Shelter Novels & Stories

She motioned for me to follow as she climbed down the ladder. Making my way down after her, I was glad that whatever she wanted to show me was before I bathed, it was dusty and dirty in here. I wiped my hands on my dress before turning around to see Mother in the middle of the room. "This shelter is three feet underground. It is practically soundproof to the people inside the home above us," she looked up, "even if there was an explosion in here, it would only feel like a slight earthquake to them. Perhaps rattle some glasses out of the cupboards but nothing too serious."

Since nobody left, the system listed out the first set of choices for us to select. "Please choose your safehouse: "1. An apartment built of plastic in the biggest desert in the world with no water or electricity "2. A military armory "3. A luxury RV with a full tank "4. An air raid shelter in the city with airtight doors "5. A campsite with ample supplies on Seafoam Island." "You should pick the campsite, Ms. Johnson! You're usually so good at keeping track of things. Our minds would be at ease with you taking stock of our resources!"

"Like a dog." I turned to look at him. "A dog?" "The farmhouse needs one. For protection. For company. For something to love." "You want a dog?" "I want you to have something to take care of when I am on the phone all day." I laughed. It came out loud and bright. "You are serious." "I am always serious." "You are never serious." He smiled. "Get your coat. We are going to the shelter." The shelter was an hour away. A small building on the edge of town. Dogs barked when we walked in. The smell of hay and fur and wet cement filled my nose.

I inform him. “We saw, don’t worry,” he replies. “Mindy is overwriting the lock.” It takes all my self-control not to tap my foot or fiddle with my fingers out of impatience. I want to get out of this hallway and into that shelter. Finally, there is a soft beep, and the door clicks open. “Go, go,” I rush everyone inside. “Wow,” Matt mumbles once we are inside, and I look around. Not only is the shelter equipped with beds and chairs. There is also plenty of food, water, and medicine.

A painful pressure built behind my eyes. I looked down because if Daniel saw me cry, he would stop being a child and become my caretaker again. I couldn't allow that. Not today. Not during his bridge. He pointed to the hidden compartment at the base. “This is a shelter. It’s for people who need somewhere safe when the storm is too strong. Every structure should have a safe place. Even if people don’t see it from outside.” Mrs. Henshaw clapped first. And then the room filled with applause.

“How about we go and see our daughter?” “Yes.” I said, making him smile. A few minutes later we reached the underground shelter beneath the pack house. Two warriors stood guard at the entrance, and the moment they saw Nathan they bowed. “Alpha.” Nathan nodded. “Open the doors.” The heavy steel doors swung inward, and my eyes widened when I saw how crowded the shelter was. Families filled the room, some humans, others were younger wolves… children clung to parents while elders sat quietly against the walls. The conversation dropped the second we walked in, and everyone turned their attention to us.

She growled before she ran out of the packhouse. “Right.” Jo took off running when she saw that I was following her. “The shelter is in here.” Opening a regular wood looking door, I noticed it was actually just a cover for a safe room. Completely concrete and steel room with over a dozen women and children in it. “Is everyone here?” I asked, looking around as Jo sat down. When everyone nodded, I stepped out and shut the door behind me. Locking it in place so Jo couldn’t open it from the inside. “Sorry, Jo.” I whispered. It was the only flaw of a perfect safe room. It only locked one way. If you locked it from the outside, you can’t unlock it from the inside. J

POV: Isla | The Shelter, Rookeries The shelter has thirty-one children in it now and I have been awake for the better part of thirty-six hours and the thing that has kept me functional across those thirty-six hours is not coffee or willpower but the specific relentless urgency of children who need things, because when someone needs something from you, you find a way to provide it even when you have nothing left, and then you find a way after that.

Somewhere in the distance, a fox screams - high and sudden - and the sound makes me flinch. I keep going. Then I see it. An old hunter’s shelter, half-hidden by brambles and low brush. It’s little more than a crumbling stone hollow built into the hillside, with a sagging wooden overhang and signs of long abandonment. A place meant to keep out wind and snow. Barely. But right now, it looks like salvation. I push inside, brushing cobwebs from the entry and testing the half-collapsed bench with a cautious hand. It creaks under my weight but holds.

Safety was. "Uhm... Okay, I can try to find you a shelter," I offered gently. "Somewhere with a bed, security, people to care for you. And I'll stay close...check in, help with therapy." She shook her head, more tears streaming. "Shelters are where people ask questions. I've stayed in one before. It's how my uncle tracked me. I just want to be invisible. Please. He'll kill me this time."