Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Road to Kitimat

Joel slipped out just before dawn, the depot bathed in faint pre-dawn hues of gray and blue. The silence was heavy, broken only by the distant creaks of the rig settling and the occasional call of seabirds circling overhead. He hadn’t woken Craig or Darren—couldn’t.

It wasn’t just fear that they’d talk him into staying. It was the look in their eyes, the weight of expectation. Joel couldn’t carry that—not when every instinct in his body screamed at him to move forward, to find a way back to his family.

The pack on his back felt lighter than he expected, though it held enough supplies for about a week. That was thanks to Alex’s Shelter card. Joel had discovered its true potential as he tested it late into the night: the space within could store not just a temporary barrier but items, too—food, water, and tools. It wasn’t endless, but it was enough to double his carrying capacity. He’d packed meticulously, reasoning that its utility was one of the reasons Alex’s card had teetered on the edge of legendary rarity.

The sky began to lighten as Joel reached the edge of the depot, his boots crunching softly against gravel. He glanced back once, the looming silhouettes of the workbench and the storage building stark against the growing light. Memories of the last few days flickered in his mind—Kevin’s jokes, Alex’s quiet strength, Craig’s steady presence, and Darren’s fire.

“I’ll make it,” Joel muttered to himself, his voice low and resolute.

The road stretched before him, cracked and uneven, reclaimed in places by stubborn moss and weeds. Kitimat was far, a twelve-hour drive under normal conditions. On foot, it was anyone’s guess. He had no vehicle and no guarantee of safety. Raiders, wild animals, and void horrors weren’t the only threats—nature itself was merciless now, and every mile would be a test.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

He started walking, adjusting the strap of his pack and pulling his jacket tighter against the morning chill. The sound of his boots against the broken pavement was steady, a rhythm to match his thoughts.

Each step forward was one closer to his daughter. One closer to home.

Joel tried not to think about what he’d left behind, the camaraderie, the fragile sense of hope that had begun to build with Craig and Darren. He couldn’t afford to dwell on it. The system had marked him, in more ways than one, and every instinct told him that the answers weren’t here. They were out there, waiting on the road to Kitimat.

He quickened his pace, letting the cold bite at his face, sharp and unrelenting, driving him forward. The sting in his cheeks kept him awake, and focused. The Warlock loomed ahead, its metal frame catching the pale light. Joel yanked open the door, tossed his pack onto the passenger seat, and climbed inside.

The familiar hiss and rumble of the steam-powered engine filled the cabin as he turned the key. For a moment, he sat there, gripping the wheel, letting the vibrations run through him. The weight of everything threatened to anchor him in place, but he couldn’t afford to stop.

He slammed his foot down on the pedal. The Warlock lurched forward, the engine roaring as it picked up speed. Gravel crunched beneath the heavy tires as he tore down the path toward the gate.

The two guards on watch waved him through, their faces shadowed in the dim light of their lanterns. Joel gave a quick nod, barely slowing as the gates creaked open to let him pass. Beyond lay the unknown—a twisting road and a landscape forever changed by the system merge.

Whatever lay ahead, he’d face it. He had to. For her. For them.