Before the sun even rose, the fortress was alive with activity.
Dean and Marcus stood before the teens near the entrance, each of them holding a small device. Remote-control bombs and mines, handcrafted with precision. Dean knelt beside a map scratched into the dusty ground, pointing to marked zones just beyond the fortress walls.
"Plant them in these choke points. If anything happens, funnel them here. That's where the boom will count most," Dean instructed firmly.
Lucas, Anna, Jake, and the others nodded, strapping the explosives into their bags and heading out in pairs, disappearing into the early morning fog.
Inside, Sister Agnes and Linda were in the back of the barn, carefully filling glass bottles with gasoline. A stack of ragged cloth strips lay beside them. They dipped the strips into oil and stuffed them into the bottles, creating rows upon rows of Molotov cocktails.
Meanwhile, the other nuns herded the animals into the barn. Chickens clucked, goats bleated, and cows mooed softly as they were led in one by one. Sister Elaine whispered prayers as she locked the barn doors, patting the wood like she was sealing a chapel.
In the armory, Emily and Jill sat at a wooden table lit by a single lantern. They worked in rhythm—Emily counted and measured the gunpowder, pouring it with practiced care into bullet casings. Jill sealed them with a crimping tool, fingers slightly trembling but steady. The two shared a quiet moment, the sound of the clicking press echoing through the room like a heartbeat.
Nearby, Sister Maria moved swiftly through the kitchen, preparing combat rations. She packed loaves of dense bread, dried meats, cheese wrapped in wax paper, protein bars she'd made from oats and honey, and bottles of water. She lined them into boxes, ready to be passed out at a moment's notice.
Back to Dean and Marcus. The radio crackled. "Zztt—Hey, Brother Marcus, do you copy?"
"Yes, Lucas, I hear you," Marcus replied.
"We're done with the bomb planting. What should we do next?"
Marcus turned to Dean. Dean glanced at the rising sun.
"It's getting dangerous out there. Bring them back now," Dean said.
Marcus nodded and spoke into the radio. "Lucas, take everyone and come back to the fortress ASAP."
"Copy that," Lucas answered.
Inside the dining hall, everyone was seated around the long table, silently eating breakfast. Tension hung in the air. Dean stood.
"Listen up," he began, voice calm but firm. "What's coming... it's not fair. We're not soldiers. But we're not victims either. If someone comes through those gates trying to hurt your family, your friends, your home—then you fight back. Killing to survive isn't murder. It's defense. It's justice. And we don't aim to die today. We aim to survive. Got it?"
A few nods. Then more. Soon, the whole table was filled with determined faces.
After eating, Dean made his way to the second floor. In the armory balcony, he opened a long case—sniper rifles lined with care. He selected his best one, checked the scope, loaded it slowly.
Snap. Snap. Snap.
Engine sounds in the distance.
Dean's eyes narrowed. He grabbed his binoculars and scanned the road beyond the outer perimeter. Dust clouds rose. A column of soldiers—forty, maybe fifty—marched in sync. In front, a tank rolled forward. On top of the tank, a middle-aged man stood with medals gleaming across his chest. His stern expression screamed authority. The man didn't just lead. He demanded submission.
Dean grabbed the radio. "Marcus."
"Yeah?"
"They're here. Get into position."
Downstairs, Marcus stood from the table. "You heard him! Let's go!"
Lucas grabbed his shotgun and two revolvers. Anna picked up a scoped rifle, moving with silent determination. Jake spun two knives in his hands and strapped on a sawed-off shotgun. Sophia clipped a submachine gun across her chest, giving commands like a natural leader. Ryan checked the explosives detonator and holstered a pistol. Emily held her compact Uzi tightly, her optimism dimmed but her eyes determined. Noah sprinted to the gate controls with his handgun. Lily loaded a crossbow, fierce as ever. Benji, nervous but focused, held a rifle with both hands. Tina gripped two small pistols, eyes wide but unafraid.
Sister Maria handed out packed rations to the teens. "Eat when you can, but don't drop anything," she said, patting each of them with motherly strength.
Marcus faced the group. "Don't be scared. You've trained for this. You know what to do. We hold the line."
The other sisters, with Linda, moved to the bunker, locking it from within.
Emily and Jill checked their weapons—Emily with her Uzi and a small blade tucked at her side, Jill with her compact submachine gun and a revolver. They nodded to each other.
"Zzzt—Dean, do you copy?"
"Yeah, I hear you."
"Everyone's in position," Robert said over the radio.
Dean lit a cigarette, his hands steady. He raised the binoculars again.
The military marched closer.
And closer.