The fire station had become a fortress.

  Every door, every hallway, every possible entry point—they had fortified, booby-trapped, and turned into a death trap. If the Encve wanted them, they would have to bleed for it.

  Hugo wiped sweat from his brow as he crouched in the garage, watching Frank inspect the five compressed air cylinders they had looted from storage. The old man’s face was lined with concentration, his hands working with the kind of precision that came from experience. The cylinders were lined up in a row, their metal casings dull and scratched from years of use.

  “You ever made a bomb before?” Frank asked without looking up.

  Hugo hesitated. “No.”

  Frank grunted. “Figured. Ain’t somethin’ most folks do for fun.” He tapped one of the cylinders, rolling it slightly. “This ain’t gonna be pretty, but it don’t need to be.”

  Hugo knelt beside him, watching closely.

  Frank took a deep breath, then started. “See, these tanks hold compressed air, real tight. When you rupture one, that air don’t just leak out—it explodes out. That alone can send shrapnel flying, but we’re gonna make sure it does a helluva lot more than that.”

  He gestured to a rge metal crate they had dragged over. It was filled with rusted nails, broken bolts, jagged scraps of metal torn from the wreckage of old lockers and shelving.

  “This here,” Frank said, patting the crate, “is what’s gonna turn this into a real nasty mess.”

  He reached for the duct tape and began wrapping handfuls of the sharp metal debris around each cylinder. Every yer added more weight, more lethality. Hugo watched, absorbing every detail.

  “You ain’t just strappin’ shit to it,” Frank expined. “Gotta space it out right, let the force of the bst carry this stuff outward. Too much in one pce, and it’ll just melt into the fire instead of tearin’ through someone’s gut.”

  Hugo nodded, mimicking Frank’s work on another tank. He felt the weight of what they were doing—not just in the physical sense, but in the sheer brutality of it. This wasn’t just about defense. It was a statement.

  They were making sure the Encve never left this pce alive.

  When all five bombs were wrapped, Frank grabbed some of the remaining wires they had salvaged earlier. “Now, detonation.”

  Hugo frowned. “How do we set them off?”

  Frank smirked. “That’s where things get fun.”

  He walked over to the gasoline they had siphoned from the fire truck earlier, twisting open the cap and inhaling slightly before pulling back. “Still good.”

  He grabbed one of the empty pstic buckets they had found and poured a heavy dose of gasoline into it. Then, he took a handful of rags and dunked them in, soaking them through.

  “We pour this all over the floor at the bottom of the stairs,” Frank said. “When they breach, they’ll think they got us cornered.” He looked at Hugo. “That’s when you use that fancy fre gun of yours.”

  Hugo tightened his grip on the fre gun holstered at his side. “Light them up.”

  Frank nodded. “The fire’ll spread fast. The heat alone will weaken the tanks, but if we do this right…” He tapped one of the cylinders. “They’ll blow all at once.”

  Hugo could already picture it—the Encve flooding into the building, thinking they had their prey trapped, only to be consumed in a firestorm of fmes and shrapnel.

  It was brutal.

  But necessary.

  With the bomb nearly ready, Frank led Hugo upstairs to work on the rest of their defenses. The second floor had become their st line of defense—if they were pushed back here, they would fight to the st breath.

  Frank started by setting up spike traps.

  They used pieces of broken metal rods from the lockers, hammering them into wooden pnks and securing them beneath loose floorboards. When stepped on, the pnks would snap up, driving rusted spikes through boots and flesh.

  “Simple,” Frank said, wiping his forehead. “Ain’t gonna kill ‘em, but it’ll slow ‘em down real nice.”

  Hugo helped set up tripwires along the main hallway. They used old electrical cords and fishing line, tying them low across the passage. Some were just to make them trip. Others were connected to pieces of furniture that would crash down when disturbed.

  At the farthest end of the second floor, near their fallback position, Frank set up a deadfall trap. They stacked one of the old metal bunks at an angle against the ceiling, rigging it with a pulley system made from scavenged fire hoses.

  “When they get too close,” Frank expined, “cut the rope, and this thing’ll drop straight down. If we’re lucky, it’ll crush someone. If not, it’ll still make ‘em hesitate.”

  As they worked, Salem moved between them, occasionally stopping to sniff at their handiwork before moving on. His presence was a small comfort—silent but reassuring.

  Hugo wiped sweat from his brow, stepping back to look at their work. “This is a lot.”

  Frank gave a short ugh. “Ain’t enough.”

  As the st of the traps were set, Frank and Hugo returned to the garage. The gasoline was already poured. The cylinders were in pce, each one a ticking time bomb waiting to erupt.

  Frank knelt beside the setup, checking everything one st time.

  “This is it,” he muttered. “No goin’ back after this.”

  Hugo crouched beside him, resting a hand on his knee.

  “You sure about this?” Hugo asked.

  Frank gnced at him, then let out a dry chuckle. “Ain’t got much of a choice, do we?”

  Hugo didn’t respond.

  Frank sat back, exhaling deeply. “I fought my whole life, kid. Some wars, some personal battles. And you know what I learned?”

  Hugo waited.

  Frank smirked. “Sometimes, you don’t win. You just make sure the other bastard loses more.”

  Hugo let those words settle. He thought of all the times he had died. The way he had woken up, over and over, forced to live through this nightmare again.

  This time, maybe… maybe he wouldn’t need to.

  Frank stood, stretching his back with a groan. “Alright. We got a few hours before they show up. Get some rest.”

  Hugo frowned. “You think we’ll need it?”

  Frank looked at him, his expression dark.

  “Oh, I know we will.”

  Hugo swallowed hard. He cast one st gnce at the fire station, now a battlefield.

  Tomorrow, hell would come to them.

  And they would be ready.

  Hugo sat against the cold concrete wall of the fire station’s second floor, his fingers absently gripping the handle of the firefighter’s axe resting beside him. The room was quiet, save for the faint sound of Frank finishing the st of the traps downstairs. Salem curled up near the barricaded doorway, his ears twitching in the silence, as if even in sleep, he was alert.

  The weight of exhaustion pressed down on Hugo’s shoulders like a lead bnket. His body screamed for rest. His muscles ached, his mind fogged from the hours of pnning and preparing. He had fought against sleep for as long as he could, knowing that once he closed his eyes, everything would reset to that moment. The thought gnawed at him, an unseen force keeping him awake despite the overwhelming fatigue.

  They weren’t ready to die.

  Not yet.

  He exhaled, rubbing his temples. If he died now, all of their effort would be undone. He would be back to the encve waking him up at the apartment complex. He would have to fight them and most likely run away again.

  If he pushed forward in this state, exhausted and slow, they would be overwhelmed. The Encve would sughter them. But if he reset the loop, if he let himself sleep… they would have another chance. A better chance.

  His vision blurred slightly. The weight behind his eyes grew unbearable. His body had made the decision for him.

  He had to sleep.

  With a slow breath, Hugo leaned his head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling for a long moment before closing his eyes.

  And the world went dark.

  Hugo’s eyes snapped open, his body jolting awake as though he had been yanked from drowning waters.

  He flexed his fingers, feeling the renewed strength in them, the absence of exhaustion. The tension in his body had faded, repced by the crity of a full rest.

  A new starting point.

  This time, he wasn’t going to hesitate. They had work to do.

  He wasted no time rousing Frank, who grumbled but didn’t question Hugo’s urgency. Together, they went through everything again— the barricades, the traps, the bomb. Hugo didn’t have to second-guess anything this time. He knew what needed to be done.

  By the time the sun began to set, everything was in pce and ready.

  And then… they waited.

  The fire station remained eerily silent, the darkness thick outside. Hugo crouched near one of the narrow windows, peering down at the streets below. Shadows moved between abandoned cars, creeping along the alleyway toward the station’s entrances.

  The Encve wasn’t storming in like before. They were taking their time, slipping through the night like predators stalking their prey.

  Frank whispered from his position near the stairs. “They’re tryin’ to be smart this time.”

  Hugo’s grip tightened on the firefighter’s axe. “That works in our favor.”

  The sound of metal scraping against wood echoed from the lower level. Someone was prying at the barricaded doors, testing for a weak point. More footsteps followed—silent, calcuted movements as the Encve men fanned out, covering all possible exits.

  Then, a soft creak.

  A figure slipped inside through a partially opened window, barely making a sound. Another one followed.

  Hugo exhaled slowly. They were waiting until enough of them were inside.

  More shadows moved past the shattered front entrance, slipping into the fire station’s first floor. Three, four, five…

  A faint voice whispered in the distance, barely audible. Orders being given. Their leader wasn’t inside yet, but his men were doing exactly what he wanted—sweeping the building before committing to a full breach.

  Frank adjusted his rifle, barely peeking through the gaps in the barricade. “They think they’ve got us boxed in.”

  Hugo took a deep breath, reaching for the fre gun at his side. “Then let’s show ‘em how wrong they are.”

  The moment another pair of Encve men stepped through the door, Hugo pulled the trigger.

  The fre shot downward, nding in the pool of gasoline they had spread across the floor.

  Fire erupted instantly, fmes roaring to life, consuming everything in its path. The lower level turned into an inferno in seconds, smoke billowing as the fire surged up the stairwell.

  Screams echoed through the station. The men inside panicked, some trying to escape the fmes, others diving for cover. Chaos rippled through the Encve’s ranks as their careful infiltration turned into an all-out disaster.

  Then, the makeshift bomb went off.

  The explosion ripped through the first floor. The compressed air cylinders ruptured, sending a shockwave through the building. Shrapnel tore through the air, cutting down those caught in the bst. The walls shook, dust and debris raining from the ceiling.

  Frank wasted no time. He raised his rifle and fired, dropping a man who had managed to scramble away from the explosion. Another shot—another body hitting the ground.

  “Five down,” Frank muttered, reloading quickly.

  Through the smoke and fire, Hugo spotted movement.

  The leader.

  Horribly burned, his clothing charred, but still standing, still moving, a handgun clenched in his raw, blistered fingers.

  Hugo met his eyes.

  This wasn’t over yet.

  They had survived the first wave.

  But the final battle had only just begun.