Frostbound Rebirth

Chapter 15: The Web Widens

The warehouse had become the unofficial headquarters of what Lucas was starting to think of as the Sanctuary Project. Marcus had claimed the north end for engineering, his workstation expanding daily as new equipment arrived. Lily had taken over the south end, her three monitors multiplying into six as she built the digital archive. And now, in the center of the space, Lucas was building something new: a command center.

A large table dominated the area, covered with maps, satellite imagery, and printouts of the intelligence he'd gathered from Gerald Cross's network. A whiteboard on one wall listed the names of potential recruits—people with skills they would need, people who had died in the first timeline, people who deserved a second chance. Another board tracked supplies: what they'd acquired, what they still needed, and where to find it.

Marcus walked over from his workstation, wiping grease from his hands with a rag that had seen better days. "German supplier confirmed. The ceramic composite heat exchanger will ship next week. I'm flying to Munich for three days of installation training."

"Good. What else do you need?"

"Materials for the water recycling system. Filtration membranes, UV sterilizers, storage tanks. I've got a list." He handed Lucas a sheet of paper covered in precise, technical handwriting. "Most of this is standard industrial equipment. The challenge is quantity—we need enough for fifty people for ten years. That's not a residential order. That's a small municipality."

"I'll handle it." Lucas scanned the list. "What about personnel? You said you had recommendations."

Marcus hesitated. "There's a guy I used to work with. Dr. Elias Thorne. Trauma surgeon, retired early due to a chronic lung condition. He's been doing consulting work for the past few years, but he's bored and frustrated. More importantly, he's one of the best doctors I've ever met. If we're building a long-term habitation, we need someone who can handle medical emergencies."

"Will he be interested?"

"I don't know. He's not exactly the 'end of the world' type. But he's practical, and he's not afraid of hard work." Marcus paused. "There's something else you should know. He's dying. The lung condition—it's degenerative. He's got maybe five years, maybe less. He knows it. Everyone who knows him knows it."

Lucas considered this. A dying man might be desperate enough to believe the unbelievable. Or he might be too focused on his own mortality to care about anyone else's. It was a gamble.

"Set up a meeting."

"I will." Marcus turned to go, then stopped. "Lucas? My ex-wife called. She wants to know why I quit my job and stopped paying child support."

"What did you tell her?"

"That I'm working on a private project with significant long-term compensation." Marcus's expression was grim. "She thinks I've joined a cult. Maybe she's right."

"She's not wrong about the cult part," Lily called from her workstation. "We're definitely a cult. We just have better engineering."

Marcus snorted and returned to his heat exchanger. Lucas made a note on the personnel board: Elias Thorne, trauma surgeon. Retired. Chronic illness. Contact via Marcus.

The next name on his list was more complicated. Captain Alistair Vance. In the first timeline, Vance had been the leader of the rogue military unit that occupied Bunker 7 before Lucas arrived. He was rigid, authoritarian, and utterly convinced of his own moral superiority. He had also been one of the most effective commanders Lucas had ever seen—disciplined, strategic, and fiercely protective of his people. Their relationship in the first timeline had been adversarial at first, then grudgingly respectful, and finally—after the war with the Bloodless Host—something close to friendship.

But that was in a different life. In this timeline, Vance was still a captain in the U.S. Army, stationed at Fort Carson, unaware that the world he served was about to end.

Lucas didn't know how to approach him. Vance wasn't like Marcus or Elias—he couldn't be recruited with money or purpose. He was a soldier. He believed in duty, honor, and the chain of command. If Lucas showed up at Fort Carson claiming to know the future, Vance would have him committed. If he waited until after the Frost began, Vance would already be leading his unit, and their meeting would follow the same adversarial path as before.

There was no good option. So Lucas did what he always did when the good options ran out: he chose the least bad one and moved forward.

He pulled out his phone and dialed a number he'd memorized from the first timeline—the direct line to Vance's office at Fort Carson. It rang four times before a gruff voice answered.

"Captain Vance."

"Captain Vance, my name is Lucas Hale. We've never met, but I have information that may be of interest to you and your unit."

A pause. "What kind of information?"

"The kind that's best discussed in person."

Another pause, longer this time. "I don't meet with people I don't know based on vague phone calls."

"I understand. But I think you'll want to hear what I have to say." Lucas paused. "It concerns a facility in the San Juan Mountains. Bunker 7. I believe you're familiar with it."

The silence on the other end of the line was absolute. Lucas could almost hear Vance's mind racing, trying to figure out how a civilian knew about a classified military installation.

"Who the hell are you?" Vance's voice was colder now.

"Someone who knows more than I should. Meet me, Captain. One hour. Neutral ground." He named a coffee shop in downtown Denver. "I'll be the one who looks like he's been expecting you."

He hung up before Vance could refuse.

Lily appeared at his elbow. "Did you just cold-call a military officer and tell him you know about a secret bunker?"

"Yes."

"Are you trying to get arrested?"

"Not specifically." Lucas stood and grabbed his jacket. "I'll be back in a few hours. Keep working on the archive."

"Lucas." Lily's voice stopped him at the door. "Be careful. Please."

He looked back at her—his sister, alive and vibrant and worried about him in a way that made his chest ache.

"I'm always careful," he said.

"No, you're not. You're just good at making it look like you are."

He didn't have an answer for that. So he left the warehouse and drove toward downtown Denver, toward a meeting with a man who didn't trust him, toward a conversation that could either save countless lives or end with him in a military prison.

The wolf in his chest was howling again. He ignored it.

There was work to do.