Page 82 of Sick(ness)

Jay appeared moments later, rifle sweeping the tree line before he crouched beside them, his own eyes red-rimmed. “Are you okay?”

Addy’s throat constricted as she tried to nod, tears finally spilling over. “You found me,” she managed, the words barely audible.

Sawyer’s breath hitched, something between a sob and a laugh escaping him. “You left us a trail,” he said. His voice dropped to a whisper. “God, I thought I’d lost you.”

“I didn’t know if it would be enough,” she choked out, “I was so scared you wouldn’t—”

He pressed his forehead against hers, cutting off her words. “I would have burned down the whole forest to find you.”

Jay straightened, glancing back toward the ridge. “We need to move. If Gus had company, they’ll come running when they hear those shots.”

Sawyer nodded, his grip on Addy tightening protectively. “Let’s not stick around to find out.”

As they turned toward the woods, Addy leaned into him, exhaustion pressing down like lead.

* * *

When the cabin finally came into view through the thinning trees, relief hit all three of them—then vanished. The back window had been punched inward, leaving a jagged mouth of glass teeth that bit at the air. Shards littered the snow beneath like scattered diamonds, catching what little light remained in the day. Inside, tattered blue curtains, now stiff with frost, slapped against the splintered wooden frame, each gust of wind forcing them to dance a frantic, broken waltz. The hearth contained nothing but gray ash and blackened logs; their warmth was just a memory. Ice crystals had formed along the cabin’s baseboards, creeping up the walls like silver mold, transforming their sanctuary into a tomb of winter.

Addy’s stomach turned, then steadied, then turned again. The broken window repulsed and transfixed her. Part of her wanted to run back into the forest, away from this violated space, but another part had a perverse need to touch the jagged edges, to confirm they were real. The last time she’d been here, that window had been intact. She trusted she was safe. Then they’d come crashing through, glass exploding across the floor as she screamed, and yet, wasn’t this still better than being out there with them?

Her breath hitched, and Sawyer caught the sound. He touched her arm lightly. “Hey,” he said softly. “You’re here now. They’re gone.”

She nodded, but her eyes stayed locked on the broken window.

The wind moaned through the opening, scattering bits of ash from the cold hearth. Sawyer crossed the room, crouching to inspect the damage. The wood around the sill was splintered; the glass had been blown outward where one of the men had likely shoved through.

“They broke it clean getting in,” he said tightly. “Could’ve been worse; they didn’t torch the place.”

Jay was already pulling a few rough-hewn pine boards from the lumber stack near the corner, his breath clouding around his face in the frigid air. “We’ll seal it for tonight,” he said matter-of-factly, his calloused fingers testing each board’s width against the jagged window frame. “You can tell this place lost all its heat hours ago.” He nodded toward the frost creeping up the interior walls like pale fingers. “Let’s get that fire started too before we freeze. My damn toes are already going numb in these boots.”

Addy bent down, gathering the shards of glass that glittered across the floor. Each piece tinkled faintly as it hit the metal bucket beside her. Her hands shook, whether from the cold or from memory, she wasn’t sure.

Sawyer glanced over his shoulder. “Careful, 2B. Don’t cut yourself.”

“I’m fine,” she said softly, though her voice was distant.

Jay handed Sawyer a hammer and nails, then propped one of the boards over the window frame. Together they worked quickly, driving nails into the wood until the howling wind dulled to a faint whistle. It wasn’t perfect, but it would hold.

Sawyer stepped back, wiping sweat and frost from his brow. “That’ll do for tonight,” he said. “We’ll reinforce it better in the morning.”

“Fire,” Jay reminded him, already kneeling at the hearth. He brushed away the old ash, added kindling, and struck a match. The small flame flickered uncertainly before catching.

Addy crouched beside him, feeding thin sticks into the glow until it flared brighter. The warmth came slowly, fragile, trembling against the cold that had seeped into the walls, but it was enough to thaw the ache in her bones.

Jay added a thicker log and sat back, exhaling through his hands. “We’ll check the rest of the windows tomorrow,” he said. “If they got in that easily once, we need to make sure it can’t happen again.”

“Agreed,” Sawyer said. His voice was calm, but the tension in his shoulders hadn’t eased.

Addy sat down near the fire, her legs weak, her mind replaying the night she’d been dragged out that same window. The shards had cut her arm as she fought. She remembered screaming, the bitter air, Gus’s rough hands, the odor of his blood.

And now, sitting here again, it all was too close, the ghosts of it clinging to every surface.

She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders and whispered, “I hate this window.”

Sawyer looked over at her, the lines on his face softening. “It’s not the window’s fault,” he said quietly. “It’s theirs.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she murmured. “It still seems wrong.”