Page 35 of Sick(ness)

Then, from the shadowed mouth of an alley near the pharmacy, two figures stepped out.

They moved carefully, eyes tracking the direction the truck had gone. One was tall and lean, wrapped in a tattered coat that might once have been military issue. The other, shorter but broader, carried a shotgun cradled loosely in his arms, his gaze sharp beneath a grimy ball cap.

For a long moment, neither spoke. The taller man crouched beside a set of fresh tire tracks in the dust, dragging his fingers lightly through them. The corners of his mouth turned down. “They hit the grocery store. I saw the door open when we passed earlier.” He spat into the street, the sound echoing faintly. “Looks like they knew what they were doing. Quiet. Careful. Had a woman with him, I could smell her, I swear.”

“Yeah,” the tall one replied, straightening up, his hand resting on the handle of the knife strapped to his leg. He looked toward the horizon where the truck had vanished, toward the fading light and the endless woods beyond.

After a moment, a slow grin spread across his face.

“This is a problem,” he said quietly.

The shorter man gave a low, humorless chuckle. “Or an opportunity.”

They both stood there for a moment longer, watching the empty road as the last rays of sunlight bled out behind the tree line. Then they turned and melted back into the shadows, the faint echo of their boots fading into the hollow silence of the dying town.

Eight

An Uneasy Peace

They made it back to the cabin as the sun dipped below the tree line, streaks of copper and rose spilling across the lake’s still surface. The drive back had been tense; the silence thick enough to choke on. Neither Addy nor Sawyer said much, not since the gunshot. The sound still echoed in Addy’s head, sharp and final, like the world itself had paused to listen.

When Sawyer finally pulled the truck into the clearing, both of them let out the same breath, a low, shuddering sigh of relief. The cabin stood exactly as they had left it, quiet and unbothered, smoke still faintly scenting the air from last night’s fire.

“Let’s move,” Sawyer said, his voice rough, clipped by exhaustion and lingering adrenaline.

They worked fast. Addy carried the lighter supplies, the cans, the medical bag, the smaller of the ammo boxes, while Sawyer hauled the heavier loads as if they weighed nothing. Their boots thudded against the wooden porch as they made trip after trip from the truck to the cabin, the sound echoing through the otherwise silent woods.

Once the last tote was inside, Sawyer climbed back into the truck and maneuvered it carefully across the clearing, parking it tight against the base of the stairs, just like before. The metal frame groaned slightly as it settled into place, their makeshift barricade.

Addy watched him from the porch, arms wrapped around herself against the chill creeping in with the dusk. She watched the way he moved, deliberate, scanning the treeline with every step, hand never far from his gun. He was on edge, his eyes constantly flicking to the shadows as if expecting something to lurch out of them.

Inside, the cabin seemed smaller tonight, as though the walls had crept closer while they were gone. Addy lit the lantern while Sawyer checked the shutters, making sure each one was latched tightly. He moved next to the door, pushing one of the heavier storage chests against it before setting his rifle within reach on the counter.

The fire had burned low since morning, and Addy quickly knelt to coax it back to life, feeding it small pieces of kindling until the flames caught and grew steady. The soft crackle filled the space, but it did little to ease the taut energy in the room.

Sawyer finally dropped into the chair by the table, rubbing a hand over his face. “We were lucky today,” he said quietly. “Could’ve gone bad fast.”

Addy nodded, her stomach still twisted from the memory of that man, sick, hollow-eyed, begging with his gaze before Sawyer had pulled the trigger. “Do you think…” she hesitated, her voice barely above a whisper. “Do you think he even knew what was happening to him?”

Sawyer stared into the fire for a long time before answering. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “But I wasn’t going to risk it. Not with you there.”

Something in the way he said it made her chest tighten, the quiet protectiveness in the gravel of his tone. She didn’t know whether to thank him or tell him she could take care of herself, so instead she nodded, wordless.

Outside, the wind had picked up, whistling through the trees, making the cabin creak. Sawyer’s eyes darted toward the sound before settling back on the flames.

“We’ll eat and get some rest,” he said. “Tomorrow we’ll sort through what we got. Inventory it; plan the next move.”

Addy sat down across from him, the firelight dancing between them, casting long shadows on the log walls. She could still sense the tremor in her hands from earlier, not fear exactly, but the dawning realization of how fragile safety had become.

And as Sawyer leaned back, scanning the door one last time before finally relaxing, if only slightly, Addy thought that possibly, for tonight at least, they’d made it through.

But outside, somewhere deep in the woods close to the cabin, a faint snap echoed, a branch breaking under weight. Neither of them spoke, but both heard it. Sawyer’s eyes flicked to the window, muscles tensing.

“Probably an animal,” Sawyer said, standing from his chair. The words were calm, but Addy noticed the way his hand jumped instinctively to the gun on the table. He crossed the room in a few quiet strides, his boots barely creaking against the old floorboards.

The cabin’s front window was fogged near the edges from the warmth inside meeting the chill outside. He wiped a clear patch with his sleeve and peered through; the firelight at his back threw his reflection faintly into the glass.

Beyond the porch, the lake shimmered like black glass, still except for the faint ripples that caught the last scraps of fading light. Something moved along the shoreline, a shadow breaking the stillness. Broad. Low. The kind of movement that didn’t fit the easy rhythm of a deer. Sawyer’s jaw tightened.