Page 70 of Sick(ness)

Jay chuckled. “Just don’t use all the soap. It’s rationed.”

Sawyer leaned back in his chair, watching her. She looked more alive than he’d seen her in weeks, cheeks flushed, eyes bright in the firelight. For a moment, the worry that had taken root in his chest since meeting Jay loosened its grip.

“Go on,” he said quietly, nudging her knee under the table. “You deserve it.”

She met his eyes, her voice soft but teasing. “You just want me to test the water first.”

He gave her a faint smirk. “Perhaps.”

Jay looked over his shoulder with a small grin. “Don’t take too long, or you’ll use all the hot water. And keep the door shut tight; it’s easy to lose the heat.”

Addy nodded, still smiling as she headed down the hallway, clutching the towel Jay had handed her.

Sawyer watched her go until she disappeared behind the door, then leaned forward, his tone dropping. “You’ve done well for yourself here, Jay. Feels… safe.”

Jay met his gaze evenly. “That’s the idea. Safe keeps you alive.”

The two men sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the fire snapping in the hearth and the faint hum of the generator outside.

Then Jay’s eyes flicked toward the shortwave radio by the window, its green light pulsing faintly through the static. “You hear what’s still out there, though,” he said quietly. “Even now. The transmissions haven’t stopped.”

Sawyer followed his gaze, unease settling low in his gut. “I’ve heard similar chatter before,” he said. “Overseas.”

Jay looked at him, his face unreadable. “Then maybe you already know what I’m about to say.”

The fire had burned down to a soft orange glow by the time Addy’s footsteps faded down the hall. Steam drifted faintly from the bathroom door, the scent of soap lingering in the warm air. Sawyer sat across from Jay, the mug of coffee cooling in his hands.

The cabin was quiet except for the soft murmur of static from the shortwave radio near the window. Its small green light pulsed slowly, rhythmically, almost hypnotically.

Jay reached over and adjusted the dial, his movements careful. “You hear it yet?”

Sawyer tilted his head, listening. Beneath the crackle and hum of empty frequencies, there was something else: faint, structured. A pattern.

“Here,” Jay said, turning the volume up a notch.

Through the noise came a clipped, mechanical voice. Male. Distorted. The message repeated in bursts, a mix of numbers and short code words.

“…Sector four-seven… containment breach… Black Echo priority… stand down… repeat, stand down…”

Sawyer froze. His hand tightened around the mug until his knuckles whitened. “Play that again.”

Jay watched him closely, then replayed the snippet.

“Recognize it?”

Sawyer’s eyes didn’t leave the radio. His voice came out low and grim. “Yeah. I do.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Black Echo isn’t a location. It’s a clearance term, used for off-record operations. Stuff that never makes it into reports. That transmission… that’s military protocol. Or what’s left of it.”

Jay nodded slowly, as if he’d been expecting that answer. “Thought so. I’ve been hearing the same phrases off and on for weeks. Usually around midnight, sometimes at dawn. Whats left of command, if that’s even what it is, they’re talking to someone. Or covering something up.”

Sawyer rubbed a hand over his face, his jaw tight. “We were told to stand down before extraction overseas. Same wording, same damn tone. Two days later, we were recalled. They shut down the operation and classified everything. No debrief, no medical checks, nothing.”

Jay sat back, his expression dark. “You think it’s the same thing? What you saw over there — this sickness?”

“I don’t think,” Sawyer said quietly. “I know.”

The fire popped softly, sending up a brief flare of light. Shadows shifted across their faces, deepening the silence that followed.