Page 39 of What Remains

She blinked, surprised. “Help you how?”

“You’re from Denver I assume,” Jay reminded her. “Locals know the city—the back roads, industrial parks, where to look, and where to avoid. That kind of knowledge could save us time and our lives.”

Josie looked down. “Yeah... I know the city. Born there, raised there. If my parents are still alive...” Her voice caught, and she cleared it softly. “If there’s even a chance⁠—.”

Cara stepped forward, her voice surprisingly gentle for someone so blunt. “Then we’ll get you there.”

Josie’s eyes lifted, brimming with tears. “You’d really help us?”

Jay nodded once. “We don’t leave people behind. Not if there’s a choice.”

Seth remained silent but met Josie’s gaze and nodded too.

A slow, unfamiliar warmth spread through her chest. Her shoulders eased, and she realized the tremble in her hands had finally stilled. She looked at the three strangers, who felt more like a lifeline than any she’d known for months, then back at her SUV where Layla was watching.

“Okay,” she said, the word a quiet exhale. “Yes. We’ll go with you.”

Jay offered a small, reassuring smile. “Good. Let’s roll then. Long road ahead.”

Cara turned toward the passenger seat of their SUV and paused, glancing at Josie one last time. “We stick together now, alright?”

Josie nodded. “Together.”

Seth exhaled, long and slow, then climbed behind the wheel.

Three SUVs, one new alliance, and somewhere ahead of them: Denver.

The sun climbed higher as they drove, the broken landscape of the suburbs giving way to miles of empty highway. A few hours later, Jay’s signal flickered, and he steered the vehicles onto a wide shoulder where the pavement crumbled into gravel. As good a place as any to refuel.

Jay hopped out and helped Seth pull the gas cans from the back of the vehicles, Cara watched the road while Seth positioned a hose in one of the tanks.

Josie climbed out of her Jeep last. Her hand slid over the hood as she came around, her fingers finding the tiny dent near the headlight. Mark backed into the mailbox last summer—the crunch of metal, his sheepish grin. The memory surfaced so sharp it almost stole her breath.

Jay glanced at her, his expression softening. “We need to talk.”

Josie stiffened. “About what?”

He nodded toward the vehicles. “Fuel. We’re going to burn through it a hell of a lot faster with three rigs instead of two.”

Seth straightened, wiping his hands on his jeans. He said nothing, but his eyes flicked from the Jeep to Josie.

Jay continued, his voice steady but not unkind. “Your Jeep’s solid, but it can’t haul the trailer. Every extra gallon burned is one we might need later. We have to consolidate.”

Josie swallowed against the tightness climbing her throat. “You want me to leave it?”

Jay didn’t answer right away, and that alone answered enough.

She looked at the Jeep—Mark’s Jeep. The one he used to drive Layla to school, the one they’d taken on camping trips, the one that, until yesterday, had served as her only lifeline. Her fingers tightened on the doorframe.

“My husband’s,” she said, her hand still resting on the door handle.

A muscle in Seth’s neck corded. “We get it,” he said quietly.

Josie looked up at him then—really looked—and saw something haunted staring back, something that recognized loss because it lived inside him, too.

Jay stepped closer, keeping his voice gentle. “We’re not asking you to forget him, or to forget what this meant to you. But out here, we have to make choices that keep us alive. All of us.”

Josie blinked hard; her eyes shimmering. “Will it be safe here? The Jeep?” It was foolish to wonder about a car and she knew it, but the look on their faces told her they understood.