This Broken Earth

Chapter 12: Before You Go-Go

Chapter 12: Before You Go-Go


The deployment hall buzzed with low conversation, gear checks, and the sharp hiss of sealed crates being slid into packs. Lex adjusted the strap across her chest, rolling her shoulder to test the weight, trying to stay focused. The air felt heavier today—charged with the kind of tension that only came right before things could go very wrong.

Then—

“Wake me up before you go-go! Don’t leave me hanging on like a yo-yo—!”

The overhead speakers crackled to life, and the unmistakable voice of George Michael filled the bunker like a slap in the face. Several people flinched. Someone dropped a canteen.

Lex blinked, startled by the sound—and laughed, because of course Gray would do this.

Jace let out a sharp bark of laughter. “What the hell?”

Across the room, Elias paused mid-check of his weapon, one brow lifting. A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.
“He’ll be in trouble when Dane realizes it was him.”

Nate, standing beside Lex, shook his head. “Pretty sure Dane already knows it was him.”

Gray sat perched on the railing a level up, legs dangling, absolutely unapologetic. He gave a mock salute to the team below like a DJ wrapping his set.

Someone started tapping the beat on a crate with a multitool. Despite the nerves, there was a ripple of amusement—nervous, yes, but real. Tension cracked just enough to breathe.

“I hate how catchy this is,” Jace muttered.

“You love it,” Lex said.

“I hate that you’re right.”

Boots pounded down the corridor as Wren came flying into the room, arms full of something wrapped in cloth. She skidded to a stop just short of Lex, out of breath but grinning.

“You’re seriously leaving me with that song stuck in my head?” she asked.

Lex shrugged, deadpan. “Not my fault.”

Wren shot a look upward toward Gray. “This is definitely your doing, isn’t it?”

Gray didn’t deny it.

Wren rolled her eyes, then turned back to Lex and pressed something into her hand. A small leather cord, strung with a single metal washer, worn smooth and etched faintly with an old military number.

“Good luck charm,” Wren said. “Found it on one of the old levels. Figured it’s had a few lives already—might be time to give it one more.”

Lex’s chest tightened unexpectedly. She nodded, quietly threading it around her wrist.

“Thanks.”

Wren didn’t hesitate—she pulled her into a quick, tight hug, arms wrapping around her with more strength than Lex expected.

“Come back in one piece,” Wren murmured. “That’s an order.”

Lex hugged her back just as tightly. “Yes, ma’am.”

Wren hesitated, then added, “Oh—and this.” She pulled a small folded square of paper from her pocket. “Lina made me swear I’d give it to you.”

Lex opened it.

Crayon lines in bright, unrestrained color filled the page. A rough figure with blue eyes and pale hair stood next to someone taller in black, their arms almost touching. Behind them: a lumpy hill, a scribbled sun, and what might have been a drone with a big red X through it.

Lex stared at it, throat tight. “Is this supposed to be—”

“It’s absolutely you and Nate,” Wren said, grinning. “She said the tall one looked serious, so that had to be him.”

Lex blinked, then laughed softly, folding it back up like it was made of glass. “I’ll keep it safe.”

“You better,” Wren said. “She’s planning a sequel.”

Before Wren could reply, the song cut out mid-chorus.

The silence that followed was abrupt. Loud, even.

Dane had entered.

He walked in like he always did—measured, focused, a presence that didn’t need to raise its voice to take control of a room. His eyes passed over the team, then flicked up to where Gray still sat.

No words. Just one look.

Gray raised both hands in a slow, exaggerated shrug. What song?

Dane ignored him.

“All right,” he said, voice steady. “I know some of you are nervous. You should be. That’s not a weakness. That’s focus reminding you what’s at stake.”

He looked between them—Lex, Nate, Jace, Elias, Gray.

“You’ve trained. You’ve planned. You’re not going out there alone. Watch each other’s backs. Be smart. Don’t get cocky.”

His gaze landed briefly on Gray again.

“Even if you start the morning with disco.”

That earned a quiet laugh from someone in the back. Gray grinned wide.

Dane continued. “This isn’t just a retrieval mission. If we find the hub, we take it out. Eyes open, boots steady, and no surprises if we can help it. Get what we came for. Do as much damage as we can on the way out. In and out, clean as we can make it. Let’s move.”

The tunnel hissed open with a low clank, and the air that rushed in was wet, cold, and sharp with pine and ozone. Rain tapped against the surface hatch like impatient fingers.

Lex adjusted the collar of her jacket, watching droplets slide down the edge of her hood as she stepped onto the muddy path. The world felt too quiet. Too open.

Behind her, Gray muttered, “This weather’s exactly why I don’t trust the outside.”

“Because of rain?” Lex asked.

“No. Because the sky’s crying and no one’s asking why.”

Jace snorted ahead of them. “It’s water, not a war crime.”

Gray deadpanned, “Speak for yourself. I left my socks at half-mast and they’re already soaked through.”

Lex smiled despite the cold crawling down her neck. Beside her, Nate moved in silence, scanning their surroundings — every branch, every sound.

When they passed the first ridge, Lex stepped wrong and slid slightly on a slope of slick rock. She caught herself with a curse, but Gray reached out quickly and steadied her arm.

“Can’t have you eaten by moss before the clone gets a chance,” he said.

Lex rolled her eyes but didn’t shake off his grip. “Thanks, I think.”

They kept moving, the group falling into a loose line as the trees thickened. The rain, though steady, softened to more of a mist beneath the canopy, dripping in steady plinks from branches above.

Moss coated everything—rocks, trunks, even the roots that curled across the trail like veins. It was like walking through the lungs of the earth, damp and slow-breathing.

“I can’t feel my toes,” Gray muttered after a while. “Do we still need toes? Asking for a friend.”

“You’re fine,” Jace said. “You lose a toe, I get your boots.”

“That’s messed up.”

“I’m practical.”

Lex ducked under a low-hanging branch, her fingers brushing damp needles. She could feel the weight of her pack pressing down harder the farther they got from the bunker. Or maybe it wasn’t the pack. Maybe it was the creeping sense that they were being watched.

Beside her, Nate’s gaze swept left, then right. Still quiet. Still on edge.

“How far out are we?” Elias asked from the back, voice low.

“Still got a ways,” Gray answered, eyes flicking to his scanner. “Signal’s weak, but it’s steady. Topo shift in about half a click—we’ll hit some elevation.”

Lex glanced at him. “Uphill?”

Gray nodded solemnly. “Everything fun is uphill.”

They kept moving.

The mud thickened, sucking at their boots. Somewhere ahead, a bird screeched and took flight, scattering water from the branches in a sharp cascade. Lex startled slightly, then forced her shoulders down.

“We’ll take a short break at the ridge,” Nate said quietly. “Then reassess.”

Lex gave a small nod, not trusting her voice. The cold had settled into her bones now, but it wasn’t just the weather. It was the hush beneath the wind. The ache of something coming.

Something watching.

And still… the quiet pressed in. Too steady. Too watchful.

She didn’t see anything—but that didn’t mean nothing was there.

They hadn’t gone far past the ridge when the woods shifted again—quieter, denser. The kind of quiet that made Lex’s skin prickle.

Then she heard it: low growling. Wet, guttural. Close.

Nate raised a hand, stopping them cold. The trees ahead stirred.

Three shapes emerged from the underbrush. Lean, hungry wolves with matted fur and bone-deep eyes. One was limping slightly, ribs showing, but the others looked fast. Desperate.

“And here I thought today might be boring,” Jace muttered.

Gray whispered, “I vote we name them and leave politely.”

One of the wolves snarled.

Jace stepped forward a little, crouching low. “Okay, okay, let’s not be hasty. I’ve got food. Protein packs. Not fresh, but if you close your eyes and squint real hard, it’s kind of chicken-adjacent—”

He tossed a pack toward the underbrush.

The wolves didn’t flinch. They crept forward.

“Guess they’re not into gourmet,” he said under his breath.

Elias shifted beside Nate, steady and silent, blade drawn.

Lex stepped protectively in front of Gray as one of the wolves broke into a sudden, lunging sprint toward them. Everything happened fast after that.

Gunfire cracked once—Nate’s shot—hitting one of the wolves mid-leap. It crumpled hard and didn’t move.

Another wolf lunged toward Jace, but Elias intercepted, smooth and brutal. His knife sank deep. He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t even blink.

The third one collided with Gray—knocking him sideways into the mud with a yelp. Lex moved before she could think. Her boot caught the animal’s side just enough to throw it off balance, and Nate’s second shot finished it.

The silence that followed felt even louder than the shots.

Gray groaned from the ground, rolling onto his back. “Okay. Not my favorite thing.”

Lex dropped to her knees beside him, already checking for blood. “Are you bitten?”

“Just bruised.” He winced as she brushed mud off his arm. “Maybe clawed. Maybe emotionally.”

She gave him a look, then gently tugged back his sleeve. A red gash ran along his forearm—shallow, but angry-looking.

“You’ll live,” she said, ripping a clean strip from her inner pack and wrapping it tightly. “But you’re not lifting anything heavier than your sarcasm for a while.”

Gray gave her a lopsided grin. “Good. That’s the only thing I packed.”

“Seriously, though,” Jace said, still catching his breath. “Should we be worried about rabies? Because that one foamed a little. Like, a lot.”

Gray stiffened. “Wait. What?”

Lex didn’t miss a beat. “No. You’re fine. Wolves don’t usually carry it. That one just… had a lot of feelings.”

“Are you lying to make me feel better?”

“Absolutely.”

Gray looked faintly betrayed. Lex smoothed his hair back anyway.

Nate stepped over, scanning the tree line. “Let’s keep moving. That kind of noise won’t go unnoticed.”

Elias was already cleaning his blade.

Jace adjusted his pack. “Anyone else getting boss battle vibes and we haven’t even hit the main gate yet?”

No one disagreed.

They pushed forward, leaving the bodies behind, the mud soaked darker beneath the rain.

Lex adjusted the strap on her pack and moved to follow, but something tugged at her attention.

Just off the trail, beneath a low-hanging pine, a faint impression broke the otherwise smooth layer of needles—like someone had been standing there, still, just moments before. Not a full footprint. Nothing clear enough to call out. But the way the needles were pressed, the slight arc to the pattern…

She paused.

A branch above still trembled slightly, a few droplets falling in a delayed rhythm. Almost like it had been brushed.

Lex squinted into the trees. Nothing moved.

She stood there a beat longer, heart ticking faster now, but said nothing.

Just wind. Just rain.

Probably.

They walked for hours, through mud and roots and the kind of silence that made time feel stretched. By the time they reached a natural rise above the valley, the sky had gone a shade darker, and even Gray had stopped making jokes.

They found a half-sheltered clearing tucked between mossy boulders, dry enough to set up camp.

Two tents went up—one on either side of a low campfire that Elias and Jace carefully coaxed into existence using dry scraps from their kits. The flame flickered small and orange, casting dancing light against the wet trunks around them.

Lex sat near the fire, hands outstretched. Her fingers ached from the cold, but the warmth was slowly coming back. Across from her, Gray held out a scavenged protein bar like it was some ceremonial offering.

“To fire, warmth, and not dying.”

Jace snorted. “Set the bar higher, man.”

Gray took a dramatic bite anyway, then leaned back on his elbows.

“Still no drones,” he said after a minute, more thoughtful than usual. “That bug anyone else?”

“It bugs me,” Elias said, not looking up from his blade. “Too quiet out here. Like something cleared them.”

“Or they’re watching,” Jace muttered, mouth full.

Lex glanced at Nate, who had gone still. His gaze was angled up toward the canopy, eyes scanning beyond the firelight.

“They should’ve picked us up by now,” Nate said quietly. “Especially this far out.”

“Maybe your mimic signal’s still holding,” Lex offered, nudging Gray.

Gray shrugged. “Yeah. Or maybe we’re walking right into something and they’re just… waiting.”

The fire crackled softly. Rain ticked off the tent roofs, rhythmic and slow.

“Well, that’s a comforting thought,” Jace said. “Thanks for that.”

They sat for a few more minutes in the glow, letting the warmth work into their bones. Then Gray yawned dramatically and stood, stretching until his hoodie rode up just enough for Jace to chuck a pinecone at him.

Gray tilted his head toward Lex with a crooked grin. “Left tent’s got room, if you wanna share. It’s cozy. Smells like pine and stress.”

Before Lex could answer, Nate’s brow ticked up in immediate suspicion.

Gray didn’t miss it. “I meant for, like—sleeping. Human sleep. With space. Pillows optional.”

Lex played along. “Tempting. But Jace already called dibs on cuddling.”

Jace blinked. “Wait, I did?”

She grinned. “You did now.”

Elias stood and slung his rifle over his shoulder. “I’ll take first watch.”

“Wake me next,” Nate said.

The group began to break off, some slipping into tents, others finishing last-minute checks.

Lex stepped past Nate on her way toward the second tent, brushing her fingers against his arm.

“You coming?” she murmured.

Nate turned slightly, caught off guard. “You serious?”

Lex glanced over her shoulder, a teasing spark in her eye. “Absolutely. I’m not freezing tonight. Your job is to keep me warm.”

His laugh came low, quiet. “I think I can manage that.”

He followed her.

Lex ducked into the tent to unroll her mat, but paused at the flap. “Be right back,” she said. “Gotta pee. Don’t fall asleep.”

She slipped back into the trees, flashlight low, boots squishing softly in the underbrush. Rain had quieted to a soft mist again, barely more than breath.

She found a tree, took care of business, then lingered for a moment, adjusting her jacket. The forest was still—eerily so.

Then she heard it.

Not footsteps.

Not breathing.

But a faint whistle.

High and distant, just on the edge of hearing. Almost melodic. Familiar.

Her chest tightened. She turned, shining the light in a slow arc through the woods.

Nothing.

Just trees and rain.

She stayed there another second, pulse louder than the wind. Then turned and walked quickly—not running—back to camp.

Back to Nate.