Page 66 of Sick(ness)

As they stepped back into the pale, frigid daylight, Addy glanced once more over her shoulder at the frozen town behind them: the silent streets, the ghostly outlines of cars, the snow drifting over what had once been life.

Then she looked ahead, toward Jay and Sawyer breaking a path through the white, and followed.

Fourteen

New Hope

Addy hung back a few paces behind the men, studying their new companion as they walked.

He was tall and lean, the kind of lean that came from hard living, not exercise. His coat was heavy and patched in places, his gloves mismatched, and his boots looked like they’d been repaired more than once. A short beard framed his jaw, dark with flecks of gray, and his eyes, a pale, clear blue, had that same watchful stillness she’d seen in Sawyer’s. The look of someone who had seen the world fall apart and decided to keep walking anyway.

“So, Jay,” she said after a long stretch of quiet, “how long have you been out here on your own?”

He didn’t turn as he answered. “Since the day it started. Long enough that the days stopped meaning much, honestly. “

Sawyer adjusted his pack, glancing his way. “You said you had a cabin near the lake. That your family’s?”

Jay nodded. “My dad built it back in the eighties. Used to take me fishing out here when I was a kid. After he passed, I fixed it up, made it my own place for hunting trips.” He paused and added, “I actually moved back out this way a few years before all this, opened a bait shop in town. Thought I’d slow down a little, live simple, spend more time on the water. Guess I got more ‘off the grid’ than I bargained for.”

Addy smiled faintly. “So this really was home.”

“Yeah,” Jay said, voice quieter now. “Was. It’s different when you’re the only one left walking Main Street.”

“Sounds like fate,” Addy said softly.

Jay chuckled under his breath. “Or bad luck. If I’d been living in the city like most folks, I wouldn’t have had to watch it all crumble from the sidelines.”

Sawyer gave him a sidelong glance. “You’re still here. That’s something.”

“Yeah. Still here. Guess survival counts for something these days.” His eyes shifted between them. “You two got names, or should I whistle when I need your attention?”

Addy caught Sawyer’s warning glance but spoke anyway. “I’m Addy. He’s Sawyer.”

Jay nodded once, the ghost of a smile crossing his weathered face. “Alright. Addy and Sawyer, it is.”

They fell silent again, the crunch of snow beneath their boots filling the air. Addy’s legs ached, but she didn’t complain. Every so often, Jay would point out small things: the way a frozen stream curved toward the ridge, or how the snow drifted differently over the old logging road they followed. He moved with the ease of someone who knew the land like an old friend.

After a while, Addy asked, “You said you’ve been listening to transmissions. Do you think the government’s still out there? I mean, actually functioning?”

Jay’s jaw tightened. “If by functioning you mean cleaning up what’s left and keeping people quiet, yeah. They’re out there. Just not to help.”

Sawyer’s voice was low. “You sound sure.”

“I am,” Jay said. “I saw it happen here first. The National Guard came through right at the beginning of the outbreak. Told everyone to stay inside, that help was coming. The next thing we knew, they were gone.”

“That’s… comforting.”

Jay glanced at her, sympathy softening his tone. “That’s the world now. You either stay, lay down, and fade away, or you keep moving and try to outlast it.”

“Sounds like you’ve been doing the second,” Sawyer said.

“Trying to,” Jay replied. “Doesn’t hurt to have company once in a while, though. Even if it’s just for the walk.”

Sawyer grunted, but there was something almost approving in the sound.

By the time they crested the last hill, Addy could see the lake, frozen over and rimmed with trees heavy with snow. Smoke curled faintly from a metal chimney tucked between two birch trunks.

“There she is,” Jay said, nodding toward a small wooden structure perched near the waterline. “Home, sweet home.”