This Broken Earth

Chapter 4: Not Just Surviving

Chapter 4: Not Just Surviving

Back underground, the showers felt hotter than usual, almost punishing. Lex scrubbed until her skin stung. She stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom room, gripping the sink. Her reflection stared back—same freckles, same tired eyes. But something in her face had shifted.

She didn’t look trapped anymore.

She looked awake.

Walking back to her room, her hair still damp and clinging to her neck, Lex spotted Nate leaning against the wall. He hadn’t changed—same black shirt, sleeves pushed to his elbows, that worn, faraway look like the day hadn’t let him go yet.

“You alright?” he asked, bracing one hand against the concrete beside him—not blocking her path, just holding her there a moment.

Lex stopped, caught slightly off guard by how close he was. The corridor wasn’t cramped, but his presence made it feel smaller—solid, steady, impossible to ignore. Overhead, the dim lights buzzed, casting a low flicker across his face, catching on the set of his jaw and the shadows beneath his eyes.

His frame cast a shadow over her—broad, unmoving.

“I think so,” she said, her voice quieter than she expected.

He nodded slowly, gaze steady. “You kept your head out there. That’s impressive.”

Her stomach tightened—not from nerves exactly, but something warmer, more uncertain. “Thanks,” she murmured, brushing a strand of damp hair behind her ear.

A beat of silence passed. Then, softer, she asked, “Do you think it was human? Once?”

Nate’s brow twitched—just barely—but she caught it. The subtle shift gave him a thoughtful edge, that quiet intensity that made it hard to look away.

“Maybe,” he said. “But whatever it was… it isn’t anymore.”

Lex nodded, though a chill slipped down her spine—one that had nothing to do with the damp air.

Nate pushed off the wall. “I’ve got a debrief with Dane. I’ll see you at dinner?”

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I’ll be there.”

*

Lex returned to her room—her small, quiet haven—and sank onto the cot. It wasn’t much, but it was hers. She let her head fall back, the damp weight of her hair trailing against her skin as she waited for it to dry. After a moment, she reached for her sketchbook and pencil from the crate beside her bed.

Drawing had always been her escape. Her way to make sense of the world when nothing else did. But tonight, her lines didn’t bring calm.

It started simple, just a street, a crumbled skyline, the edge of a building. Then her hand moved faster, darker. The creature took shape, long-limbed and crawling up one of the walls.

She stared at it.

Then shut the book and shoved it under the cot, as if hiding it could erase what she’d seen.

She stared at the cot frame for a second after tossing the sketchbook beneath it. Then she sat back, exhaled slowly, and reached for the blue sweater folded at the end of her bed—the soft one, the exact shade of her eyes. She tugged it over her tank top, the cotton cool against her still-damp skin.

Next came her hair.

Lex stood in front of the metal mirror bolted to the wall, brush in hand, staring at her own reflection longer than she meant to. She ran the bristles through her hair slowly, methodically, then paused—debating whether to braid it, tie it back, pin it up. She tried a few things, none of them quite right.

Why do I care?

It was just dinner. Just Wren. Just the same old noise and ration bowls.

But still—her mind flicked, uninvited, to the quiet way Nate had looked at her in the corridor. The flicker of a smile. The way he’d said he’d see her later.

That thought lingered, small but stubborn.

She sighed, let the brush fall into the crate, and left her hair down—loose and natural, the way it usually dried when she didn’t bother with it. It didn’t matter. Not really. But still, she caught herself giving the mirror one last glance before turning away.

She stepped into the hall, feet quiet on the metal grate.

The scent hit her first—roasted vegetables, something with broth, warm and sharp with seasoning. Her stomach clenched with sudden hunger.

The communal hall buzzed with voices—forks clinked, shoes scraped, chairs shifted. People were talking over each other, energy wired too high. Some were laughing, others whispering with low urgency. Questions filled the air like smoke as Lex stepped inside and moved toward the food line.

“Did they bring something back?”

“What happened up there?”

“Heard someone saw it—swear it looked like a man—”

A sharper voice cut through the others. “What if it followed them back?”

She grabbed a bowl and ladled in a thick stew from the pot before slipping into a seat beside Wren.

Wren didn’t look up at first—she was too focused, stabbing something unidentifiable in her bowl with far too much force. The dim light caught the warm brown of her skin and the sharp flicker in her dark eyes, focused and skeptical as always.

“Well, don’t you look nice.” Wren gave her a slow, knowing look. “I thought you hated that sweater.”

Lex flushed, tugging self-consciously at the hem. “I never said that.”

“You did,” Wren said dryly. “Twice. And once while wearing it.”

Lex rolled her eyes and reached for her spoon. “Anyway—everyone’s buzzing about the recon team.”

Wren’s smirk faded. “They should be. Word’s gotten around.”

“They’re asking questions,” Lex said. “Wondering what we saw. Whether it followed us.”

Wren’s expression shifted, her brow pinching slightly. “Did it?”

Lex shook her head. “No. Not that we know of.”

But she wasn’t sure. Not really. Not deep down.

Wren studied her a beat longer, then looked back at her bowl. “Good. Because you might look cute tonight, but even you aren’t fast enough to outrun anything with claws.”

Lex grinned, finally settling into her seat with a real bite of food.

Not much later, Nate approached with a bowl in hand, steam rising faintly as he paused at their table. His hair was still damp, dark strands clinging lightly to his forehead and temples, and his black t-shirt looked recently swapped. He hesitated—just long enough to be noticeable—before both girls greeted him.

“Hey,” Wren said.

“Hey,” Lex echoed, her voice just a bit tighter.

He gave a small nod, then looked at the two of them like he’d walked in mid-conversation.

Lex cleared her throat. “We were just debating which one of us would win in a footrace.”

Wren didn’t miss a beat. “Only because you think dodging people who never shut up counts as cardio.”

Lex gestured with her spoon. “You’re just mad I beat you last week.”

That earned a small grin from Nate as he set his bowl down on the table. “Should’ve known you were one of those sore winners.”

Lex scoffed and nudged his arm with her elbow, playful. “Excuse you. I win gracefully.”

He laughed—an actual laugh this time, quiet and low—and looked to Wren. “She did good out there. Steady, smart. Barely flinched.”

Wren arched a brow, half-smirking. “Really? This one?”

Lex rolled her eyes. “Coming from the guy who walked through gunfire like it was a summer stroll? Nate kept everyone moving. Didn’t let anything shake him.”

Nate looked down, then back up at her. “You noticed that?”

She nodded. “Kinda hard not to.”

Before the moment could stretch any further, movement at the entrance caught Nate’s eye. Dane was waving him over—expression all business, no room for excuses.

Nate stood with a sigh, grabbing his bowl. “Guess I’m up.”

Then, with a glance back at Lex, he added, “Nice sweater, by the way. Brings out your eyes.”

Lex flushed, caught off guard. “Thanks. It was… clean.”

Wren gave her a look, all mock innocence. “Bye. Don’t forget to mention how charming we are in your report.”

Nate gave a crooked grin, then disappeared toward the back of the hall.

Wren watched him go, then turned slowly back to Lex, one brow raised. “Okay, what was that?”

Lex poked at her food. “What was what?”

“Don’t play dumb. He smiled. He laughed. I’ve never even seen him blink at someone before.”

Lex shrugged, but her ears were pink. “He was just being nice.”

“Uh-huh. Real nice. You two had a whole moment. I’m surprised the lights didn’t flicker.”

Lex tried not to smile. “It’s not like that.”

“Sure.” Wren leaned in. “But if it were like that… you wouldn’t hate it.”

Lex didn’t answer right away. She just focused on her bowl, stirring slowly.

“Exactly,” Wren said, sitting back with a satisfied grin.

Lex exhaled a quiet breath, then pivoted. “Have you seen Gray lately? He’s been scarce the past couple days. Always missing at dinner.”

Wren’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Mm-hmm. I’ve noticed. I think he’s up to something. Caught him earlier trying to look casual—which, for Gray, just means he was being suspicious on purpose.”

Lex smirked. “Yeah, I saw that too. Asked him a question, and he practically moonwalked out of the room.”

Wren leaned in, lowering her voice. “I know he’s the younger brother we never had, but just for the record—I’m not getting in trouble for the squirt.”

Lex laughed under her breath. “Noted. But I kind of want to know what he’s up to.”

Wren tilted her head, mock-serious. “We tail him tomorrow?”

Lex didn’t hesitate. “Obviously.”

They clinked spoons like it was a secret mission handshake.


*

Sleep didn’t come easy.

Lex lay in her bunk, staring at the faintly glowing numbers of the wall-mounted clock: 03:47. She hadn’t changed out of her spare clothes. Hadn’t pulled the blanket over her. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the thing—its limbs, its shimmer, the wrongness of it.

She’d expected the outside to scare her. But this—the knowing there were things out there no one had warned them about—left a deeper kind of fear. One that reached into her bones and whispered, you were lied to.

Her door creaked softly.

She sat up fast.

But it was only Gray, peeking in, barefoot and wide-eyed. His hoodie sleeves dangled past his knuckles, and his mop of messy brown hair stuck up like he’d wrestled his pillow and lost.

“You’re not asleep,” he said.

Lex rubbed her eyes. “You either.”

Gray stepped inside and shut the door with a soft click. Then he flopped onto the edge of her cot without asking, like he had a dozen times before. Like they shared the same world when no one else quite did. He stared at the ceiling.

“People are saying you went up last night.”

“They say you saw something.”

Lex was quiet for a beat. Then: “We did. Something that wasn’t a drone. Not human either.”

Gray rolled onto his side, eyes on her now. “Nate saw it too?”

She nodded. “Yeah. He saw it.”

He gave a small nod, like he already knew. Like he trusted Nate to see what needed seeing—and believe it, too.

“Did it attack you?”

“No. But it wanted to.” Her voice dropped. “It looked at me. I think it… was choosing.”

Gray blinked. “You think it could tell who you were?”

“I think it could smell who I was.”

That silenced him. He stared at the ceiling again.

The quiet stretched until he said, “Do you ever wonder if we’re being prepped for something? Not just surviving. Kept. For something else?”

Lex turned her head sharply. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated—then spoke slowly, like he was still working it out. “The drones. The way they move. How precise they are. How they avoid certain zones, sweep others again and again. That’s not random.”

Lex frowned. “And you think someone’s controlling that?”

“No,” he said softly. “I think someone’s studying it. Studying us.”

Lex felt her stomach twist. “Who?”

Gray didn’t answer. He just lay there, thinking.

Lex watched him. He looked younger in the low light. Still lean and sharp around the edges, but softer too. Curious. Too curious sometimes. He asked questions other people were too tired—or too scared—to ask. And no matter how often he tried to play it cool, she could tell when something was bothering him. Like now.

He was like the little brother she’d never had. Too smart for his own good. Always asking why. Always watching out for her even when she didn’t realize it.

She liked to think he saw her as a big sister. But sometimes, the way he looked at her—like she was the only person left who made the world make sense—it made her wonder.

She shifted, pulling the blanket up at last. “Get some sleep, Gray.”

He didn’t move. Just gave a small nod, still deep in whatever thought had taken root.

Lex lay back, eyes on the ceiling, fingers curled tight around the blanket.

She didn’t know what scared her more—

That something was hunting them.

Or someone was watching.

There were too many questions. And fewer people she trusted with the answers.