Page 54 of What Remains

Chapter 11

Escape & Rest

They didn't stop for nearly twenty miles.

No one spoke over the radio, and no one suggested slowing down. Jay kept his foot on the accelerator while Seth stayed glued to his bumper. Both SUVs cut through the steadily thickening snowfall until the tractor dealership shrank into nothing more than a bad memory behind them.

Only when the highway opened into another stretch of empty farmland did Jay finally signal. A faded rest area appeared ahead—little more than a boarded-up welcome center, and a handful of picnic pavilions.

The two SUVs rolled to a stop. For a long moment, no one dared to move. Engines idled. Wind rattled the bare branches overhead. The adrenaline hadn't fully drained from anyone's system.

Finally, Jay climbed out, and Seth met him between the vehicles. The cold bit harder now, snowflakes drifting down to collect on their jackets before melting into dark spots.

Jay waited until he was certain the others wouldn't hear.

"That was too damn close."

Seth pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to scrub away the last hour. "Yeah."

"No warning. Nothing what the fuck!”

"They'd probably been watching us before we ever pulled off the highway."

Jay looked back toward the road they'd come from, his eyes narrowing against the snow. "They weren't scavenging."

"No."

"They were hunting, that could have gone bad fast and something tells me the closer to the city we get the more likely that situation will become.”

The word hung between them, heavier for being true. Not infected. People—willing to sit silently in the woods and wait for someone to lower their guard.

Seth let out a slow breath that fogged and vanished in front of him. "If Layla hadn't said something..."

Jay didn't answer, and he didn't have to. They both understood exactly how differently the afternoon could have ended. If the little girl hadn't innocently pointed toward the trees, if Cara hadn't already been standing overwatch, if they'd lingered another thirty seconds over that map—neither of them wanted to finish the thought.

Jay shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets. "We've gotten comfortable."

"A little."

"Too much. Out here, we've been worried about the infected, but the closer we get to Denver..."

"The living are going to be the real problem.”

Jay's gaze swept the empty highway. "They're going to be the biggest problem."

Neither man enjoyed admitting it, but the truth spoke for itself. He replayed the ambush in his mind. The infected were mindless, a force of nature. These people had planned. They'd waited. They had lain a trap and studied their prey, and that was a hell of a lot more terrifying.

"They were organized," Seth said. "Coordinated. That hand signal moved them like a unit."

"Military, maybe. Or just survivors who've figured out this is easier than scavenging." Jay hated that explanation precisely because it made too much sense. Why search empty shelves when someone else would gather the supplies for you? Let them do the work, then take everything at gunpoint.

His jaw tightened. "We're changing how we stop. No more everyone out at once. One person fuels, one person handles security, and one stays with the vehicles. No exceptions, and nobody wanders."

Seth glanced toward the rear of his SUV, mentally inventorying their supplies. "We lost more than time back there. The hose, and one of the gas cans. That leaves us a single siphon hose and two empty cans." He ticked them off on his fingers. "If that hose tears, we're in real trouble, and we can't afford to abandon another can."

Jay sighed. Fuel had become a more valuable currency now. Without it, everything ended—no Denver, no ranch, no getting home to Addy and Sawyer. He stared across the empty highway disappearing into the white distance.

"We're still going to need more gas before we reach the ranch."