Ethan slumped against the boxcar's wall, the shovel resting across his knees, its blade chipped from smashing centipedes. Mia sat beside him, axe propped against the duffel, stitching a tear in a blanket with a scavenged needle and thread. Cal and Tara stood watch on the flatbed, crowbar and bat silhouetted against the thinning fog, while Riley leaned on a crate inside, sharpening her machete with a chunk of broken rail. Vance paced the gravel outside, pipe in hand, his crew stacking spears near the first boxcar. The red-streaked sky glowed faintly, dawn creeping in, the air still damp with the fog's metallic bite.
[Predator Sense] buzzed, catching distant howls west, a faint slither east, but nothing near. The train cars creaked, gravel shifting underfoot, the candle's flame flickering low on the crate. Riley scraped the rail against her blade, breaking the silence. "Fog's lifting, but we're not moving yet," she said, testing the edge with her thumb. "Too many hits last night—need a plan."
Cal turned from the flatbed, crowbar tapping the steel. "What's to plan? Tracks go west, we follow. Sitting here's asking for more bugs."
"West's a gamble," Vance called, stepping closer, pipe swinging loosely. "Wolves out there, maybe worse. You saw the bridge—everything's falling apart."
Ethan shifted the shovel, standing to join them. "We've got shelter here, sure, but food's not lasting," he said, kicking the duffel lightly. "Two days, tops, then we're eating dust. Tracks might be our shot."
Mia threaded the needle through the blanket, pulling it tight. "Canal worked, didn't it? Risk paid off. Tracks could too—just need to be smart about it."
Tara snorted, leaning on her bat. "Smart's great until a bear rips through this tin can. We're exposed here, fog or not."
Riley set the rail down, machete gleaming. "Then we fortify. Patch the cars, use the flatbed as a choke point. Buy time to scout west proper—no rushing blind."
"Fortify with what?" Cal asked, tossing the crowbar between his hands. "Nails and hope? We're low on everything."
Ethan grabbed a rusted rail spike from his belt, holding it up. "Got these—spikes, some rope. Could brace the doors, make a spear wall. Not perfect, but it's something."
Vance smirked, tapping his pipe against the boxcar. "Something's better than nothing. My crew's got chain—could link the cars, block gaps. Keeps the small stuff out."
"Good start," Riley said, nodding to the burly man dozing by the flatbed. "Wake him—get that sledgehammer pounding spikes. Pete, grab the rope, start tying."
Pete shuffled over, spear in hand, uncoiling the rope from the duffel. "On it," he said, looping it around a bent rail on the flatbed. The burly man grunted awake, grabbing his sledgehammer and a handful of spikes from Ethan, driving them into the boxcar's frame with heavy thuds. Vance's crew dragged a length of chain from their pile, wrapping it between the cars, the links clanking as they secured it.
Mia finished stitching, folding the blanket and grabbing her axe. "I'll check the crates—might be more spikes inside," she said, heading to the corner of the boxcar.
Tara kicked a loose board into place, bat resting on her shoulder. "Better be worth it—don't want to die fixing this junk heap."
"It'll hold," Ethan said, jamming his shovel into a gap to widen it for a spike. "Long enough to figure out west."
Riley climbed onto the flatbed, machete sheathed, watching the fog dissipate. "Scout tomorrow—small team, tracks only. Rest here, keep this up."
Cal nodded, crowbar back in his grip. "Fine by me—just don't pick me for watch again."
"Deal," Riley said, jumping down. "Get some sleep after this."
Ethan drove a spike into the frame, the burly man hammering it flush. The boxcar's door stiffened, the chain rattling taut between the cars. Mia returned, tossing two more spikes onto the pile. "Found these—crates are dry now," she said, wiping dust from her hands.
"Good enough," Vance said, stepping back, pipe resting on the ground. "Let's see if it lasts."
The group dispersed, the train cars quieter, the defenses taking shape. Ethan set the shovel down, flexing his hands, the [Strength] boost from the bear kill steady in his grip.