Bram received the convoy request at the earlier rescue area, with one shoulder under a stack of barrier plates. The local captain had kept him there moving equipment after the cable work. He set the plates on their supports before answering. A younger carrier reached to take the whole stack, and Bram stopped him with a hand against the edge.
“Two at a time,” he said. “The bottom one is split.”
Then he asked the captain whether she could release him for the transport work. He had heard the district name and the urgency in the contact, and the old habit had already supplied a command in his own voice. He held it behind his teeth. The captain needed the remaining carriers. She moved one task to the rest crew, checked the route with the staging team, and released Bram to travel with the empty supply vehicle going toward the clinic.
He climbed into its cab beside a driver who had no intention of letting him choose the turns. They passed the dark apartment lane, the open loading yard, and a stretch where broken glass lay bright under the lamps. By the time they reached staging, the first vehicle of residents had already gone by the closest usable road. The last convoy would be heavier and later. Its timing was still changing with the search for the missing household.
