Clear Water, Hidden Danger

Chapter 54 - A Fair Exchange

The back bay doors slammed shut with a heavy metallic echo, sealing the worst of the rot inside. The air outside was clean, sharp, almost cold after what the interior had put us through. IBF stood in a loose line, hands on hips, catching their breath while Neal climbed down from the semi cab and wiped her forehead with the back of her glove.

Forty pallets. Every one stacked tight with canned goods, jars, boxed staples, bags of rice, and anything else that would not rot if the grid died for good. The kind of haul that could keep three communities standing for months if rationed right.

NLC civilians and CWP crew were already circling to the front of the store, ushering kids back toward the MCU and keeping the perimeter clear. The whole place felt lighter now that the sweep was done, now that the smell was wrestled into something tolerable. It smelled like survival again.

I walked up onto the curb so everyone could see me.

“The Alliance needs forward outposts,” I said. “Real ones. Places with eyes on the streets and enough supplies to hold or run as needed.”

IBF straightened a little, like they already knew where this was going.

“You have two options,” I continued. “You stay with Clear Water and fold into the main unit… or you return to Station 4 and operate as a fully supported Alliance outpost.”

No speeches. No buildup. Just truth.

“Either way,” I added, “you take two full trucks of groceries home with you. CWP and NLC will each take three.”

Medeles smirked like someone had just handed him Christmas.

The IBF crew looked at each other. One silent exchange. One nod from their captain.

“We go back to our house,” he said. “Station 4 stands.”

Neal nodded back once, soldier to soldier, even if neither one wore a regulation patch anymore.

“Alright,” I said. “Load up.”

Four firefighters peeled off to their trucks, two battered pickups kept alive with duct tape and stubbornness, and started filling them with bagged groceries. NLC mirrored the process, moving quickly and methodically, working off an unspoken checklist the clinic always seemed to carry in their heads.

Within minutes, four trucks rolled out. Two down 25th Street toward Station 4, two drifting barely a mile to NLC’s east gate. Engines growled low, tires crunching quiet across the empty lot, leaving the rest of us standing in the silence between worlds.

Jackson watched the road thoughtfully.

“Good choice,” he said. “Forward positions extend our net.”

“Exactly,” I said.

It did not need more than that.

Ten minutes later, the NLC trucks reappeared, empty beds bouncing lightly over cracks in the asphalt. The IBF trucks took longer, but they came back too, steel lighter, spirits steadier.

Now came the real distribution.

Neal backed the semi to the center of the lot with practiced precision while Hough and Alan rolled two pallet jacks out from the store’s storage bay. The bright red paint was chipped and the wheels squeaked like they had survived the end of the world.

“Finally,” Hough said, stretching his back, “a vehicle I can operate without killing anybody.”

Neal did not even look at him. “Debatable.”

They pushed the pallet jacks up the metal ramp into the semi, locked into the first two pallets, and rolled them back down with steady, controlled effort. No engine. No hydraulics. Just leverage and grit. It was quiet, efficient, and most important, it did not draw any unwanted attention.

We did not offload everything into the parking lot. That was not the plan.

The semi would run each stop.

First Station 4.
Then NLC.
Then back home to Clear Water.

Each time, Neal backed the semi to the curb, Hough walked the pallet jack up the ramp, lifted a pallet, and rolled it straight onto the concrete. Clean drops. Fast. Quiet.

Ten pallets at Station 4.

Fifteen at NLC.

Fifteen at Clear Water.

Each delivery was staged behind the trucks or carts that would take them the final few feet. Each stop ended the same way, a nod, a thank you, a silent understanding that this was how you kept communities alive.

Each stack was strapped, sorted, and staged behind the vehicles that would take them home.

No envy. No argument. No drama.

Just the quiet understanding that this was how civilization stayed alive, one fair exchange at a time.

When the last pallet hit the ground, Neal shut down the semi and hopped out of the cab.

“That is it,” she said. “Fair and square.”

Hough finally rolled to a stop beside her.

“If I drive this thing any slower,” he muttered, “the apocalypse might lap me.”

IBF laughed. Even NLC cracked a grin. Jackson exhaled like someone had handed him a moment of peace.

And for the first time in a long time, the lot in front of Western Grocery did not feel like a graveyard.

It felt like a beginning.

But we were not finished here.

Bilew Jackson stepped toward me as the last pallet straps were cinched tight. “Before you roll out… what about the girl. The one from UNMC.”

“Fatima,” I said. “She needs to be here. CWP cannot give her what she needs. You can.”

Bilew nodded once. Major Jackson folded his arms and considered it, then gave the same slow nod he had given earlier in the day.

“We will take her,” Major Jackson said. “Prepare the transport.”

I keyed my radio. “Neal, I need an IBF driver headed to Station 4 immediately. They still have an EMS ambulance in the bay. Bring it straight to Clear Water.”

“Copy,” she said.

Before she left, she switched channels. “Cruz, stand by. Prepare Fatima for medical transfer to NLC.”

Static, then Cruz’s voice answered. “Understood. Jason is with me. We will have her ready.”

“Jaxon and Prince are security,” I added. “They stay with her until the handoff is done.”

“Confirmed,” Cruz said.

The radio clicked silent.

As the NLC intake team finished moving the last of their pallet stacks, I caught Alaina leaning near the clinic’s side entrance. She said nothing, but her eyes had locked onto the conversation about Fatima.

She wanted to go. Anyone paying attention could have seen the pull in her posture. But she controlled it, stepped forward only when Cruz and Jason approached, and gave each of them a tight hug before placing both of her hands softly over Fatima’s for a brief moment. She held there quietly, then withdrew, returning to her role with perfect discipline.

When we reached CWP, the ambulance rolled in just minutes behind us. IBF mechanics had already checked the engine and tires. Cruz and Jason emerged from the MCU bay with Fatima’s stretcher ready. IV stable. Mask secure. Blanket tucked tight. Jaxon and Prince flanked them, rifles ready, watching every angle.

“Load her,” I said.

They moved as a single unit. Cruz at the head, Jason at the side, Jaxon and Prince covering the perimeter. The ambulance doors opened. Fatima was lifted in. The latches locked with a heavy click.

“Straight to NLC,” I told them. “Jaxon and Prince are security,” I added. “They stay with her until she is better.”

Jaxon nodded. “We stay with her.”

The engine came alive. No lights. No noise beyond the low idle. The ambulance rolled out toward NLC.

Our own convoy lined up behind the semi, ready to pull the last pallets home.

Behind us, the ambulance disappeared through the dark with Fatima inside.

A fair exchange. And a necessary one.