wall, arms still tucked in his hoodie, eyes scanning the floor like he was thinking about something.

Lex glanced sideways. “You looked through my file, didn’t you?”

Yeah,” Gray said without hesitation. “Dane let me see it.”

“And?”

“There wasn’t much in it,” he said. “Nothing we didn’t already know. Which, let’s be honest… isn’t much.”

“Dane’s been letting me help with some of the research,” Gray added. “Sorting through decrypted files. Scattered logs, camera data, anything that might connect. If I find something useful… I’ll tell you.”

Lex nodded once. “Thanks.”

They stood in silence for a beat.

Then Gray nudged her elbow with his. “You gonna be okay?”

Her answer was quiet, but sure. “Yeah. Just not done asking questions.”

He gave a faint smirk, then pushed off the wall, leaving her alone in the hallway.

She’d started to feel like a thread being pulled.
By what, she couldn’t say.
But it was getting harder to pretend it wasn’t happening.

*

[Unknown Location]

A wall of screens flickered in the dark. Most feeds cycled through routine movements—corridors, mess hall, sleeping quarters.

But one stayed centered:
Lex Blackwell, speaking quietly with Gray in a dim lower hallway.

Two figures stood in silence before the monitors.

“She’s stable,” one said quietly. “Still unaware.”

The second voice followed, low and cold:

“The moment she learns the truth, we lose control.”

The screen held.
One of the figures leaned closer to the monitor—just a breath.

Then the feed cut to black.