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Jacob kneels by the tire tracks, jaw tight. “They were loaded up here.”

Lyla looks down the service road. “Tracks head west.”

Carlos, too quiet until now, steps forward. His face is gray. Not scared of the woods. Scared because he knows something.

My head turns toward him.

Carlos swallows. He looks at the tire tracks, then at the blood, then back at me. “The people at the mall. They’ve got trucks. Anyone else around here would have just shot them and taken their stuff.”

Lyla’s voice goes sharp. “Carlos.”

He flinches, then nods quickly. “They take people. Not supplies. People. We need to move fast.”

I take one step toward him.

Jacob’s hand closes around my arm. Not stopping me. Reminding me.

Carlos looks at Poppy’s bow in my hand, and his voice drops. “Now.”

I tighten my grip around Poppy’s bow until pain bites into my palm.

Then I turn and sprint.

“Leon!” Lyla shouts.

I don’t stop. Branches tear at my sleeves as I run back toward the vehicles. The woods blur. My boots slam dirt, roots, leaves. My heart hammers one word with every step.

Clair.

Poppy.

Clair.

Poppy.

The camp breaks into motion behind me. Voices. Footsteps. Orders. Lyla telling Jacob to grab ammo. Trish yelling for medical bags.

Move. Run. Burn the whole city down if that’s what it takes.

I go straight for my truck. I toss Poppy’s blood-stained bow onto the passenger seat and grab every weapon within reach. Bow. Arrows. Hatchet. Knife. Crowbar. Gun.

My hands move fast, steady now. Panic has burned itself into something useful.

Rage.

Mom reaches the truck as I sling the rifle over my shoulder. “Leon.”

I don’t look at her.

“Leon.”

I stop.

Her voice breaks. “Bring them home.”

I turn then.

Her face is wrecked. Edith stands behind her, crying silently, one hand over her mouth. Earl has both hands on his shotgun, knuckles white. Jacob is loading magazines with shaking fingers. Lyla is already snapping orders. Trish is pale and furious. Carlos points down the road, talking fast.