Chapter 10: THE FIRST WAVE
Tom phased through the wall mid-breakfast.
Not unusual—he did that when he was nervous. But the look on his face made everyone stop eating.
"People," he said. "Three of them. Coming from the south treeline."
I was on my feet before he finished. Ruth grabbed the steel pipe she'd been sharpening. Miles moved to Sofia—if this was a threat, we'd need her reading minds.
"How far?" I asked.
"Quarter mile. Walking slow. They look—" Tom paused. "They look worse than we did when we got here."
Not a raid then. But still. Three unknowns approaching our settlement three days after we'd brought four refugees from the city. Word was spreading faster than I'd anticipated.
"Everyone inside," I ordered. "Ruth, Miles, with me. Sofia, can you read them from here?"
She closed her eyes. Concentrated. "Three minds. Scared. Desperate. Hungry. No hostility. Just—hope? They're hoping we're real."
"Stay sharp anyway."
We positioned at the main entrance—the only cleared path to the building. Ruth stood ready, pipe in hand. Miles had a knife, though I doubted he'd use it. I held a wrench. Ridiculous weapons, but better than nothing.
Ten minutes. The three figures emerged from the overgrown path.
Two men, one woman. The first man stopped when he saw us. His skin—I blinked. His skin looked like granite. Grey, textured, obviously not human even from fifty feet away. The woman was thin, moved with a nervous energy that seemed wrong. The second man looked normal until he gestured and a rock floated weakly beside his hand.
Mutants. Visible powers. Nowhere to hide what they were.
"Please," the granite-skinned man called. "We're not here to cause trouble. We heard—someone said there was a place. Upstate. Where mutants could—" His voice cracked. "Is this it?"
I looked at Ruth. She'd lowered the pipe slightly. Looked back at me. Unspoken question: Do we turn them away?
We had ten people. Barely enough food. Space was tight. Every new mouth meant less for everyone else.
But I'd built this place for exactly this reason. For people who had nowhere else.
"Come forward," I said. "Slowly. Hands visible."
They approached. Up close, they looked worse. Malnourished. The woman's clothes were torn. The telekinetic had fresh bruises—someone had beaten him recently.
"I'm Marcus. This is Ruth, Miles. You have names?"
The granite man spoke. "James. James Patterson. This is Eva Rodriguez and Peter Chen."
Another Chen. We had Danny Chen already. No relation probably—common name.
"Where did you hear about us?" Miles asked.
"Morlock tunnels," Eva said. Her voice was quick, words tumbling over each other. Enhanced reflexes, I realized. Everything about her was faster. "Someone said they heard from someone who heard from someone. A place in the old Ironworks. Territory for mutants. We've been walking for two days."
The Morlocks. I'd known about them from my meta-knowledge but hadn't made contact. Callisto's people, living in sewers. If they knew about us, word was spreading through every underground channel.
This is going to accelerate. More will come. Many more.
"What are your powers?" I asked. "Specifically."
James gestured at himself. "Rock skin. Can't turn it off. Strong, hard to hurt. But I look like this all the time."
"Enhanced reflexes," Eva said. "Everything's faster. Thinking, moving, reacting. Makes me twitchy. Can't sleep well."
Peter lifted the rock higher. It wobbled. "Telekinesis. Weak. Maybe five pounds max. Useless for fighting, kind of useful for not dropping things."
I looked at Ruth again. She shrugged. Your call.
"We have water," I said. "Shelter. Food—not much, but we share it. In exchange, you work. Construction, gathering, whatever needs doing. No one rides free. Everyone contributes. Understand?"
"Yes," James said immediately. "Anything. We'll do anything."
"Then come inside. We'll get you fed, assign you space. Tomorrow you start working."
The relief on their faces was painful to see. How long had they been desperate? How many places had turned them away?
We led them into the main hall. The original six plus the four from three days ago were waiting. Fourteen faces—thirteen mutants, one human who claimed an organizational mutation. Now seventeen.
I'd done the math last night. Our food would last ten people maybe two weeks with rationing. Seventeen people? Ten days. Less.
But what was I going to do—turn them away? Let them starve in the woods because we didn't have enough?
"Everyone," I said. "These are James, Eva, and Peter. They'll be joining us. Make room, share what we have. Sofia, can you help them settle?"
Sofia opened her eyes. Smiled. "More minds. It's good. Crowded but good. Come on, I'll show you where you can sleep."
The three new arrivals followed her. James had to duck through doorways—he was massive, the rock skin adding bulk. Eva moved in quick bursts, nervous energy. Peter kept that rock floating beside him like a security blanket.
Ruth waited until they were out of earshot. "We can't feed seventeen people."
"I know."
"And word's spreading. More will come."
"I know that too."
"So what's the plan?"
I pulled out the notebook I'd started keeping. Sketched quick calculations. "We accelerate farming. Plant everything we have now, not wait for ideal timing. Use System enhancements to speed growth. Set up more traps. Expand foraging range. And we establish trade with that town—regular runs, not one-time."
"That'll take time. Weeks before crops produce."
"Then we ration harder. Everyone gets less. But everyone eats something."
Miles joined us. "The new arrivals are malnourished. I'd say two weeks without proper food, maybe more. They need calories to recover."
"Then they get priority for the first few days. Build them up so they can work."
"That means the rest of us eat less."
"I know."
Miles nodded. "I'll support it. But you'll need to sell it to the others. Some won't like eating less so strangers can eat more."
He was right. This would cause tension. But it was also the only moral choice.
That evening, I called everyone together. Seventeen people crammed into the main hall. I'd scratched all their names into a steel support beam earlier—our first census, our first permanent record. Seventeen names. Seventeen lives depending on what I decided.
"We have a food problem," I said. Direct. Honest. "Three more people means supplies run out faster. We're planting seeds, but crops take weeks. Until then, we ration. Everyone gets less. The new arrivals get slightly more for a few days—medical necessity. After that, equal shares."
Silence. Then one of the newer people from three days ago—Marcus, the camouflage boy—spoke up. "Why should they get more? We're hungry too."
"Because they're dying," Miles said quietly. "Malnutrition can kill. A few extra calories now means they can work in three days instead of two weeks. That benefits everyone."
"Or," said another voice—I still didn't know everyone's name—"we could send them away. Three fewer mouths."
Ruth stood. Slowly. Deliberately. "Say that again."
The speaker—young man, early twenties—swallowed but held his ground. "I'm just saying. We barely have enough for us. Why take on more?"
"Because that's the point," I said before Ruth could respond. "New Haven isn't about 'enough for us.' It's about building something that works for all of us. Mutants helping mutants. If we turn people away, we're no better than the humans who turned us away."
"Easy for you to say," the young man shot back. "You're human. You're not—"
"Careful," Danny said quietly. The temperature in the room rose slightly. "Marcus bled for me before he knew my name. Took a beating so I could run. Built this place when he could've stayed comfortable. Don't question his commitment."
The room went quiet. I hadn't expected Danny to defend me. Hadn't expected the heat—literal and metaphorical—in his voice.
"This is the deal," I said. "We help everyone who comes here in good faith. We share what we have. We build more so we can support more. If that doesn't work for you, you're free to leave. No hard feelings. But if you stay, you follow the rules we set together."
The young man looked around. No one supported him. He sat down. "Fine. I'll stay."
"Good." I looked at everyone else. "Anyone else have concerns?"
Jason—the kid with feathers—raised his hand hesitantly. "What if more people keep coming? Like, a lot more. How many can we handle?"
Excellent question. I didn't have a good answer.
"I don't know," I admitted. "We'll handle it when it happens. For now, we focus on feeding seventeen. Making seventeen work. Building infrastructure for twenty, thirty, forty. Staying ahead of the curve."
"And if we can't?" Marissa asked. The plant-killer, sitting in the corner.
"Then we make hard choices. But not yet. Not while we have options."
The meeting broke up. People dispersed to their sleeping areas—cots now, not just floor space. We'd built them over the past week. Rough construction, but functional.
Ruth found me outside, looking at the garden plot we'd started. Seeds in the ground. System-enhanced soil. In three weeks, maybe four, we'd have food. If we could last that long.
"Seventeen people," Ruth said. "Never thought we'd get this big this fast."
"Neither did I."
"You handled the dissent well."
"Barely. That kid had a point. We are stretched thin."
"Yeah. But kicking people out isn't the answer. We do that, we're just another group protecting our own. Need to be better."
I looked at her. Ruth Torres, who'd given me one month to prove this could work. Fifteen days left on that deadline. She'd said she wasn't leaving, but the deadline was still active. I could still fail.
"How am I doing?" I asked. "Against your timeline."
She considered. "Population's growing. That's good. Infrastructure's holding. Also good. Food's a problem, but you're working on it. Leadership structure's forming—people listen to you, mostly. I'd say—" She paused. "You're ahead of where I expected. Not by much. But ahead."
"High praise."
"Don't let it go to your head."
She walked back inside. I stayed in the garden, looking at dirt that would—eventually—produce food. If the System enhancements worked. If we didn't get a late frost. If seventeen people could survive on rations until then.
Too many ifs.
But what else could we do except try?
The System pulsed.
[POPULATION MILESTONE: 13 CITIZENS]
[BONUS: +100 NP, +50 EXP]
[WARNING: RESOURCE STRAIN DETECTED]
[RECOMMENDATION: ESTABLISH SUSTAINABLE FOOD PRODUCTION]
[RECOMMENDATION: EXPAND TERRITORY]
[RECOMMENDATION: IMPLEMENT FORMAL CITIZENSHIP STRUCTURE]
I know. I know all of that. Give me time.
[TIME IS A FINITE RESOURCE, HOST]
[USE IT WISELY]
I walked back inside. Tomorrow, James would help with heavy construction. Eva could scout—her reflexes made her perfect for it. Peter's weak telekinesis was still useful—lifting tools, moving small objects. Everyone had value.
Seventeen names on that steel beam. Seventeen people choosing to trust what we were building.
Don't fuck this up. You've got fifteen days to prove to Ruth this works, and forever to prove to yourself you can actually do this.
Inside, Danny had the fire going. People gathered around it—the warmth, the light, the community. I watched them talk quietly, share the meager dinner, exist together without fear.
This. This was why.
Tomorrow we'd plant more. Hunt more. Build more. Survive more.
But tonight, seventeen people slept safe.
That was enough.
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