FORTIFY

EVE OF EXTINCTION

BOOK 5

STEPHANIE MYLCHREEST

MIKE KRAUS

FORTIFY

Eve of Extinction

Book 5

By

Stephanie Mylchreest

Mike Kraus

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SPECIAL THANKS

Special thanks to my awesome beta team, without whom this book wouldn’t be nearly as great.

Thank you!

-Mike

PREVIOUSLY

In the wake of a catastrophic global banking collapse, sparked by an update aimed at curbing cyber-terrorism which inadvertently wiped all digital records, the world was plunged into turmoil. The erasure of almost all online financial data led to widespread riots, food shortages, and ultimately societal collapse, marking the beginning of a dark era in human history.

Sarah, an ER nurse in Manhattan, was attending her estranged mother’s funeral when the city went into meltdown. Separated from her daughter Mia in Asheville, she embarked on a harrowing journey home, joined by her new friends Tony and Jeremy.

Back in Asheville, retired schoolteacher June and bookstore owner Lucas faced the rapid collapse of law and order in their town. Protecting Mia became their priority, although Lucas’ attention was diverted elsewhere as his worries and suspicions grew, particularly toward Victor, a local businessman with a ruthless reputation who seemed hell bent on gathering supplies for his own benefit.

As tensions in Asheville escalated over resources and leadership, Lucas’ distrust of Victor, whom he suspected in their friend Eddie’s death, intensified. Despite June’s attempts to mediate, the conflict deepened and drove a wedge between June and Lucas, especially after assailants attacked the town, forcing her to ally with Victor.

Sarah’s return to Asheville brought both emotional reunions with her daughter and her closest friends, as well as new challenges. Lucas declared his love for her, but her rejection of his romantic advances made his poor mental state even worse, leading him to isolate himself from the rest of the community with an arsenal of weapons. Meanwhile, June grappled with her leadership role and an increasingly complex relationship with the sheriff. The community faced a number of challenges, but managed to successfully defend their settlement.

Daniel, Sarah’s father, embarked on a perilous journey to Asheville from his remote home in the Blue Ridge Mountains with his rescued dog, Rusty, overcoming natural disasters and helping others along the way. Reuniting with Sarah and Mia, he adopted two more dogs, Bailey and Aria, and revealed his secret contact with Nate to Sarah, letting her know that he had asked Nate to return to Asheville. The news took Sarah by surprise, but she figured the chances of Nate actually turning up in Asheville were close to zero. He’d abandoned them a long time ago and she hoped she’d never see him again.

The community worked together to further develop the garden and build chicken coops and animal pens, trying to set themselves up to be self-sufficient, while continuing to hunt, forage, and scavenge for supplies. June’s relationship with the sheriff deteriorated due to his possessiveness, sharply contrasting with her growing bond with Daniel.

Meanwhile, Victor unveiled a new radio, but the community was jolted by the news of an armed convoy approaching Asheville, leading to urgent strategizing by Victor, the sheriff, June, and others. As they grappled with the new crisis, the tension between the sheriff, Daniel and June became worse, especially after June ended things with the sheriff and he accused her of being unfaithful to him.

Daniel and Sarah took a trip to Leicester for supplies, which led to a meeting with Elara’s community, who welcomed Daniel and the others due to his history with some of the residents. Tex, Elara’s brother, accompanied Daniel and Sarah back to Asheville, and a romantic connection between Tex and Sarah was soon sparked.

A scouting mission left to get close to the convoy, where they soon discovered a highly organized militia group run by Commander Lorne, a business competitor of Victor’s from before the banking collapse. They returned to Asheville with the news, and the sheriff and Victor quickly organized increased patrols as well as round the clock scouts to keep an eye on the militia. The sheriff also dispatched Officer Mitchell to warn Elara’s community that the militia was in the vicinity.

At the same time, Lucas’ isolation and paranoia deepened, especially when Victor demanded that he hand over the ledger that detailed the location of Eddie’s stashes, getting June and Sarah involved in trying to persuade Lucas to turn it over. Already feeling betrayed, seeing Sarah and Tex together only worsened Lucas’ state of mind, and this led to a confrontation with Victor that drove Lucas to set his house on fire and flee the settlement.

Sarah and June searched the outskirts of the settlement for him, however the looming threat of the militia forced them to abandon their search. The Asheville survivors braced themselves for an impending attack, which culminated in a fierce battle with a fifteen-strong group from the militia, who they barely managed to repel.

In the aftermath, everyone was worried about how they’d cope when the main group made their move, but there was no choice other than to keep moving forward. Asheville rebuilt the barricades and tended to the wounded, until Lucas decided it was time to mete out his own version of justice. He readied his rifle and sought out Victor, shooting him in the chest before running away, only to come face to face with his hallucinations.

The community mourned Victor’s passing, alliances and relationships shifting and changing, including the development of doubt in some quarters about the sheriff’s ability to lead, after news spread that he let his emotions get the better of him during the battle. With the arrival of Elara and her delegation, Asheville formed a wary alliance with her community, the two groups agreeing to cooperate and work together in mutual defense against the militia.

Meanwhile, in the Amazon, and despite Sarah’s belief that Nate was too selfish to ever come home to his daughter, Nate had decided to heed Daniel’s request. His journey to Asheville was fraught with danger and self-reflection, driven by his desire to reconcile with Mia and make amends.

Upon crossing the United States border, Nate began traveling with Rosa, a pretty English teacher he met in Mexico. Exhausted from their cycling journey, they met a group of strangers who spoke of a refugee camp near Montgomery, Alabama. Despite their initial hesitations, the pair decided to visit, drawn by the prospect of stability and rest.

Upon arriving at the camp built in the shadow of an abandoned fairground, Nate and Rosa were quickly assimilated into the camp’s structured yet peaceful life, overseen by a democratically elected council. Their relationship deepened, and they grew closer, both offering the other unwavering support and enjoying the normalcy of camp life.

One night, Nate overheard a suspicious conversation, prompting him to warn the council, though his concerns were met with skepticism. Nate and Rosa observed rising tensions within the camp, including disputes over rations and general unease among some residents. When a scuffle broke out, George, a council member, recognized the seriousness of Nate’s warning, and tasked Nate with secretly gathering information.

Later, Nate and Rosa overheard a conversation confirming an imminent coup. They rushed to inform George, but it was too late. A faction within the camp launched a surprise attack, plunging the camp into chaos. Nate and Rosa navigated the turmoil, helping where they could, before rescuing George from execution. Recognizing their bravery, George gifted them a motorcycle to say thank you.

As they prepared to part ways, with Rosa heading to her parents in Georgia and Nate to North Carolina, Nate proposed they travel together. It was a win-win situation, allowing him to get to Mia sooner than if he traveled on foot, and postponing any goodbye between himself and Rosa. A rolling stone no more, the future beckoned, full of purpose and a chance at redemption.

CHAPTER ONE

Sarah

The sun cast a glow over the garden that couldn’t penetrate the chill of the morning. Sarah kneeled among rows of plants inside one of the greenhouses in the communal garden, her hands cold as she harvested kale and parsnips, placing the dirt-crusted vegetables in a basket beside her. Despite the recent pest invasion, the plants clung to life, a stubborn splash of life in a world turned stark and gray.

Her fingers moved through the soil, teasing out the unwanted weeds that threatened her precious charges, while the earthy scent of damp soil grounded her in the moment. Other volunteers were assisting in the harvest, almost everyone not on patrol or helping June with preparations for the Barter Fair filled with a need to do something.

“Sarah!”

The voice belonged to Jenny Peabody, librarian turned custodian of the community food stores. She approached Sarah with a bounce in her step, cradling something carefully in her arms, before she pulled open the flap of clear plastic covering the entry to the greenhouse and peered inside.

“Look what I’ve got!”

Sarah straightened, her back protesting slightly, and wiped a smudge of dirt off her cheek as she stepped out of the greenhouse. Jenny stepped aside to let her out and proudly presented a small, round wheel of cheese, its surface smooth and inviting.

“Is that what I think it is?” Sarah asked, her eyes widening in mock surprise.

“Fresh cheese, courtesy of Snowflake,” Jenny declared.

The scent of the cheese, a rich and creamy aroma, wafted over to Sarah, promising a rare treat in their austere world.

“Well, I’ll be,” Sarah said, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “You’re turning into a regular cheese master, Jenny.”

“You know it,” Jenny replied, and their laughter filled the air briefly.

The moment was fleeting, and Sarah’s gaze shifted as she noticed Officer Mitchell approaching, his uniform looking worse for wear and his expression weary.

“Morning, Officer Mitchell,” Sarah said, her tone instinctively sobering. “Anything new on the militia front?”

Officer Mitchell shook his head, his eyes scanning the distant tree line as if expecting shadows to take form. “No movement from Fairview. It’s quiet. Too quiet, maybe.”

Sarah frowned slightly, the unease never quite leaving her. “Quiet could be good. Or it could be the deep breath before they make their next move.”

“Let’s hope they’re busy packing up before they head for greener pastures,” Officer Mitchell replied. “Although something tells me we won’t be that lucky.”

A brief silence settled over them. A group of volunteers working in another greenhouse stepped outside, their voices briefly rising in conversation as they walked past the simple cross that stood nearby, a humble grave marker for Victor. The wood was smooth, its surface sanded and polished, and Sarah stared at the cross as the group moved on.

“Victor,” Officer Mitchell said softly, his voice tinged with respect and regret. “I miss him. I wish he was here now. He’d know what to do next.”

“He would,” added Jenny. “He was a good man. He got those solar panels up and running, got us organized and motivated to defend ourselves. He made a real difference.”

“For all his faults, Victor did good by us,” Sarah said.

Officer Mitchell nodded, a reflective pause lengthening between them. “Strange times make for strange heroes.”

Sarah sighed, her gaze lingering on the cross. “And unexpected losses,” she added quietly.

The moment hung between them, a shared understanding of the precarious thread on which their lives balanced. Amid the burgeoning life of the garden and the shadow of death, they stood a moment longer, an icy breeze blowing over them as they contemplated it all. The white tips of the blue ridge mountains caught Sarah’s eye, and she shivered. Winter was coming.

A familiar figure moved toward them, weaving around the greenhouses, and Sarah couldn’t help the sudden warmth spreading through her chest. Tex’s arrival disrupted the somber mood that hung over them, his easy stride carrying a sense of assurance, his smile lighting up his handsome face.

“Jenny, with cheese like that, you’ll have us all forgetting there ever was such a thing as a supermarket,” he said, his dark eyes twinkling as he glanced at the prize in her hands.

Jenny giggled like a schoolgirl, her plump hand covering her mouth. “Oh stop it, you. It’s June’s recipe. I just followed her instructions.”

“But it was your fair hand that produced such a wonder.”

Officer Mitchell, usually so reserved, looked as though he couldn’t help but crack a smile. “Tex, if charm was currency, you’d be a rich man,” he said with a rare glimmer of humor.

Sarah watched the exchange, a small smile playing on her lips. Despite the unease that had clung to her like a second skin ever since they’d spotted the militia, Tex had a way of making things feel lighter, more bearable.

“Sarah, June’s looking for you in the community center,” Tex said, turning to her, his gaze roaming over her face with an intensity that sent a jolt right down to her toes. “Let me walk you over.”

“Thanks,” Sarah replied, pursing her lips to suppress her grin.

She said goodbye to the others and walked side by side with Tex, his presence a fresh current that seemed to brighten everything around them. It had been so long since she’d allowed herself to even consider a relationship, she’d almost forgotten what it felt like to fall for someone, for their presence alone to be enough to bring a surge of almost giddy happiness.

“So, how many hearts are you planning to break today with that smile, Sarah?” he teased, walking close enough that their hands brushed.

Sarah laughed. “Oh, just the usual amount. I keep a tally most days, so I have a running average,” she replied, her heart fluttering despite herself.

There was comfort in his presence, a rare sense of ease that made her want to slide into his arms and forget about everything else going on. At the same time, it made her want to run, to get as far away as she could from his insistent hands that were intent on pulling down the walls around her heart. A moment later, they reached the bustling community center and stepped inside, a scene of organized chaos reaching them. Children darted around, their laughter a vibrant soundtrack to the morning’s work, and Mia came running up, her face alight with excitement, flanked by Harry’s twin boys.

“Mom, look what we made!” she exclaimed, holding up colorful hand-written welcome letters for those attending the Barter Fair the next day.

Tex bent down, his eyes softening as he examined their artwork. “These are fantastic! You guys are going to make our guests feel right at home,” he praised, his voice warm and encouraging.

Sarah watched the interaction, her mind filled with a mixture of pride and an inexplicable sense of foreboding. The innocence of Mia’s excitement stood in stark contrast to the reason behind the upcoming gathering. She wished the surrounding communities were coming together under happier circumstances, to trade and strengthen bonds without the dark cloud of the militia looming over them.

As Mia and the twins continued to chat with Tex, Sarah’s gaze drifted over the busy community center, where plans were being laid and preparations made. The center buzzed with energy, tables already laden with items to trade, while people moved around attending to last minute tasks. Sarah glanced about, looking for June, trying to push away the bad feelings settling inside—as much as she wanted to believe in the safety and success of their gathering, the specter of danger was ever-present, a silent intruder.

Finding June amid the bustle wasn’t difficult; her voice, firm and instantly recognizable, rose above the din, and Sarah soon saw her friend’s familiar form. She was deep in conversation with a small group, pointing at a hand-drawn map spread out on a table. Sarah hugged Mia and then she and Tex continued through the thrum of activity, weaving their way to June, where she was orchestrating the upcoming gathering with an air of focused determination.

“June, how’s the planning going?” Sarah asked, stopping beside her.

June looked up, a mix of stress and excitement etched on her features. Her long, gray-streaked hair was pulled back in a bun, her olive complexion dewy, cheeks pink.

“Sarah, glad you’re here. Thanks for getting her, Tex. We’re just trying to figure out the logistics for the Barter Fair. It’s a bit of a puzzle, making sure everything’s in place and everyone’s safe.”

Sarah nodded and her gaze briefly met Tex’s before he stepped away to attend to another matter, but not before he took her hand and kissed the back of it, his lips pressed warmly against her skin. June watched Tex walk away, then sighed as she rubbed her temples.

“Anything I can do to help?” Sarah offered.

“Can you double-check the medical supplies? With so many new people coming in, we need to be prepared for any emergencies. And pull out any surplus we have to trade, make a list of anything we need.”

“Of course,” Sarah replied, her mind already running through the inventory of their medical stockpile. She knew the importance of being prepared.

As she began her task in the corner of the community center, she overheard snippets of conversations around her. The excitement for the Barter Fair was palpable, but so was the undercurrent of anxiety about the militia threat. She wasn’t the only one who felt a nagging worry that tempered her anticipation for the gathering.

She immersed herself in the task of checking the medical supplies, methodically reviewing each shelf against the master list she maintained, her hands passing over neatly labeled boxes of bandages, antiseptics, and basic medications. The familiar scents of iodine and sterilized gauze filled the air, grounding her attention.

In a corner, a stack of makeshift splints lay alongside a neatly folded pile of blankets. She added a note to acquire more blankets, especially with the colder weather encroaching. As she worked, her thoughts drifted back to the broader significance of their preparations and she tried to reframe her worries.

The idea of everyone coming together, sharing resources, and offering support against the militia could only be a good thing. The militia wouldn’t sit quietly in Fairview forever, and they’d be stronger together when the group finally made their move.

CHAPTER TWO

Sarah

The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of wood smoke as Sarah made her way through the settlement, checking on her patients in their homes surrounding the community center. Sparky trotted along beside her, June’s King Charles Spaniel greeting everyone with a wag of her tail and a presence which seemed to bring a sense of comfort.

As she entered a single-story home that still bore the scars of looting, the subtle noises of discomfort greeted her. Low groans mingled with the gentle rustling of sheets as she moved quietly to the bedroom and approached Tom Newman, who had suffered a bullet wound to his arm during the last militia attack, as well as a sprained ankle and bruising to his back.

“Morning, Tom. How are you feeling today?” Sarah asked, her voice imbued with a nurse’s practiced warmth.

Tom grimaced as he shifted in his bed. “Seen better days, Sarah. But I guess I can’t complain,” he replied, attempting a smile.

She leaned down and fluffed his pillow. “Well, Tom, on the bright side, you’re now officially Asheville’s toughest guy. Surviving a bullet wound and still managing a smile? I’d say that qualifies you for our own superhero league. We just need to come up with your superhero name. How about The Indestructible Tom?”

Tom’s face broke into a genuine smile, the tension in his expression easing slightly. “I like the sound of that. But I think I’ll need a cape for the full effect,” he joked back, his spirits visibly lifted.

“I’ll speak to June and see what we can do.” Sarah began to carefully unwrap the bandage, her hands steady as she examined the skin around the suturing she’d done earlier. “Well, your wound is looking better. No signs of infection, which is what we want.”

As she redressed the wound, she couldn’t help but wonder how many more would have to suffer before it all ended, before life got back to something approaching normal. Moving to the next house, Sarah was greeted by a young mother, Clara, holding a sleeping toddler. Clara’s husband, Pete, had broken his arm diving for cover and hitting the curb, and a bullet had grazed his other shoulder. Sparky trotted over, gently nuzzling Pete’s good hand, eliciting a weak but genuine smile from him.

“How are you today?” Sarah asked, kneeling beside him to check the splint.

“It hurts less today,” Pete answered.

Sarah smiled reassuringly as she inspected his arm, ensuring it was still properly aligned and wishing not for the first time that she had something stronger for pain relief. The break had been bad, requiring considerable force to get the bone back in place, two men holding Pete down as she’d worked. Memories of Pete’s pained screams, muffled by the belt he’d bitten down on, came back to Sarah, and she forced the memory away.

“You’re healing up well. Keep resting and ask Jenny for some extra milk rations, please, and soon that bone will be as good as new.”

As she continued her rounds, each house, each face she saw, was a stark reminder of the fragility of their situation, of the violence that had become a normal part of their lives. She was used to bloody and broken bodies, used to stitching up wounds and resetting bones, but she’d had the full weight of the hospital behind her, and the results of violent gunfights had never factored into her days or nights.

Once she was finished, Sarah and Sparky made their way back to the community center, the little dog, with her soulful eyes and silky coat, walking close by Sarah’s side. As they approached, a flurry of activity caught Sarah’s attention. An armed patrol was gearing up to leave, their movements fraught with an unspoken urgency. The sheriff, at the center of it all, looked notably flustered, his normally neat silver hair now unkempt and longer than Sarah had ever seen it. The deep set of his piercing blue eyes, usually so sharp and commanding, were underscored by dark circles.

Residents gathered around, pushing closer, their faces etched with concern as they peppered the sheriff with questions about the militia and the community’s safety. His responses, while trying to be reassuring, seemed to lack his usual conviction, no doubt adding to the tense atmosphere. Sparky stayed close to Sarah’s heels, her usual playful demeanor replaced by a subdued alertness.

Sarah watched as the patrol performed their final checks. Weapons were secured, backpacks adjusted, and final instructions given while the sheriff’s gaze swept over his team, lingering momentarily on each face. As the group finally moved out, heading toward the uncertain dangers beyond the perimeter, a hushed silence fell over the onlookers.

A familiar twinge worked its way through Sarah’s chest, a mix of fear for their safety and a deep-seated respect for their bravery. She knew each person in that patrol, knew their stories, their families. They weren’t just acquaintances; they were friends, neighbors, a part of the intricate tapestry that made up their community.

Sarah turned away, Sparky following suit, and they headed to the solar panels where June would be waiting. There was work to be done, and Sarah was determined to do her part, no matter how many worries plagued her or kept her up at night. They soon found June hunched over the solar power setup at the rear of the community center, her brow furrowed in concentration, the hum of electrical equipment mixed with the faint clucking of chickens creating a background symphony.

“Hey, June,” Sarah called softly, not wanting to startle her. “How’s it going with the solar panels?”

June looked up, a smile breaking over her face. “Oh, Sarah, I’m glad you’re here. We’re not getting as much charge as we need. The overcast skies these past few days aren’t helping.”

June stood and gave Sparky a gentle pat on her head as Sarah nodded. The solar panels were important, of course, but she couldn’t help but wonder if June’s intense focus on making everything perfect for the Barter Fair was her way of coping with the constant threat they now lived under. With a reassuring smile aimed at her oldest friend, they both leaned over the control panel, tracing the wirings and connections with their eyes.

“We need to find a way to store more power during the day. The nights are getting longer and every day is so overcast at the moment,” Sarah mused, her mind racing through possible solutions.

“That’s it!” June’s face lit up with an idea. “Lucas had a bunch of physics books in his store, one on batteries, if I remember right. I saw it when I was at the Verse Den looking for books for the school. It might have some tips on what we can do. Batteries would allow us to use the lights at night and in the depths of winter.”

The mention of Lucas brought a sudden stillness to the conversation, and a pang of grief for her friend and regret for the insurmountable, awful distance that had grown between them pulsed through Sarah. His self-imposed isolation was a festering wound they had yet to address. He’d once been as close to her as a brother, and his absence left a gaping, aching space in her life.

“Yeah, Lucas always had a book for everything,” Sarah eventually replied, her voice thick with emotion. “I wish... I wish he was here to help us with this.”

June sighed, sharing the sentiment. “Me too.”

They fell into a brief, contemplative silence. The rumors about Lucas and Victor’s death were whispered in hushed tones around the community. The rumors were quieter than those that blamed the militia, but there nonetheless. Yet, the sheriff seemed willing to attribute Victor’s slaying to the militia—maybe it was a more palatable truth to digest, or maybe they just had more important things to worry about than getting to the bottom of who had killed Victor.

“We’ve all been pretending it wasn’t Lucas. I keep thinking someone’s going to address it, but no one is.” Sarah finally said, her voice barely above a whisper.

June nodded solemnly. “It’s easier to blame the militia. Facing the truth about Lucas is a whole other kind of pain.”

Their conversation was steeped in unspoken understanding about the complexities of their relationship with Lucas—everything that had happened since the banking disaster and their world falling apart meant it was beyond saving, but they still loved him. All they could do was keep going, fighting fires as they erupted and hoping Lucas was gone and didn’t mean to cause any more trouble.

Swallowing hard, Sarah turned back to the solar panels. “Let’s get these working as best we can. We’ll get that book you talked about later.”

June nodded, her lips pursed, and they continued to check connections and clean away dust and debris where needed. Sarah and June were deep in their work when a sudden uproar from the front of the community center interrupted their focus. The sharp rise and fall of agitated voices carried through the air, pulling their attention away from the tangle of wires and solar panels as Sparky let out a series of sharp barks.

“What on earth?” June said, her brow furrowed.

They exchanged a quick look and hurried toward the commotion at the front of the community center. As they paused beside the chipped brick front and boarded-up windows, the sound of the heated argument became clearer, the air charged with tension and frustration. A tall, lean man with a weather-beaten face stood at the center of a crowd around the sheriff, his voice raised in anger.

“The patrols aren’t enough! We’re sitting ducks here,” he exclaimed, his hands gesticulating wildly.

The sheriff, his expression drawn and weary, tried to calm the situation. “We’re doing the best we can with what we have. Every able-bodied person is already stretched thin,” he replied, his voice strained under the pressure.

“But what if the militia decides to attack again? We need more patrols, not excuses!” another voice chimed in. “The Barter Fair is a mistake. We’re spending too much energy painting pretty signs and baking cookies for people we don’t even know!”

June leaned in to Sarah, whispering, “They’re wrong. We need our allies now more than ever.”

“I know, but they won’t listen to reason. The tension’s been building for weeks.”

Sarah scanned the crowd, taking in the fear, uncertainty, and a growing lack of confidence in the settlement’s leadership. The community, once united in their struggle for survival, now seemed frayed at the edges. An older woman, her hair streaked with gray, stepped forward.

“We can’t just increase patrols without a plan. We need to be strategic, not just reactive,” she advised, trying to inject some reason into the argument.

The lean man turned to her, his posture tight lines. “And what do you suggest we do, Martha? Wait for them to come knocking on our doors?”

The sheriff interceded. “Listen, I understand your concerns. Let’s sit down, all of us, and figure this out together. We’re all in this⁠—”

But his words were drowned out as the argument continued, voices overlapping in a cacophony of fear and frustration.

Sarah held June’s gaze, a sense of unease growing between them. This wasn’t just about patrol rosters or militia threats; it was about the community’s faith in their leaders and in each other. And they needed a captain to steer the ship, one that everyone was behind, especially given the storm that was headed their way.

CHAPTER THREE

Sarah

In the dim, musty corners of the Verse Den, on shelves groaning under the weight of books lovingly selected by Lucas, June and Sarah discovered a book, yellowed with age and dog-eared, that held the key to their dilemma: a way to harness energy from the solar panels. As the afternoon sun cast long shadows over the settlement, the two of them headed off with Tony, Jeremy, and Daniel to find what they needed, Aria and Bailey running ahead, sniffing the ground and scanning the shadows.

As they stepped beyond the protective embrace of the perimeter, the world outside seemed to hold its breath. Those on watch, more numerous than usual, surveyed the landscape with a vigilance born of necessity, their nods to Sarah and the others grave.

“Keep sharp out there, folks,” one man murmured, his gaze never wavering from the treeline on the other side of the road.

“You too,” Sarah replied. “We won’t be long.”

The town beyond the settlement was a ghost of its former self, the silence so profound it was a physical presence. The buildings were stripped of their warmth and vibrancy, standing as stark reminders of what had been lost, windows staring at them, vacant eyes watching Sarah and the others as they readied their rifles and continued through what remained of their broken town.

“Feels like we’re stepping into a memory, doesn’t it?” Sarah said out loud to no one in particular.

“More like a nightmare,” Jeremy replied. “I doubt your town ever looked as bad as this in any of your memories.”

June shook her head, her rifle readied, gaze fixed on the road ahead. “Talking about memories and nightmares won’t help us find what we’re after. Keep moving.”

Jeremy scanned the ruined streetscape with his usual focused intensity. “Statistically, the likelihood of finding usable batteries decreases with each passing year due to chemical degradation. It’s a good thing we’re searching now.”

Tony smoothed down his silver mustache with one hand and clapped Jeremy on the back. “Let’s just hope any RVs we find haven’t been picked clean by others before us. Others might have had the same idea.”

“Let’s hope,” Sarah replied, her gaze lingering on an overturned trash can at the side of the house where movement had caught her eye.

A moment later, a rat scurried away, and she shook out the tension that had snaked through her hand and smiled at the others. Despite their grim surroundings, she was with the people she loved most in the world, which helped alleviate some of the anxiety she was feeling about Lucas being out there somewhere.

He could be watching them, his eyes tracking their every movement, and the thought made her skin prickle. Before the banking disaster, she’d never have imagined she might one day see him as a threat, and even though she was probably fooling herself, she still liked to think that he wouldn’t hurt her or June, no matter what he was going through. But then again, she’d never thought he’d be capable of killing someone in cold blood.

As they navigated the silent, desolate streets toward the RV park, Daniel subtly moved closer to June. The occasional whistle to Aria and Bailey punctuated the tension between them—a tension born of unspoken feelings, emotions felt but not yet acted upon. Walking just a step behind, Sarah couldn’t help but notice the careful dance between the two of them. It was as if they were drawn together by an invisible thread, yet neither seemed willing to acknowledge it, much less act upon it. Their interactions were marked by careful politeness, a veneer that barely concealed the undercurrent of deeper emotions they both felt.

June maintained a focused demeanor as they moved down each street, her attention seemingly fixed on the road and shadows ahead. But Sarah caught the fleeting glances she sent Daniel’s way, each look loaded with a complexity of emotions that belied her tough-as-nails exterior. Sarah’s father also seemed content to keep his feelings under a tight rein, his interactions with June measured, almost cautious, but Sarah knew him better than anyone. He couldn’t completely hide the warmth that crept into his voice whenever he addressed June, or the way his eyes lingered just a moment too long.

A twinge of frustration at their stubborn refusal to bridge the gap between them hit Sarah. Life in their new reality was fraught with danger and uncertainty; moments of happiness were fleeting and should be grasped with both hands. Yet there were two people, clearly drawn to each other, held back by invisible barriers they refused to tear down. Sarah let out a huffing sigh that caught Tony’s attention.

“You alright, lass?”

“All good, Tony,” she replied, linking her arm through his. “Just thinking about things. Life... you know?”

He gave her an understanding nod and patted the back of her hand. As they continued, moving farther away from the settlement, the air seemed to thicken with the unknown, a tangible presence that seemed to cling to the deserted streets and abandoned vehicles. It was a world frozen in time, every overturned chair, every door left ajar, speaking of the chaos that had taken place during the collapse.

Sarah and the others moved with purpose, senses heightened, everyone aware that danger could lurk around any corner, whether it be the militia, Lucas, or another group looking to loot or scavenge supplies. Abandoned vehicles sat on every road, their silent forms casting long shadows, the remnants of life interrupted everywhere they turned—a child’s bicycle lay on its side, its wheel spinning slowly in the breeze beside a vehicle half loaded with luggage, the trunk open, the contents of a bright red suitcase spilled out in the driveway.

Aria and Bailey led the way with a keen sense of purpose, their noses to the ground, ears perked for any sign of danger. Their occasional low growls or quick, alert glances into the shadowed interiors of dilapidated buildings kept the group on edge, a constant reminder that the quiet around them could be shattered at any moment.

“Keep close,” Daniel murmured, the rifle in his hands low but ready.

They reached the once bustling RV park which had been left barren and desolate, with empty spaces where RVs used to sit. The remaining RVs were decrepit, their exteriors covered in graffiti and their interiors left exposed to the elements. Trash and debris littered the ground, adding to the eerie atmosphere, and Sarah took a shallow breath, the air carrying a musty odor, a mixture of mildew and rot from abandoned belongings left behind. The very essence of adventure the RVs once embodied had been sucked out, leaving behind a skeletal reminder of better days.

While the others gazed around at the forlorn scene, Jeremy stepped closer to the nearest RV. He raised a hand, knocking against the outside, producing a hollow tone. “The structural integrity of these RVs has been compromised, but the batteries might still be salvageable.”

“Let’s get on with it then, shall we?” Tony said.

Sarah unloaded her tools from her backpack while Daniel and the dogs stationed themselves on watch. “Anyone else feeling like we’re about to feature in a very low-budget horror movie?” she said, wrench in hand.

Tony, who had been quietly assessing the nearest RV, gave a short laugh. “As long as we find what we came for, I don’t mind being the star.”

They soon got started, selecting an RV that looked newer than some of the others. The door creaked ominously as Sarah pried it open, the sound echoing through the desolate park, signaling their intrusion. They all moved fast as the noise faded, quickly finding the battery compartment, June wielding a pair of pliers as she wrestled with the corroded screws.

“These haven’t been touched in ages,” she said, straining until she finally got it open.

Jeremy stepped forward, brows furrowed in concentration as he meticulously detached the wires. “It’s crucial not to damage the connections,” he remarked, his voice steady despite the effort.

The clinking of Tony’s tools from the next RV provided a steady rhythm to their labor, the sound punctuating the still air like an industrious heartbeat.

“Got one!” he finally exclaimed, a triumphant note in his voice as he carefully extracted a battery.

Daniel remained on lookout, overseeing the operation with a watchful eye, and nodded in approval. “Good work. Let’s keep the momentum going.”

As they moved from one RV to the next, their collection of salvaged batteries grew, each addition a small victory against the grim backdrop of the abandoned park. One RV after another told a story of abrupt departure, of meals left uneaten on tables, of beds unmade, of plans left unfulfilled. The silence of the park was oppressive, the only sounds their own movements and the occasional bark from Aria or Bailey as they continued to patrol the area.

In a dilapidated RV, its interior dimly lit by the slanting rays of the afternoon sun coming through the open door, Sarah finally found herself alone with June. The air was thick with dust as they rummaged through the interior, and June’s focused demeanor relaxed a little as she started working on extracting the battery, the lines of concentration easing on her face.

Sarah gently touched June’s arm, drawing her attention away from the task. “June,” she said, her voice earnest, “You know I love you like you’re my family. And life’s too short, you know?”

“What do you mean?”

“Life’s too short to waste time playing games or denying your feelings.”

June’s guarded expression gave way to a brief moment of vulnerability. The dim light cast shadows across her features, highlighting a weariness that often went unseen.

Sarah continued, her gaze steady. “Especially now, with the world upside down, I think it’s important to grab life with both hands. You and Dad have this connection. I know you’ve ended things with the sheriff. Maybe it’s time to face what’s between you.”

June’s gaze dropped to the ground, her usual front softened by Sarah’s words. “Everything’s so messy. The sheriff—well, he’s struggling too. We can’t afford distractions. Survival’s our priority, not whatever might be going on with Daniel. I’m not a teenager anymore.”

“But I can see you care about one another. And age is irrelevant to all this.”

“That might be the case, but it would be foolish and selfish to even think about starting a relationship with him, not with everything going on right now.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Sarah glanced away, unable to avoid reflecting on her own situation with Tex. The tangle of feelings, the hesitancy, the what-ifs—it was all too familiar. Maybe June was right. In a world teetering on the brink of yet another disaster, it was stupid to indulge in affairs of the heart.

“We should get back to work,” June said, her jaw flexing.

There was more Sarah wanted to say, but the moment passed, and they returned to their task, the weight of their conversation lingering in the air.

Soon they’d amassed a decent number of batteries and June declared they were finished. With their mission accomplished, Daniel disappeared, only to return a short time later with a wheelbarrow from the caretaker’s shed. They loaded up the batteries, and then retraced their steps, the journey back marked by a quiet sense of achievement as they passed back through the barricade and the familiar outlines of the community center came into view.

Their return was met with eager hands and grateful smiles, the community coming together to unload and install the precious cargo. As they worked together, the sense of unity provided a brief respite from the overarching worries that plagued the settlement.

But even as they celebrated the small victory of getting the batteries installed, Sarah couldn’t shake off the complex web of emotions the day had unraveled. In a world where every day could be their last, the lines between survival and living, duty and desire, were blurred, leaving them all navigating uncharted waters.

CHAPTER FOUR

Nate

The motorcycle hummed beneath them, a steady vibration that had become a familiar background noise on their journey through the back roads of Georgia. Rosa’s arms were wrapped securely around Nate’s waist, her presence a constant warmth against his back, something that felt a lot like contentment surging through him each time she squeezed a little tighter, especially when the road got rough or the sound of distant gunfire reached them.

As they wove through the back roads connecting Atlanta to Augusta, the landscape unfolded in a patchwork of untamed wilderness and abandoned farms. Overgrown fields stretched out on either side, punctuated by the occasional farmhouse or gas station. Vehicles lay deserted at odd angles by the side of the road, their rusting bodies gradually becoming part of the scenery. But the tranquility of the rural expanse was deceptive, broken every so often by the sporadic echoes of distant conflict—screams, shouts, and gunfire.

Nate’s thoughts drifted to Mia as the motorcycle hummed beneath them, the nearing proximity to his daughter stirring complex emotions deep inside. Once he’d helped Rosa, he’d be heading straight for Asheville, and the thought left his nerves frayed at the edges, anticipation mingling with an underlying current of fear. How would Mia react to him, a father who was a stranger in her life?

The weight of missed years pressed heavily on his chest, a burden he wasn’t sure how to lift. He glanced down at Rosa’s hands resting on his midsection, and harbored a silent plea that she would accompany him on this final leg of the journey—her strength, her unwavering support, even her smile was an anchor, grounding him and allowing him to believe anything was possible.

The thought of facing Mia and Sarah alone, of trying to mend the relationships he’d so abruptly fractured, was daunting. Part of him recognized he had no right to even ask for forgiveness, but a quiet hope of reconciliation and redemption flickered inside, refusing to be extinguished, and having Rosa there by his side would make it that much easier to face Mia and Sarah. Although there was no telling what they were going to find when they looked for Rosa’s parents, and whether she’d even be willing to entertain the idea of going with him.

As they edged closer to Augusta, the landscape shifted dramatically, the outskirts of the city coming into view. The once vibrant city lay dying, with skeletal buildings and streets littered with debris. The air was thick with the acrid smell of smoke and a heavy shroud had settled over the city, a bleak, monochrome sight against the gray sky. Rosa tensed against him, her grip around his waist tightening. He glanced back at her, offering a reassuring smile over his shoulder.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said, his voice barely audible over the roar of the engine. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Rosa nodded, her eyes reflecting her worry. “I know,” she replied. “I’m just concerned about my parents. This doesn’t look good.”

Nate returned his attention to the road, briefly squeezing her hand, unable to deny her words. As they navigated the desolate outskirts, every burned-out car and shattered window was a stark reminder of the city’s fall from grace. The rumble of distant gunfire grew louder, and Nate slowed the motorcycle, dodging large pieces of debris scattered across the road.

“We need to find a place to stash the bike,” Nate suggested, scanning the area for a suitable hiding spot. “Somewhere out of sight where it will be safe until we’ve found your parents. People will hear us coming from a mile away, otherwise. It’s too risky to keep going.”

Rosa scanned the ruined streetscape, her gaze catching on a garage half a block down the road. The retractable door was part way up, the space inside covered in deep shadows.

“There,” she said, pointing.

Nate nodded, and as they approached, Rosa’s arms tightened around him once more. He reached down and stroked the back of her hand, silently letting her know it would be okay—he would do whatever it took to ensure her safety and make sure she made it to her parents’ house, even though Augusta looked like a war-zone.

A moment later, Nate steered the motorcycle into the shadowed interior of the abandoned garage, and Rosa pulled the door all the way down behind them. The building was a relic of better times, its interior ransacked and small, high windows shattered. Nate’s gaze skimmed the concrete floor, which was littered with broken glass, debris, and abandoned items. Looters had been through, and the shelves that once held tools and other mechanical supplies were empty.

The few windows that were intact let in only slivers of light through their dust-slicked surfaces, creating eerie shadows in the dim space. Working together, they pushed the bike to the rear of the garage, draping an old, oil-stained cotton sheet over it before leaning a couple of broken shelves against it, ensuring it blended into the background of forgotten things. Nate inhaled, taking a shallow breath—the strong stench of gasoline and motor oil still permeated the air, mingling with the musty, damp smell of decay and water damage.

Rosa scanned the garage’s dim interior, her eyes reflecting the anxiety that had been building since they first spotted the city’s smoke-streaked skyline. “Augusta is worse than I imagined,” she said. “I don’t know how I’ll cope if something has happened to them.”

She didn’t need to say who she was talking about. Nate straightened up and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, letting it slide down her arm and then under, wrapping around her waist. He pulled her closer, so they were standing face to face, mere inches of dusty air between them.

“We’ll find them, Rosa. They’re survivors, just like you,” he said, his voice steady, trying to infuse confidence into his words, even as his own mind harbored similar fears. The city’s eerie silence, punctuated by distant sounds of unrest, did little to ease his worries.

Nate’s other hand moved to brush the hair from her face, fingers tangling in the soft, coppery strands. His heart raced as he leaned in, capturing Rosa’s lips with his own, the urgency of their situation amplifying the intensity of their kiss. It was a moment of connection, a fierce affirmation of life, and his heart swelled, emotions intertwining—fear, love, desperation—all merging into a fervent promise to find her parents and protect her at all costs.

But the spell was broken by the sound of voices just outside the garage, harsh whispers that sliced through the fragile bubble they’d created. Nate’s eyes snapped open, meeting Rosa’s wide, alarmed gaze. The raw fear in her eyes ignited a fire inside. Nate’s hand tightened on hers, a silent command to follow as he led her to the darker recesses of the garage. The cluttered space offered scant cover, but it was their best chance.

“This way,” he whispered, his voice barely a breath as they navigated the shadows.

Rosa nodded, her eyes scanning the dim surroundings as they moved. “Quietly,” she whispered back, her voice laced with tension. “They’re coming closer.”

They found a narrow space between an old workbench and a wall lined with dusty shelves. Nate positioned himself in front of Rosa, his body shielding hers as they crouched low, his grip tight on their rifle. They had only a small amount of ammo left, which he was prepared to use if necessary, but would rather save. Something told him they’d be facing much worse in the days to come.

The voices outside grew louder, the sound of footsteps approaching the garage door. “I told you, I saw them head in here,” a gruff voice said, its owner unseen but alarmingly close.

“Yeah, but look at this place. It’s been picked over more than once. Whoever was here is long gone,” another voice retorted.

Nate held his breath, his gaze locked on the slip of light beneath the garage door, while Rosa’s hand gripped his, her fingers cold and clammy. The footsteps paused, and for a moment, silence enveloped the garage, a heavy, expectant quiet that seemed to press down on them.

Then, with a sound that made Nate’s heart lurch into his throat, the door creaked, the sliver of daylight growing wider, cutting through the gloom. Rosa’s grip tightened, her nails digging into Nate’s palm, her breaths rapid, each one a silent plea for the men to leave. But the door continued to retract as it opened, groaning and clattering, shadows and light cutting across the stained concrete floor.

Nate leaned closer to Rosa, his lips nearly touching her ear. “Stay down,” he murmured, voice steady despite his sudden spike of adrenaline. “Stay very still.”

The murky daylight, a stark intrusion in the darkened garage, revealed two shadows that cut across the concrete in Nate’s field of vision. His heart raced, each beat a deafening echo in the tense silence, while Rosa’s breath hitched. The men’s shadows loomed larger as they stepped forward, their forms becoming more distinct. One was tall and broad-shouldered, the other shorter but wiry, both radiating menace. Nate’s mind raced, scenarios flashing through his mind as he slowly raised the rifle and ducked lower behind the workbench, his thighs and back protesting.

“I’m telling you, this is a waste of time!” the taller one barked, his voice echoing off the garage walls.

“And I’m telling you, you’re a fool!” the other shot back, anger flaring in his tone. “They had a motorcycle. I heard it!”

“Well, it’s gone and so are they. Look around. Anything worth taking is long gone. Idiot. No one is just hanging around in here.”

Their voices climbed, words colliding as Nate and Rosa remained motionless, a silent prayer shared between them.

The taller man’s shadow stiffened, his posture shifting as if a decision had been made. “Forget it. I’m not wasting another minute in here.”

The other man spat a curse, while the tall man’s shadow pivoted and slowly receded, his steps retreating until only one set of footsteps echoed in the garage. The remaining man lingered a moment longer, muttering something that sounded like a low grumble in the cavernous space. Then, with a final, frustrated kick at some unseen debris, he turned and left, following after his companion.

Nate and Rosa remained still, the aftermath of the near-encounter hanging in the air like a slowly dissipating storm. After a few long breaths, quiet settled over them, and Nate’s grip on the rifle loosened, the immediate threat gone but adrenaline still sharpening his senses. He counted to ten slowly, then turned to Rosa, their eyes meeting in the semi-darkness. Relief flooded through him, mirrored in her gaze. They had been spared a confrontation by chance alone.

“Let’s wait a bit longer,” Nate whispered, the words a soft exhalation of relief. “Just to be sure they’re really gone.”

Rosa nodded, her hand still clasped in his. They waited a few more minutes to ensure they were alone before cautiously making their way out of their hiding spot, ready to face the uncertain path that lay between them and Rosa’s parents. The danger had passed for the moment, a silent acknowledgment of their good fortune all that remained. And Nate just hoped their luck would hold.

CHAPTER FIVE

Nate

Rosa led the way toward her parents’ house, Nate walking beside her, his senses on high alert, the rifle readied in his hands. They moved with a purposeful caution, both scanning the desolate landscape that the outskirts of Augusta had become for any threats, the air carrying a tang of smoke from fires that raged unchecked.

The buildings around them, once homes to families and corner stores bustling with activity, stood silent and empty. Their insides were gutted, revealing the skeletal remains of what used to be a thriving community, discarded contents spilling out onto the street like forgotten memories. Old furniture, broken appliances, stained and sodden clothing all littered the ground, creating a somber landscape. Once filled with life, the buildings seemed to mourn the loss of their former occupants as they stood in eerie silence.

Rosa’s steps were light against the cracked pavement, her trust in Nate unwavering as she pointed the way, and he kept the rifle readied in case they ran into trouble. They hardly spoke, conserving their energy for the journey, communicating instead through brief glances and subtle gestures. As they reached a crossing in front of a school, Nate paused, lifting a hand to signal Rosa to stop. He listened for any sign of danger, gaze roaming the outside of the looted classrooms, distant clashes serving as a grim reminder that they were not alone.

When he was certain the coast was clear, they continued, slipping through alleyways and ducking behind whatever cover they could find. As they moved deeper into the city, the signs of recent conflict became more apparent. Burned-out cars blocked their path, forcing them to detour through backyards and over fences. Graffiti and bullet holes, some fresh, others fading, marked the walls—silent screams in a city filled with violent whispers.

Despite the desolation, life found a way. They spotted signs of recent habitation: a makeshift shelter, the smell of cooked food wafting on the cold breeze, a lone flower defiantly blooming in a crack in the concrete. But it wasn’t enough to drive away the specter of death that lingered in every corner. They reached a particularly devastated block, buildings gutted by fire, their charred skeletons rising up against the sky, and Nate paused, surveying the area, lost in the sight of a swing set sitting in the middle of a backyard, the seats burned away, four metal chains hanging from the frame, listing in the cold breeze.

Rosa gently touched his arm. “Are you okay?”

Nate nodded, a dull ache working its way through his throat and down to his chest. Sometimes it hit him just how much they’d lost since the banking disaster had unraveled the very fabric of their society.

“This way,” she said. “Come on, we need to keep going.”

They both glanced up at the darkening sky, where the afternoon sun hovered close to the horizon. It was unlikely they’d make it to Rosa’s parents’ house that night, but they resumed their cautious trek. With a suddenness that was shocking, shouts broke the heavy silence, a group of armed men emerging from the shadows of a nearby alleyway. The appearance of the hostile group sent a jolt of fear through Nate.

Without a word, he grabbed Rosa’s hand, pulling her into a sprint. They darted down the street, their footsteps echoing off the abandoned buildings, the shouts of their pursuers following after them. They twisted and turned through the maze of backyards and side streets, adrenaline propelling them forward as they dodged obstacles and leapt over fences. The sounds of pursuit seemed to grow closer, then farther away, a disorienting cacophony that fueled their desperate run.

They sprinted down a narrow street behind the local grocery store and found themselves trapped in a dead-end alley, their path blocked by a high chain-link fence. With no time to turn back, Nate boosted Rosa up, urging her to climb. She scrambled over the fence, and Nate followed, the voices of their pursuers growing ominously close.

Landing on the other side, they didn’t pause, continuing their sprint through narrow passageways and overgrown gardens. With each turn, each alley they navigated, the hope of evading their chasers grew, mingled with the fear of what might happen if they were caught. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they emerged onto a quieter street, the sounds of their pursuers fading away.

As they slowed, their breaths coming in ragged gasps, Nate and Rosa shared a look, and Nate finally stopped, pulling out his canteen and offering her a drink. Rosa’s chest rose and fell with each breath as she looked around, a frown creasing her forehead. She unscrewed the cap, her fingers fumbling slightly, and took a hesitant sip before passing it back to Nate. He swallowed several gulps himself, the water barely quenching the dryness of his mouth.

“I think I’ve lost my bearings,” she murmured, her gaze drifting over the looted houses on both sides of the road. “I’m so sorry, Nate.”

Nate stood beside her, scanning the encroaching darkness, the setting sun casting long, ominous shadows across the debris-strewn pavement.

“We’ll bunker down soon,” he reassured her, though his voice carried an edge of tension he couldn’t quite mask. “I’m sure everything will be clearer in the morning.”

They settled on a once-neat little house with the front door hanging ajar, its lock splintered, the windows smashed in. Inside, the air was dusty, disturbed only by their cautious footsteps. Nate’s gaze darted around the dim interior, assessing potential risks and exits, a protector’s instinct that was deeply ingrained. Rosa was strong, her spirit unbroken by everything they’d been through, but the urge to shield her from harm was ever present.

After confirming they had an exit out the backdoor and over the rear fence, they selected a small room at the front of the property, its broken windows offering a view of the street. A tattered couch sat on one side, beside a wooden table covered in embroidery magazines and scraps of thread and material. Nate cleared a space on the floor beside the window while Rosa sat on the edge of the couch, watching him in silence.

“You should get some rest,” Nate said, passing her half a granola bar. “I’ll take first watch.”

“Thank you,” she replied. “Let’s just sit a while, though. I’m not ready to sleep.”

Shadows played across the walls as the sun dipped below the horizon. The sparse remnants of a life once lived surrounded them, and Rosa picked up one of the embroidery magazines, leafing through it absentmindedly.

The sudden scrape of footsteps outside jolted Nate’s attention and he and Rosa exchanged a worried look. He stood and stepped to the side of the broken window, the rifle an extension of his arm as he scanned the darkening streetscape beyond. A silhouette darted across the neighboring lawn, an older man holding a shotgun coming briefly into view before ducking behind cover.

“Here we go again,” Nate said, shaking his head. They’d only been in Augusta for less than a day, and already it felt like they couldn’t catch a break. Whatever luck they’d had at the garage was certainly short lived.

“Who’s there?” The man’s voice was like gravel, rough and uncompromising, shaped by a world that no longer played by the rules.

“Just travelers,” Nate called back. “Looking for shelter, nothing more.”

The moment extended, the air charged with the tension of the unknown. Overhead, the sky darkened further, the sun dipping below the horizon.

“Come out here and show your face if what you say is true,” the man called out. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Not a chance,” Nate said, motioning to Rosa to pick up their backpacks. Even though the man sounded sincere, it was time to go.

“He doesn’t sound like a threat,” Rosa said, exhaustion rolling off her in waves.

“I agree, but we can’t go out there,” Nate said, his jaw flexing.

“He’s not going to hurt us,” Rosa replied.

“Let’s just leave.”

But Rosa stood and stepped up to the broken window, her voice a soft contrast to the standoffish exchange.

“Please, we mean no harm. We’re just looking to rest for the night. I’m looking for my family.”

“Let’s have a civil conversation face-to-face,” the man replied, his voice less gruff than before.

Rosa gave a nod. Surely she wasn’t going to— Before Nate could stop her, she stepped through the floor to ceiling window, arms by her side, hands open to show they were empty. The man stepped into view a moment later so they were both standing in the front yard. Nate kept his rifle on the man, who scanned Rosa, then shifted his attention to Nate, the man’s assessment long and silent, the weight of his gaze heavy with decisions.

“This city’s no place for newcomers,” the man finally said. “Shelter’s scarce, and trust scarcer.”

Rosa’s reply was heartfelt, a simple plea for understanding. “I grew up around here. I’m just trying to find my parents. We’ll stay out of your way. We just need a place to rest so I can get my bearings in the morning.”

The man’s nod was almost imperceptible, a grudging acceptance. “Keep to this house. The streets at night aren’t safe. And if I see you wandering around, you can’t blame me if I take a shot at you. Understand?”

“Got it,” Rosa replied. “And thank you.”

With a final, lingering look that spoke of battles fought and lost, the man retreated into the darkness, leaving Nate and Rosa alone. Nate found himself lowering the rifle and stepping through the broken window onto the overgrown lawn, pulling Rosa closer to him.

“You’re a stubborn thing,” he said, shaking his head. “You can’t just do things like that.”

“I know the kind of people who live here. They’re good,” she replied, pursing her lips. “I could tell he wasn’t going to attack us.”

“Let’s get back inside,” Nate replied, just glad she was okay, and that they didn’t need to hit the road again.

Once they were back in the room, Nate settled against the wall by the window once more, the rifle within reach, his senses attuned to the slightest sound, while Rosa lay down on the couch. Their conversation was a whisper, a shared solace against the backdrop of a world in turmoil. As Rosa drifted into a fitful sleep, Nate remained vigilant, a silent guardian against the night’s unseen threats.

CHAPTER SIX

June

As evening fell, the community center was a hive of frenetic energy, every corner teeming with preparations for the imminent Barter Fair and the gathering with Elara’s group and other neighboring communities. June stood in the middle of the whirlwind of activity, a steadfast presence as she issued directions and oversaw last-minute preparations.

Her eyes swept over the bustling space, taking in the flurry of movement as tables were set up, goods meticulously arranged, and signs painted with care. Mia darted past, chasing after Sparky who looked to have a hunk of bread in her mouth. The air was perfumed with the scent of freshly harvested vegetables and herbs, and an undercurrent of nervous excitement permeated the room.

June couldn’t help the swell of pride in her chest as she observed the fruits of their labor coming together. The newly installed batteries meant the lights were working even as the sun went down, their successful integration into the solar panel installation a victory that brightened the dimly lit room with more than just electric light.

“June, where do you want these?” a young man called out, gesturing to a stack of handwoven baskets and crocheted blankets.

“Over by the far wall, Tom. Next to the dried herbs,” she replied, her voice carrying clearly over the din.

As she turned to address another query, her gaze caught the patrol team gearing up by the entrance. Men and women were armed with rifles and wore determined expressions as Officer Mitchell briefed them. The sight tugged at her heart, the thought of the militia and their ever-present threat invading her mind. She watched for a moment, her mind torn between the pressing needs of the fair and her worry for those about to venture beyond the perimeter.

As the patrol headed outside, June was momentarily lost in thought, replaying scenes from the last clash they’d had with the militia, when the sheriff’s approach snapped her back to the present. He moved through the crowd with a determined gait, his face set in a stern mask that barely concealed his displeasure. The ambient noise seemed to dim as he drew closer, the air charged with an unspoken tension that had simmered between them since she’d ended their relationship.

“June,” he said, without any preamble, “winter’s coming fast. We need to double down on food preparations. And there’s more.” He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. “A whole list of things that need your attention before everyone arrives tomorrow.”

June scanned the list, her expression neutral and her mind racing. What he was asking of her was too much, especially with the Barter Fair happening the next day. Under different circumstances, without the fair and all that it entailed, she would have tackled the list he’d just given her without a second thought. But there was no way she’d have time to get through his list.

To make matters worse, while he claimed they were urgent, many of them were arbitrary or could clearly wait a couple of days. She swallowed hard and met his gaze, taking in his disheveled silver hair, the tired lines around his bright blue eyes. Speaking to him about anything was tough lately, the unresolved tension between the two of them making even simple conversations fraught with complexity.

“So I’ll trust you can take care of all this,” he said, his jaw flexing slightly. “Make sure it’s all done before Elara arrives.”

As he pivoted to walk away, something inside June stirred—a mix of frustration and a deep-seated need to clear the air. After losing Mike so unexpectedly, after everything they’d been through since the banking disaster, she knew better than to leave anything unsaid. She reached out, her fingers wrapping around his arm with more force than she intended.

“Wait,” she said. “We need to talk. Now.”

The sheriff stopped, his body tensing under her grasp, and he turned slowly, his face a study in restraint. “June, I’m busy. What is it?”

“We need to talk about us. And this list.”

The muscles around his mouth tightened. “You know as well as I do there’s no time for personal matters. Not with everything that’s on our plate. And I’m sure you can deal with those things. You’ve already shown what an independent woman you are.”

June stood her ground, not releasing her grip on his arm. “It’s exactly because of what’s on our plate that we can’t let personal issues get in the way. We’re on the brink, Sheriff. If we’re going to lead this community through whatever comes next, we need to be united. Not just as leaders, but as... as people who respect each other.”

Her words seemed to hit a nerve. For a moment, the sheriff’s façade cracked, revealing a glimpse of the man beneath—the man June had once known far more intimately. He sighed, a weary sound that seemed to carry the weight of the world.

“June, it’s not that simple. You know it’s not. After everything... I can’t just pretend I don’t feel what I feel. For you.”

The admission hung between them, raw and unvarnished, and his steel-blue eyes held her gaze for a moment longer. A pang of something akin to sorrow, mixed with the remnants of affection that had never quite faded, pulsed through her. He might have had flaws, but he was a good man, the same good man who had already gotten their community through so much.

“I’m not asking you to pretend,” June said, her tone softer. “But we can’t let this, whatever this is, tear us apart. Not now. The community needs us.”

The sheriff’s gaze held hers, a storm of emotions swirling in the depths of his expression. For a moment, June thought he might relent, might give in to the part of him that still cared. But then the walls came back up, his face hardening once more.

“June, just leave it be. Let me do my job. You do yours. It’s better that way.”

With that, he gently but firmly removed her hand from his arm and stepped back, putting distance between them once more. She let out a sigh and folded the list of items he’d tasked her with. There was no way they’d be done before the next morning, but it was also clear they were no more urgent than washing the pile of dirty clothes that sat in the laundry basket back at her house.

As the buzz of activity resumed around her, the weight of the sheriff’s words settled like a shroud—he’d rebuffed her request to move on as friends, and she just wished she could get through to him. She glanced around, catching the curious looks from some of the community members. Among them was Daniel, his expression unreadable, just the sight of him tangling her insides like she was a high schooler.

When had life gotten so complicated? Daniel met her gaze briefly, then looked away, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken boundaries she’d laid out—it was not the time for personal entanglements. With a deep breath, June turned back to the task at hand, the preparations for the Barter Fair demanding her focus. She stepped closer to a group setting up the trading tables—each table was being meticulously arranged, signage specifying which tables were for which community, all contributing to the atmosphere of determined optimism that June had worked so hard to foster.

As she moved through the space, offering guidance here, a word of encouragement there, her mind was never far from the weighty significance of the fair. It wasn’t just a matter of trade or bartering goods; it was about forging alliances, building a network of communities that could stand together in the face of the looming militia threat. The fair was their chance to demonstrate not just the value of their goods, but the strength of their community, their resilience, and their willingness to support their neighbors.

June found herself at the central display, where samples of their best produce, crafts, and other trade goods were laid out in an enticing array. She adjusted a stand of dried mushrooms and straightened a row of jars filled with jams and chutneys, but as she worked, the specter of the militia hung over everything. The success of the fair could very well determine their ability to withstand what might come, which was a sobering thought, one that lent a sense of urgency to her actions.

Determined to stay focused, June reviewed the layout of the fair once more, ensuring that each stall, each display, was positioned to encourage interaction and engagement. She double-checked the list of attendees, her mind already rehearsing the speech and pleas for unity she would make.

The Barter Fair was a crucial strategic maneuver in their ongoing struggle for survival, and June was at the helm. Deep in the activity all around, it was easy to compartmentalize—her issues with the sheriff could wait until another day. The Barter Fair had to succeed; there was simply too much at stake for it to be otherwise.

CHAPTER SEVEN

June

Despite going to bed late the night before, June was up early. In the predawn hush, the kitchen became a sanctuary of solitude and routine, the soft clinking of utensils and the gentle shuffle of her movements the only sounds breaking the silence. Through the kitchen window, the dark sky began to slowly lighten, the clouds briefly colored pink, and June paused for a moment, taking it in.

She turned to the shelves behind her, lined with jars of preserved fruits and vegetables that created a kaleidoscope of colors, each jar with its contents meticulously labeled and dated, and selected a can of peaches she’d brought from her own basement stores. After lighting the gas stove, she set some water to boil and put a loaf of bread in the oven to bake which had been rising overnight.

With that taken care of, she moved to the rear door and let Sparky into the yard. The dog ran around the frost covered lawn in a sudden burst of speed, before doing her business and returning to the door. June fed Sparky first, then turned to prepare the meal, the sweet scent of preserved peaches and homemade bread soon filling the kitchen, mingling with the earthy aroma of strong, black tea. She ate with a focused efficiency, her mind already ticking through the list of tasks awaiting her attention.

Another night had passed without incident, a silent victory in the unspoken war with the militia, their absence a temporary balm to the constant undercurrent of fear that had filled the settlement. And soon representatives from the other communities would descend on Ashville—the Barter Fair would be starting in a few short hours and there was still plenty to do before then.

Once June was finished eating, she left the remainder of the loaf and peaches for the others, beside a note for Sarah letting her know she’d already gone ahead to the community center. Stepping outside, the cold air snapped at her hands and cheeks, the transition from the kitchen’s warmth to the morning’s cool embrace immediate and invigorating. The settlement was stirring to life around her, the soft glow of lanterns and flicker of candlelight appearing in neighboring windows.

As she walked onto the road, her mind on the Barter Fair and her remaining to-do list, the sight of Daniel in the morning light, surrounded by his dogs, took her by surprise. Aria and Bailey chased one another down the street, while Rusty stayed close to Daniel’s side, moving with a pronounced limp, his leg still bandaged.

A rush of warmth at the sight of Daniel was quickly tempered by the reality of their situation. Maintaining emotional distance was the only way they were going to get through the next few weeks and months, and she suppressed the surge of heat moving through her chest.

“Good morning,” she said, walking over to him and stopping by his side. Daniel had repurposed an old stroller and June glanced at it with a raised eyebrow.

“Morning, June,” he replied, his voice rich and steady, his handsome face painted in golden hues from the rising sun. “I found this for Rusty in one of the empty houses—he was going a little stir-crazy and it helps get him out of the house.”

Daniel leaned down and picked Rusty up, settling the dog carefully in the stroller before tucking a blanket around him. June smiled at the sight of Rusty nestled contentedly in his makeshift carriage.

“He looks like a proper little prince. It’s great to see the old spark back in his eyes,” she said, hoping her voice sounded as casual as she intended, despite the flurry of emotions she felt at seeing Daniel. “Sarah will definitely approve. Fresh air is important for recovery.”

Together, they made their way to the community center, Daniel pushing Rusty in front of him, the other two dogs darting back and forth, chasing leaves and sniffing everything. As the center came into view, they were met with the sight of the sheriff talking to a small group by the front door, his face etched with the toll of the last few weeks. The lines on his face and the stiff set of his shoulders spoke volumes about the relentless pressure he was under.

As June and Daniel approached the cluster of people already deep in conversation with the sheriff, the air was ripe with tension. The topic of the Barter Fair continued to stir a mix of emotions among those gathered in the dawning light, and it soon became clear that another argument was brewing.

“Why’s the Fair still on with the militia so close?” one voice rose above the rest, tinged with anxiety. “This is a big mistake.”

Another, more cynical voice added, “Maybe it’s time for a change in leadership if the current plan’s to just carry on like we’re not about to be attacked.”

Daniel stiffened beside June, and Aria and Bailey circled closer, no doubt picking up on the tense atmosphere.

“The fair’s more than just about trade,” Daniel said, stopping a few yards away with one hand on the stroller, the other on his hip. “We stand stronger together, and these relationships are going to be important. The sheriff’s doing what he thinks is best for all of us. In fact, he’s done more for this community than anyone. More than any of you, that’s for sure.”

The sheriff, a hard-set line to his jaw, turned sharply to where Daniel and June stood. His eyes narrowed and his brows furrowed as he locked his gaze on Daniel, an unspoken warning in the hardened lines of his face.

“I appreciate the support, Daniel, but I don’t need you fighting my battles. I’m fully capable of handling the situation.”

His gaze then swept over those surrounding him and he radiated anger and frustration, his stance rigid, hands clenched into fists at his sides in a way June had never seen before.

“Enough talk. We’ve got a lot to do today, and standing around here questioning decisions isn’t getting it done. Back to work, all of you.”

The group began to disperse, murmurs of agreement and dissent blending into the morning air as they went about their duties, several shooting angry looks in the sheriff’s direction. As the last of the crowd dissipated, leaving only June, Daniel, and the sheriff in an uneasy triangle, the atmosphere seemed to tighten. A palpable tension looped around them, the open space suddenly feeling constricted, as if the very air had thickened.

June was on the verge of excusing herself, eager to escape the charged silence, when the sheriff’s radio buzzed at his hip. He snatched it up, his expression shifting to one of concern as he listened to the crackling voice on the other end.

“It’s Elara,” he muttered, almost to himself, as he clicked off the radio. “She’s here with her folks, way ahead of schedule.”

June couldn’t suppress a smile, despite the situation. Elara’s strategic mind and military background had been mentioned by Tex on more than one occasion—it was why she’d been entrusted to lead her community despite her relatively young age—and her early arrival was clearly a move to catch Asheville off guard, to get the true measure of the settlement outside of the polished front put on for the purposes of the Barter Fair.

“She’s got a knack for surprises, that one,” June said, recalling Elara’s last unplanned visit. “She wants to see us in our natural habitat, I suppose. See how we respond under pressure.”

The sheriff, still holding the radio, gave a resigned nod, the weight of duty settling back onto his shoulders. “Well, let’s not keep our guests waiting. We’ve got a fair to host, and it seems the curtain’s rising earlier than expected.”

With a decisive click, the sheriff attached the radio back onto his belt and immediately sprang into action. He opened the community center door and called out, “Let’s move, people! We have early guests. Make sure everything’s presentable and ready!”

Inside, those who had been lingering over mugs of tea and yesterday’s bread transformed into a whirlwind of activity. People scurried in all directions, their breakfast momentarily forgotten in the rush to accommodate the unexpected arrival of Elara and her delegation. Tables were straightened, goods rearranged, and pathways cleared.

Daniel headed back to his house to drop off the dogs and let Tex know his sister had arrived, while June opted to stay outside and wait for Elara’s arrival, despite her own to-do list. She’d get to it when the time was right, and didn’t appreciate feeling like a puppet on a string, whether for the sheriff or Elara. Her thoughts were a mix of anticipation and curiosity about Elara—she didn’t know the woman well, but the strategic advantage of arriving unannounced was not lost on her, and she couldn’t help but admire the tactic.

The first sign of the visitors came as a distant silhouette against the rising sun. Elara, astride a horse with the poise of a seasoned rider, led the procession. The animal moved with a graceful ease, its coat shining in the soft light of dawn. Following her were ten others, a mix of horseback riders and those on bicycles, forming a small but formidable group as they approached the settlement.

June’s initial amusement at Elara’s surprise visit shifted to quiet respect as the group drew nearer. The delegation’s composed entrance, with Elara leading the way, seemed to underscore the importance of the day’s meeting. Despite herself, June stood a little straighter, unable to completely banish the desire to impress Elara.

CHAPTER EIGHT

June

The early morning haze still clung to the distant Blue Ridge Mountains as Elara and her party rode into Asheville, their figures silhouetted like characters from an old western. The sheriff stepped out onto the street and pulled on his weather-beaten hat, casting a shadow over his eyes, then walked forward to meet them in the middle of the street, his posture straight but not stiff, a careful balance between welcoming and official.

June moved to stand beside him, and others stepped out from the community center or hurried out of their houses—no doubt woken by the sound of the horses hooves on the asphalt. They walked quickly down the road behind Elara and her group, a crowd converging around the newcomers. Elara tilted her chin up and looked around, her dark hair and eyes striking, her features pleasant but not pretty.

“Elara, welcome back to Asheville,” the sheriff said, his voice carrying a hint of the Southern drawl that sometimes crept in when he was acting in an official capacity.

Elara dismounted with a fluid grace, her smile as polished as the badge on the sheriff’s chest.

“Sheriff, my apologies for the early intrusion,” she said, her voice smooth. “We thought it best to get an early start.”

Despite her apology, the twinkle in her eye, sharp and knowing, betrayed her delight at catching them off guard. June stepped forward and shook Elara’s hand, the other woman’s grip firm, her gaze roaming June’s face as she gave an extra pump of her arm.

“Let’s get your horses settled,” June suggested, gesturing to the path that led to the rear of the community center, where a patch of grassy land behind the greenhouses could be repurposed into a holding area for their horses.

“Thank you,” Elara replied. “That’s most thoughtful.”

June led the way past the greenhouses, toward the chicken coop and the expanse of land. The grass, still frost-kissed, shimmering under the touch of the rising sun as Elara tied her horse to a tree. Members of Elara’s group began to unload their horses, who’d been laden with items for the Barter Fair. Their movements were relaxed, but every now and then a hand would brush against a holstered weapon or someone would scan their surroundings carefully.

“We have scouts monitoring the militia twenty four seven at the moment,” June said to Elara. “And we have extra patrols along the perimeter. We won’t be taken by surprise again.”

Elara simply nodded.

“Elara!”

Tex’s voice cut through the crisp morning air, his approach marked by a loping jog that carried him swiftly across the grassy expanse toward the group. His demeanor was all warmth and broad smiles, the kind that lit up the cooler, shadowed parts of the morning. Elara turned, her expression shifting from guarded neutrality to a brief, tightly controlled irritation at the sight of her brother. It was a flicker, really, gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a practiced, if somewhat strained, smile.

“Tex,” she said, her tone even, betraying none of the impatience that had momentarily crossed her features. “Good morning, brother.”

June watched the exchange, Tex sweeping his sister into a tight hug while she tolerated it stiffly, the subtle undercurrents of family dynamics playing out in front of her. It was clear, even in that brief interaction, that the siblings were night and day in their approach to the world, in their relationship and feelings to one another.

As the residents of Asheville milled about, lending hands where needed and striking up conversations with the newcomers, the misgivings about the Barter Fair appeared to have been momentarily set aside. June let out a long breath, some of the tension in her shoulders easing, and motioned to Elara.

“Let me give you a tour,” she offered, her voice friendly yet professional, aware of the delicate balance required in hosting someone as strategically minded and shrewd as Elara.

“I was shown around briefly last time I visited. It would be nice to see things at a more leisurely pace,” Elara replied.

“I’ll come too,” Tex said, winking at June, his lips turned up in a smile.

“That’s fine,” Elara replied. “You stay here and help the others unload.”

If Tex was annoyed by his sister’s dismissal, he didn’t show it, instead shrugging and flicking his dark hair away from his face. June shot him an apologetic smile, and the unofficial tour began in the communal gardens, June opening the plastic flaps to the greenhouses and explaining which crops they were growing as winter approached, before turning to the animal pens, letting Elara know that they hoped to get another cow and some more chickens soon. As they approached the array of solar panels gleaming under the morning sun, Elara’s stride slowed, her gaze fixating on the sleek surfaces and the intricate setup.

“These are impressive,” she remarked, her voice betraying a hint of genuine admiration mixed with calculated curiosity. “What kind of batteries are you using for energy storage? Must be quite the setup.”

“We’ve managed to adapt and repurpose what we could find. Old RV batteries, mostly. It’s been a community effort to get them working as efficiently as they do now.”

Elara nodded, her eyes still scanning the panels. “And maintenance? Must be challenging, especially in this climate.”

“It’s a constant effort,” June conceded. “But we’ve got a good system and some very dedicated people keeping things running.”

Elara asked more questions, the conversation like a gentle sparring match, with Elara probing and June carefully guarding the details, instinctively not wanting to give up too much information. They continued through the settlement, June answering Elara as best she could, her responses measured, aware that each piece of information given could be a piece of a larger puzzle Elara was constructing in her mind.

“How do you manage water rationing during the dry spells?” Elara asked.

“We’ve got a system of rainwater collection and a few old-fashioned wells. Keeps us going even when the weather’s not on our side.”

Elara nodded, her gaze lingering on the water barrels stationed strategically around the gardens. “And your food stores? Preserving enough to last through the winters must be quite the endeavor.”

“We’ve become quite adept at canning and drying,” June replied. “Plus, the root cellars in some homes help keep things fresh.”

They passed Victor’s home and June paused to knock on the door, introducing Elara to Mr. and Mrs. Darrow, who promised to catch up with Elara once they’d finished sorting through the dried herbs they planned to bring to the Barter Fair. As they walked away, the conversation meandered to the topic of security, a subject June approached with even more caution.

“I noticed the patrols on my way in. How often do you rotate the watch?” Elara asked.

June’s response was noncommittal. “Regularly enough to keep things secure. It’s all about staying vigilant.”

With each exchange, there was the undercurrent of strategic assessment, Elara’s inquiries no doubt painting a picture of Asheville’s strengths and, more critically, its potential weaknesses. The conversation was a delicate one, with June striving to provide just enough information to satisfy Elara’s curiosity—even though they had agreed to enter into a partnership, something told June to tread carefully.

As the morning wore on, the rest of the delegations arrived, each with their own set of allegiances and agendas, transforming the settlement. The air was charged with anticipation and an undercurrent of tension, as if the very ground they stood on had become a stage for a play whose script was still being written.

The leaders gathered together in front of the community center, and June joined the sheriff and Mr. Darrow in greeting them in turn. At the center of the diverse group stood Elara, her poise unshakable as she introduced each leader to the sheriff, who had positioned himself beside her. The sheriff, his stature commanding in its own right, nodded to each in turn, his expression a careful mask of neutrality.

From the north of Leicester, in the foothills of the mountains, came Thomas Hashman, his broad shoulders draped in a dark coat. His handshake was firm, his voice like gravel, a reflection of the rugged terrain he called home.

“Pleasure to be here,” he rumbled, his eyes scanning the assembled crowd.

Thomas was accompanied by a handful of men and women, each quietly watchful of the goings on. Beside him stood Marianne Evans, her slender and gentle presence a stark contrast to Thomas’s imposing figure. Her community was known for their agricultural prowess, according to Elara.

“Such a gathering is good for us all,” she said, her voice soft but carrying an undercurrent of authority. “Thank you for arranging the Barter Fair and for including us. We’re also keen to talk about mutual defense. No doubt the militia group is on everyone’s mind.”

“Of course,” replied the sheriff. “Security is at the top of our agenda today.”

Lingering at the edge of the group of leaders was Jasper Hill, his wiry frame lean and in perpetual movement. His eyes, sharp and quick, missed nothing, darting from face to face with an intensity that spoke of a mind always at work.

“Interesting times,” he commented dryly, a wry smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he shook the sheriff’s hand before turning to June and Mr. Darrow.

“Welcome, everyone,” the sheriff said once the introductions were done, his voice cutting through the ambient noise from all those who had gathered in front of the community center. “Asheville is proud to host the first Barter Fair. Our hope is for a day of fruitful exchanges, not just in goods but in ideas and alliances.”

Elara’s response was seamless, her smile never wavering. “Indeed, Sheriff. Today is an example of what we can achieve when we come together. Each of our communities working together holds the key to thriving in this new world.”

As they exchanged more pleasantries, addressing the gathered crowd in turn, June watched from the sheriff’s side. She was struck by Elara—with her diplomatic grace, she navigated the waters with an ease that spoke of years of practice. But it was the moments between the words that spoke volumes: the brief tightening of Thomas’s jaw, Marianne’s thoughtful nod, Jasper’s calculating gaze.

June had the sense of being on the edge of a precipice, of something big about to happen. The stage was set, the players assembled, and the decisions made in the coming hours would shape the future of her community.

CHAPTER NINE

Lucas

In a warehouse cloaked in shadows, where dust motes danced in the slivers of light piercing the boarded-up windows, Lucas woke with a start. His new home, nestled on the frayed edges of Asheville, bore the scars of neglect and looting, but it was quiet and away from the settlement, and so far no one had found him.

He stood and stretched, grabbed his handgun, then maneuvered through the labyrinth of detritus and crates that filled the space, his footsteps echoing in the vast emptiness. The ground was littered with the debris of a bygone era—crates that had once held valuables now pried open and empty, their contents long since taken. He stepped over a tangled mess of wires, the colors faded to indistinct hues, and stepped outside to relieve himself, the cold making his breath fog.

He circled around the building and paused at the rear of the warehouse, listening intently for a few moments, but heard nothing other than birds calling to one another and the wind rustling through the decaying leaves and garbage that littered the ground. He returned to the warehouse and made his way to his own little corner, where he had dragged an old filing cabinet to the center of his claimed domain. On top of the improvised table lay Eddie’s ledger, its leather-bound cover cracked and worn, the pages within yellowed.

Lucas brushed his fingers over the cover, the leather cool and slightly rough under his touch. He flipped the ledger open to a page marked with red ribbon sewn into the spine of the notebook, and looked down the list written in Eddie’s neat handwriting, wishing not for the first time that he’d been able to decode the words printed there in time to save his best friend. Was that his sliding doors moment? It was certainly the instant when his entire life veered off track and he ended up losing everything. Everyone.

Shaking off the weight of regret that lingered from thoughts of Eddie, Lucas put the ledger aside and turned his attention to the more immediate concern of breakfast. From beside the makeshift table, he retrieved a compact, foldable camping stove, a gem among the treasures contained in Eddie’s stashes. Alongside the stove, he pulled out a pouch of freeze-dried food, one of many that Eddie had meticulously stored. The label, faded but still legible, promised a hearty meal of beef stew, only requiring the addition of boiling water. Lucas set the stove on the dusty concrete floor, the small blue flame hissing softly as it came to life.

“You know, I always thought you’d end up somewhere like here, Lucas, surrounded by the things no one else wanted and living all alone,” Victor said, his broad form leaning nonchalantly against a stack of crates, as if he were still flesh and blood.

Lucas glanced up briefly before going back to stirring the pot. “And yet, here you are, keeping me company,” he replied. “I guess that says as much about you as it does me.”

Victor’s laughter, a sound that seemed too real to be imagined, filled the space. “Touché, Lucas. But at least my failures don’t haunt me quite like yours.”

Beside the stove lay a straw filter, and Lucas turned from his breakfast to take a drink of the rainwater he’d collected the previous night, before serving out the stew. As he ate, Victor walked closer, sniffed the stew and made a face, then lay down on Lucas’ sleeping bag, his muddy boots resting on the pillow. Lucas gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the insufferable man, who he seemed unable to escape, even in death.

“Remember that time you thought you’d be the next big thing in music? Ah, dreams, the opiate of the mediocre.”

Lucas’ jaw flexed. “Better to have dreamed and lost, Victor. At least I have a tune to carry me through the night.”

“Go on then, sing me something. Play that ugly guitar of yours that looks like you picked it up at a thrift store.”

“Go sing yourself a song,” Lucas muttered. “I’m not doing this today, Victor.”

Victor’s presence, lounging insolently on Lucas’ only sleeping bag, was a gnawing irritation, but Lucas had grown accustomed to their interactions, the constant needling by Victor, and he angled his body so Victor was no longer in his line of sight. But Victor’s voice, dripping with condescension, continued to probe at Lucas’ sore spots.

“And what about that band of yours? What were you called again? The Dismal Dissonants?”

Lucas’ head snapped around in time to see the smirk playing on Victor’s lips, heavy eyebrows raised, brow furrowed. He shook his head, trying to focus on the warmth of the stew and not the coldness of his uninvited guest’s jibes.

“It was The Final Echo, and we had potential,” he shot back, more to silence his own doubts than to counter Victor’s taunts.

But before Victor could reply, the distant sound of rhythmic pounding cut their bickering short. Lucas’ instincts kicked in, and he grabbed his handgun again, moving to one of the broken windows that overlooked the road outside and waited.

The heavy thud of what sounded like hooves hitting the road echoed off the surrounding buildings, the beat growing steadily louder, sending birds scattering from their perches on nearby skeletal trees. As the group of horses came into sight, their powerful muscles flexed and strained, breaths coming out in short, determined snorts. Lucas counted six horses, all mounted by armed riders, and five more traveling by bicycle.

The dawn light cast long shadows across the faces of the newcomers, but Lucas could make out the figure of a dark-haired woman leading the group. Recognition dawned; it was Elara, Tex’s sister, a fact that brought an unexpected jolt of anger.

Without conscious thought, he steadied the handgun, lining up the sight with Elara’s form. The weight of the decision pressed on him, a mix of protectiveness for the town and a darker, more personal vendetta clouding his judgment. Elara’s features morphed with Tex’s, and his finger moved to the trigger.

Victor’s voice, annoyingly pragmatic, broke through Lucas’ focused state. “Oh, don’t be an idiot, Lucas. Shooting Tex’s sister? That’ll win you friends for sure.” His tone was laden with sarcasm, yet underscored with a thread of genuine caution.

Lucas’ finger hesitated on the trigger, the reality of Victor’s words seeping through the fog of his anger and jealousy. With a frustrated sigh, he lowered the gun, the action both a defeat and a reprieve from a decision he knew he’d ultimately regret.

As he watched Elara and her group disappear toward the heart of Asheville, Lucas was left with the echo of Victor’s words and a sense of solitude that was even more pronounced than before. The weight of his choices, those he’d already made and those waiting for him in the near future, settled around him like a shroud, leaving him to think about the twisted path that had led him to that moment—alone in an abandoned warehouse, his only companion a ghost from his most recent terrible mistake.

The sound of the horse’s hooves soon faded, and Lucas brought his attention back to his breakfast, finishing the cold stew and quickly cleaning up. Turning to the supplies he’d already unearthed, he sifted through the boxes and crates, some items yet to be cataloged in a fresh page of Eddie’s ledger in Lucas’ own handwriting.

Among the myriad of items that Eddie had meticulously prepared for darker times, Lucas found an assortment of supplies, tools, and gadgets. There were packets of heirloom seeds, their labels promising a bounty of vegetables and herbs. Beside them lay a collection of hand-crank flashlights, their durable bodies designed to withstand the rigors of an unraveled world, alongside solar-powered chargers.

Deeper within the cache, Lucas pulled out a set of walkie-talkies still in their original packaging. Next to them, a compact water filtration system lay coiled, its intricate mechanisms capable of transforming even the murkiest water into something drinkable. Each item was carefully chosen and hidden by Eddie before the banking crisis, and Lucas was grateful for his friend’s foresight.

Cataloging the treasures allowed Lucas to feel a deeper connection to Eddie in a compartmentalized way, separate from the grief that punched through him when he remembered Eddie’s death, and he closed his eyes for a moment, conjuring Eddie’s face, the sound of his voice, before opening his eyes once more and reaching for the next item. Victor, ever the unwelcome companion, hovered at the periphery of Lucas’ activities.

“You planning on opening a store, Lucas? Or just hoarding all this for the apocalypse part two?” Victor mused as he paced back and forth, deliberately getting too close so as to really get on Lucas’ nerves.

“Leave it alone, Victor,” Lucas said. “Just give me a moment’s peace. Please.”

“Maybe if you’d been this organized before, things might’ve turned out differently, eh?” Victor prodded, his words cutting a bit too close to the bone. “You, June, Sarah and Mia could have left Asheville and set yourselves up to ride out the worst of it. Somewhere remote maybe. Eddie might still be alive if he went with you, too. But you didn’t think, did you Lucas? You never think.”

Lucas grit his teeth, doing his best to tune out Victor’s incessant, acidic comments. As the morning wore on, the sound of more newcomers reached Lucas, and he paused from his cataloging efforts and sparring with Victor to venture out, trailing the groups to the barricade and observing them from the roof of an abandoned house. From his vantage point, he watched with a mix of curiosity and envy as three other groups were admitted through the barricade, a sign that the arrivals posed no immediate threat and were maybe even invited guests.

Lucas’ sense of isolation, of the complete and utter failure his life had become, deepened as the last of the morning’s arrivals disappeared into the heart of the settlement. He was left with a profound feeling of disconnection, the laughter and voices carrying on the wind only serving to underscore his misery.

His questions about what was happening within the settlement’s walls, the decisions being made, and the alliances being forged, weighed heavily on him, a distant drama in which he no longer had a role to play.

CHAPTER TEN

Lucas

In the dim light of the warehouse, Lucas moved methodically from one security point to another, ensuring each was as fortified as it could be with the meager resources at his disposal. The reality of what he’d just seen—groups of strangers converging on the settlement, being welcomed as new friends—hung in the air, mingling with the dust and mirroring his growing sense of despair.

Victor trailed behind him, keeping in the periphery of Lucas’ vision. “You really think these traps and locks will keep you safe, Lucas? You know you’re the biggest threat in this town, which means you’ve basically locked yourself in with a monster.” Victor’s voice echoed off the cold concrete walls, the sound maddening.

“I’ll keep myself safe, you don’t need to worry about that,” Lucas replied through gritted teeth.

“Safe from what, though? The people you’ve turned your back on, or the ghosts of your own making?”

Lucas tried to ignore him, focusing instead on the task at hand, but Victor’s words wormed their way into his thoughts, relentless and biting.

“They won’t take you back, you know. After what you did to me,” Victor said, his expression thoughtful, his voice taking on a concerned edge, like he actually cared one way or another about Lucas. “You’re an outcast, Lucas. A pariah. I think it’s best for everyone if you just accept that.”

The truth of Victor’s words pressed down on Lucas, a tangible force that threatened to suffocate him. He stopped his rounds, realization settling in, a cold stone in his stomach, rolling and rubbing against his insides unrelentingly.

“Maybe you’re right,” Lucas admitted, striding to the front door, empty shelves on either side. “But it’s not like I can change the past. I just need to move on, make my own life, do my own thing. It’s not like my life is over.”

Victor’s laughter was a harsh sound in the quiet of the warehouse. “Oh, Lucas, always the hero in your own story. But tell me, how does the hero’s tale end when he’s the villain in everyone else’s?”

Lucas turned to face Victor, his eyes hard with resolve and a trace of underlying sorrow. “I make my own ending, Victor. Maybe I can’t go back, but I can choose how I go forward. It’s not too late for me to start over.”

“Start over? How are you going to do that? You’re delusional. You pulled the trigger, Lucas. You decided I deserved to die, and you killed me. You’re all alone and always will be. I don’t know how you think you’re just going to start over. How does it feel, knowing you’re capable of killing someone?”

A strange sensation pulsed through Lucas as Victor’s words drilled into his skull. “It feels like hell, Victor. And it’s a hell I have to live with. Every. Single. Day.”

He reached the front of the warehouse and checked the booby trap he’d set up over the door, then turned and braced one hand against the window frame beside it, glancing through the small gaps in the boarded-up window at the quiet street beyond. A pile of yellow and red leaves were being blown down the street, and Victor leaned in closer, a haunting reminder of the irreversible line Lucas had crossed.

The weight of his actions bore down on him, a crushing realization that Victor was right. He couldn’t ignore the past, no matter how much he wanted to. He’d killed a man, and the man he had once been—the one who’d loved Sarah in secret for so long, who’d hiked and grilled with his best friends, who’d delighted in finding rare second hand books for the Verse Den, who’d played gig after gig hoping for his big break—had vanished the moment he pulled the trigger.

His hands trembled slightly as he turned away from the window, Victor following him like a shadow. The warehouse, once a refuge, felt like a tomb, each corner colder than the one before, filled with a chill that he could no longer escape. With the knowledge that he had to get away, had to put more space between him and his ex-friends, Lucas began to gather his belongings, the items he’d need to carve out a new existence away from Asheville, the only home he’d ever known.

From Eddie’s carefully hoarded supplies, he chose quickly: a durable water bottle, a sturdy knife, food, and a waterproof map of the area. He added one of the hand crank flashlights, ammo for his handgun and his rifles, the filter straw and then extra warm clothes for the coming winter. As he packed, each item was heavier than its physical weight, laden with the significance of his decision to leave.

Lucas’ movements were mechanical as he retraced his steps, dismantling the booby traps—the resolve that had crystallized in his mind left no room for doubt or hesitation. He was an outcast, marked by his own actions and the painful acknowledgment that Sarah, June, and the community he’d once cherished could never look at him the same way again.

He returned to his backpack and rolled up his sleeping bag, attaching it to the top of the pack, then he went through the items he’d chosen one more time, adding in a few extra granola bars and a small medical kit. He glanced briefly at his guitar, a mix of longing and pain knifing through him, but he left it leaning against the wall. He had no need for it anymore. As he zipped the backpack closed, the sound signified a definitive end to the last chapter of his life, but he had one more thing he needed to do.

Lucas hurried through the shadows of the warehouse, moving the supplies into a consolidated pile. The ledger, its pages filled with the locations of the rest of Eddie’s stashes and a catalog of what had already been unearthed, found a new home in a crevice between two crates, shrouded in darkness. Beside it lay the cache of supplies he’d already unearthed, a small trove of essentials that might offer June and Sarah a glimmer of hope in the bleak landscape of their new world.

He took a moment to pen a note, letting them know he was gone and never to return, and expressing the hope that they might forgive him enough to use what he’d left behind. He wrapped the note tightly around a small rock he found outside and tied it with twine, a makeshift anchor for the message he was too cowardly to deliver in person.

Lucas didn’t look back as he left the warehouse behind, his approach to the barricade cautious, using his knowledge of the streets to keep out of sight of those on watch. He paused inside a house on the opposite side of the street to the barricade, standing to the side of one of the broken front windows.

Hidden in the shadowed interior of the abandoned house, Lucas allowed himself a moment’s pause, his breath fogging the air in front of him. His mind, ever restless, drifted to Sarah—her image coming into focus with painful clarity. He remembered the softness of her dark hair, the warmth in her smile, and the light that seemed to dance in her eyes when she laughed or told one of her terrible jokes.

For a fleeting moment, he was back in a time when possibilities seemed endless, and his affection for her knew no bounds. But the memory was tainted, the sharp edge of her rejection slicing through his nostalgia. He could still recall the cold sting of seeing her with Tex, and the unspoken question that haunted him—why he’d never been enough for her—echoed in the empty chambers of his heart.

With a heavy sigh, Lucas rummaged in his backpack for the note wrapped around the rock. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the stone arcing over the street, where it bounced and rolled, coming to a stop in front of the barricade. Those on watch cried out in alarm, but he turned and fled, not waiting to see if the note was collected, the sound of his own heartbeat loud in his ears.

Lucas dashed through the desolate streets away from the settlement, his worn boots slapping against the dusty ground as he weaved between abandoned buildings and vehicles. His backpack bounced heavily on his back as he sidestepped debris and the remnants of looting, and soon he slowed to a weary walk, the adrenaline that had fueled his escape ebbing away, leaving a hollow emptiness behind. Victor materialized beside him, his presence as constant as the guilt that gnawed at Lucas’ conscience.

“You really think leaving them Eddie’s supplies is going to make a difference?”

“Probably no difference at all,” Lucas admitted.

“Well, at least you’re not completely delusional.” Victor let out a laugh. “So, buddy. Where to now?”

Lucas didn’t answer, his steps unfaltering as he moved further from the town that had been his home, his sanctuary, and his prison. He was leaving Asheville, but he wouldn’t go far. One of the surrounding rural properties would house him until he’d made up his mind about where to go next, and Victor kept pace beside him, a constant companion on a road that promised no redemption.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Daniel

In the quiet of the communal gardens, Daniel found respite from the noise and chaos of the Barter Fair, the symphony of rustling leaves, animal calls, and the soft hum of insects a balm to his senses. He was happy to see so many potential allies in the community center, but the confined space amplified the sound of all the voices, and his nerves had had enough.

Surrounded by the fruits of their labor, he moved with a practiced ease, tending to the plants, the vibrant hues of ripening vegetables in stark contrast to the muted tones of the approaching winter. Within the confines of one of the greenhouses, cobbled together from plastic sheeting stretched over a skeleton of makeshift frames, Daniel enjoyed the weak warmth of the sun as he worked.

He moved from bed to bed humming to himself, layering straw and fall leaves around the base of each plant, a natural insulation that would help retain heat and moisture in the soil as the days grew shorter and the nights colder. The simple act of mulching was a crucial defense against the frost that would soon arrive.

Before that, he had checked and repaired the plastic sheeting using gaffer tape, ensuring no rips or tears would compromise the balance of temperature and humidity that the plants needed to thrive. As he worked, Daniel was already planning for the next season, considering which crops would fare best, which seeds needed to be started early to ensure a continuous supply of fresh produce for everyone in the settlement.

Laughter reached him, and he glanced up to see a group moving through the gardens toward the chicken coop. Officer Mitchell was leading some of Elara’s people toward the coop, his familiar voice rising above the others. Daniel had spent so many years living alone, the presence of all the new faces stirred a sense of unease within him, an undercurrent of anxiety that he couldn’t quite shake. Crowds, with their unpredictable energy and ceaseless noise, had felt overwhelming to him even before his divorce from Linda—he’d long preferred the great outdoors or working on a project in his tool shed.

He watched the group until they disappeared behind the greenhouses and then returned to his work, his thoughts wandering, the rhythm of his task allowing his mind to roam. He considered the delicate balance of life in their new world, the constant interplay between growth and decay, between gathering together for strength and retreating into solitude for peace. Between life and death, allies and enemies. The garden, with its orderly rows and thriving plants, was a reminder of what could be accomplished with patience and perseverance, qualities that Daniel had come to value highly.

The rustle of the plastic sheeting announced Sarah’s arrival before Daniel saw her, her silhouette momentarily framed against the diffused light filtering through the greenhouse as he looked up to see who was there.

“Got a minute?” she asked, her voice a soft intrusion into his work as she slipped inside the greenhouse.

Daniel straightened up, brushing the dirt from his hands onto his pants. “For you? Always,” he replied, offering her a smile as he stepped away from the vegetable beds.

She walked closer, her expression a mix of amusement and apprehension, and he could tell instantly she wanted to talk about something. She’d gotten the same look ever since she was a little girl.

“Everything okay, sweetheart? How are things with you and Tex?” Daniel ventured, taking a guess at what was bothering her, the question light but pointed.

Sarah’s laughter filled the space between them, but it quickly faded into a more contemplative silence. “It’s complicated,” she admitted, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I haven’t felt this way about anyone in a long time, and I’m worried about Mia.”

“Mia? How so?”

“All this change must be hard for her. And I don’t know how Tex and I having a relationship might affect her. It’s not like she’s ever known me to have a boyfriend or be in a relationship.”

Daniel nodded, understanding the weight of her concerns, but staying silent. He knew from experience that Sarah preferred a quiet listener if she was going to keep opening up to him. Too many questions, too much advice, and she’d clam up.

“Want to help me spread this straw?”

“Sure.” She crouched down beside him, picking up a piece of straw and playing with it for a few moments as Daniel continued to pile it around the bases of plants.

“With everything else we’re dealing with— just trying to survive the day to day, the militia. Well, it’s a lot,” Sarah finally said, her gaze drifting to the plants around them as if seeking answers among the greenery. “Mia is only nine. I feel like she’s already been through a lot, growing up without a father and a grandmother. And I don’t know if I’m ready, either.”

She hesitated before shifting the topic of conversation. “And what about you and June? There’s something there, isn’t there? I see the way the two of you look at one another.”

Daniel couldn’t help the smile that lifted the corners of his mouth. “Maybe, but it’s not that simple. June’s made it pretty clear she needs her space. I can’t just ignore that.”

Sarah studied him for a moment, her expression thoughtful. “But life’s too short, Dad. Especially now. If you have a chance at happiness, shouldn’t you take it?”

He appreciated her concern, the genuine care behind her words, but the situation with June was delicate, a dance of mutual respect and unspoken boundaries, and an ex that complicated things in ways that made him deeply uncomfortable. He’d never been one to stir the pot, and lately it seemed like he couldn’t escape it.

“It’s not about what I want,” Daniel said, his voice gently firm. “It’s about what’s right for both of us. And right now, June needs time. And besides, weren’t we talking about you? Stop changing the subject, kiddo.” He held her gaze and she smiled. “For what it’s worth, I really like Tex. You’ve got your old man’s seal of approval.”

Sarah leaned in, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. “Well, that’s a relief,” she said, “because I was really losing sleep over whether Tex met the coveted Dad Standards. Now I can finally rest easy knowing I’ve got my old man’s seal of approval.”

Daniel grinned. “Well, I’m glad you can rest easy, my love.”

Sarah sighed, lapsing into silence again, the moment stretching as her expression lost all traces of humor. “I guess I’m just scared,” she confessed, her voice low. “Scared of getting hurt again.”

Daniel reached out, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I know, Sarah. But sometimes, the risk is worth it. Don’t let fear hold you back from something that could be wonderful.”

As Sarah looked away, Daniel’s thoughts were filled with the road his daughter had been forced to walk since Nate’s departure. The memory of Sarah, strong yet vulnerable, pregnant and alone, flashed through his mind, a stark reminder of the resilience and strength she’d been forced to muster in the face of Nate’s abandonment and Linda’s relentless pressure to give Mia up for adoption.

Daniel had always known Sarah to be independent, a trait he’d admired and nurtured, but perhaps in doing so, he’d overlooked the depth of her pain, the silent battles she’d fought over the last ten years. He’d been ready to move mountains for her since the day she was born, to shield her from any harm, yet some wounds were beyond his reach, healed only by time and Sarah’s own strength.

“Don’t let the past dictate your future,” he said, his words as much a reminder to himself as they were counsel for Sarah.

“Thanks, Dad,” she said, pushing herself up to stand. “I better head back in there.” She reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Daniel stayed a moment longer, reflecting on his initial reaction to Nate’s departure, the simmering anger that had once consumed him. The thought of Nate, who’d walked away from Sarah and Mia, had ignited a fierce protectiveness in him, a father’s wrath against the man who’d caused his daughter such profound hurt.

Yet, as the years had passed, the sharp edges of his anger had dulled, morphing into a somber pity for Nate. Daniel couldn’t help but feel a pang of sorrow for the young man who’d missed out on the joy of watching Mia grow up. Nate had left behind more than just responsibilities; he’d lost moments of irreplaceable value, a shared history with those who’d once loved him so fiercely.

In the solitude of the greenhouse, surrounded by the promise of new growth, Daniel found a moment of clarity. Life, with its myriad of twists and turns, offered no guarantees, except for the certainty of change. Holding on to anger or dwelling in the shadow of past hurts served no one, only anchoring a person to a moment in time, while life, relentless and beautiful, marched on without them.

He stood and brushed off his hands one last time before stepping outside the greenhouse, turning his face to the sun briefly. He closed his eyes, letting the gentle rays wash over him, a rare moment of tranquility amid the tumult of recent days, but the quietude was interrupted as a shadow moved over him. He smiled and opened his eyes, expecting to see Sarah returning for another chat, but was instead met with the sheriff standing just a few feet away, his outline stark against the brightness.

“Daniel,” the sheriff said, his voice tight, the undercurrent of hostility unmistakable.

Taken aback by the sheriff’s unexpected presence, Daniel noted the rigid set of his shoulders, the barely concealed agitation that seemed to radiate from him.

“How are you, Sheriff?” Daniel ventured, attempting to infuse a measure of civility into the charged atmosphere.

The sheriff’s response was a curt nod, his jaw clenched, as if the words he wanted to speak were battling for release. It didn’t take long for the dam to break. Taking a step forward and leaning in, the sheriff’s voice was a low growl.

“Don’t you ever undermine me in public again,” he said, the threat clear in his tone. “I can deal with the community. I’m their leader. It’s me they trust, me they look to in order to keep them safe. Do you understand? You don’t speak for me. Ever!”

Before Daniel could react, the sheriff’s hand shot out, grasping the front of Daniel’s shirt with surprising ferocity, pulling him slightly off balance. Instinctively, Daniel’s hands came up, shoving back against the sheriff’s shoulders, his voice firm despite the rising tide of adrenaline.

“Take your hands off me,” he demanded.

For a long moment the sheriff stared at Daniel, the air charged with an electric tension and the potential for violence. But before either man could make a move, the standoff was abruptly defused as the sheriff released his grip and stepped back, his attention snapped to the side.

“Elara,” he said, his tone shifting to one of forced politeness, the transformation so swift it left Daniel’s head spinning.

Turning to follow the sheriff’s gaze, Daniel caught sight of Elara, her expression an unreadable mask where she stood beside one of the greenhouses. The realization that she’d witnessed their confrontation seemed to throw the sheriff, and he swallowed several times before offering a nod to Daniel and walking across the damp earth to meet Elara where she stood.

As the sheriff engaged Elara in conversation, Daniel took a moment to collect himself, pushing away the anger that had spiked inside. He turned away, smoothing the fabric of his shirt where the sheriff’s grip had creased it, trying to muster some understanding for the sheriff’s position but failing miserably.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Nate

The first light of dawn filtered through the shattered windows, casting fragmented patterns on the dusty floor. Nate stirred from a restless sleep, his senses immediately on high alert as his eyes flicked open. The remnants of the previous night’s tension clung to the air, to the scraps of material and thread on the table that stood a short distance away at eye level, the stack of embroidery magazines, and the worn fabric of the unfamiliar sofa beneath him. It all came back in a rush: they were in Augusta, and Rosa had lost her bearings.

He sat up, listening intently for any sounds of trouble. Rosa sat by the window, her figure wrapped in the blankets they’d scavenged from around the house that had become their temporary refuge, the rifle resting across her lap, a silent guardian. The morning light caught her hair, turning it into a fiery halo that framed her face. She noticed him staring at her and offered a weary smile, one that spoke of shared trials and an unshakeable bond.

“You’re up,” she said, her voice soft, the rifle shifting as she adjusted her position. “I was just watching the sunrise. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Despite everything.”

Nate nodded, allowing himself to relax a little—it sounded as though they were still alone. He got to his feet and crossed the room to sit beside her, the beauty of the dawn sky a stark contrast to the destruction of the city below. He rummaged in his backpack and pulled out a bag of peanuts and a bottle of water, and they ate in silence. Each bite was consumed quickly, the need to keep moving pressing down on them, the need to figure out where they were so they could get to Rosa’s parents’ place, to stay one step ahead of the dangers that lurked in the city’s remains.

Rosa broke the silence, her voice cutting through Nate’s thoughts. “We should hit the road,” she said, her gaze scanning the horizon beyond the window. “We can’t afford to stay here too long.”

She’d taken the words right out of Nate’s mouth. Each moment they lingered increased the risk of facing another confrontation they might not walk away from. He glanced at Rosa, taking in her determined expression, and admiration mixed with something deeper surged through him. He took her hand, pressing his lips against her cool, soft skin.

“Yeah, let’s pack up as soon as we’re done eating,” he said, letting go of her hand and turning to his pack. “I have another bag of peanuts in here. I’m still hungry.”

As they were finishing the last of their scant meal, the sound of cautious footsteps reached them. Nate tensed, his hand snaking toward the rifle, but Rosa placed a calming hand on his arm, her eyes locked on the figure emerging from the shadows cutting across the street. It was the old man from the night before, his shotgun slung over his shoulder. He crossed the front yard and stopped on the other side of the broken windows, carrying a small bundle, which he offered to Nate and Rosa with a gruff nod.

“Figured you might be hungry,” he said, his voice less harsh than Nate remembered.

The bundle contained a few slices of stale bread and a couple of bruised apples—an unassuming meal, but in the wasteland of the city, it was a feast. They accepted the food with murmured thanks, the tension easing as Rosa insisted he join them, and they shared the simple meal sitting on the floor. The old man ate an apple and watched them share the rest, his gaze thoughtful.

“You two planning on heading deeper into the city?” he asked. He shifted his focus to Rosa. “You’re looking for your folks, right?”

Rosa nodded. “We need to get to my parents’ house,” she said. “I haven’t seen them since before the disaster because I was in Mexico teaching English.”

The old man sighed. “It’s not good out there,” he said. “The city’s been torn apart—gangs, looters, and worse. You’ll want to be careful.” He paused, his eyes drifting to a spot on the wall, lost in thought. “Your parents’ house sounds like it’s in a pretty hard-hit area.” His voice was softer, almost hesitant.

Rosa nodded again, her hands clasped tightly together. “Yes, on the east side. Do you think...?” Her voice trailed off, the question too painful to finish.

“Hard to say, I’m sorry.”

As they ate, the old man sketched out a rough map on the back of one of the embroidery magazines, pointing out areas to avoid and possible safe routes to get to where Rosa’s parents lived. They both listened intently, memorizing the paths and landmarks he described. His knowledge of the city’s labyrinthine streets was invaluable, offering them a glimmer of hope in navigating the changed urban landscape.

As he tore out the page from the magazine, the old man’s gaze lingered on Rosa, his eyes reflecting a mix of concern and resignation. “This city ain’t what it used to be. Since the crisis hit, it’s like the very soul of the place got up and left. Buildings stand, but community? Neighbors? They’re few and far between.”

The old man passed the map to Rosa and stood, his movements slow, deliberate. “East side’s been hit hard. Some areas are no-go zones now. Controlled by factions that don’t take kindly to strangers.” He walked over to a small, cluttered table and picked up a scrap of yellow fabric, tracing the weave and taking in the bright color before turning back to them. “You’ll want to avoid the main streets, stick to the alleys and back routes. And keep an eye out for the signs.”

Nate leaned in, studying the map the old man had drawn. “Signs?” he inquired, his brow furrowed.

“Markings, symbols,” the old man explained, pointing to several areas on the map with crudely drawn icons. “Each gang has its own. Tells you whose territory you’re stepping into. Some are more dangerous than others.”

Rosa took a deep breath, her resolve hardening despite the warning. “We have to try,” she said firmly. “I need to know they’re okay. They’re my parents. When I left for Mexico, it wasn’t on the best terms.”

The old man nodded, understanding the depth of her need. “Just... be smart about it. And quick. The longer you’re out there, the more risk you’re in.”

Nate looked at Rosa, then back at the old man. “Thank you,” he said, his voice steady, though his heart was anything but. “We’ll be careful.”

“There’s no guarantee it’s safe,” the old man warned again, his voice tinged with concern. “But stick to the route I told you. It’s the best chance you’ve got.”

Nate and Rosa exchanged a glance, understanding the risks they were facing.

“Thank you,” Rosa said again, her voice sincere. “We really appreciate your help. You’ve been more than kind.”

“Yes, thank you,” added Nate. “By the way, sir, what’s your name?”

The old man paused, a faint smile touching his lips. “Call me Jack.”

“Thank you, Jack. Sincerely,” said Rosa.

Jack shrugged, as if uncomfortable with the gratitude. “Just passing on what I know. You take care of each other out there.”

As they gathered their sparse belongings, Jack lingered in the doorway, making conversation.

“What did your folks do, Miss Rosa, if you don’t mind me asking? And their names?”

Rosa paused, her backpack half-secured, and shared her parents’ names and that her father was a high school teacher and her mother a conveyancing lawyer. A flicker of recognition crossed Jack’s weathered face, his eyebrows arching in surprise.

“I’ll be damned,” he murmured, more to himself than to them. “I thought your last name was familiar. I knew them, in a way. Or at least your father, and your mother by sight. Good folks. Your dad taught my grandson. And your mom always seemed kind.”

Jack’s face grew somber as he continued, “Haven’t heard anything about them since everything went down. I hope they’re alright.”

The unexpected connection to her past seemed to bolster Rosa’s determination, and she seemed to stand a little taller. But for Nate, the knowledge that Rosa’s parents were known and respected members of the community added an invisible pressure, and he sent out another silent plea for their safety. Rosa had come a long way—surely life couldn’t be that cruel.

Once they were all packed, they said goodbye to Jack, Rosa surprising the older man by pulling him into a tight hug. As they set out, Rosa’s stride was firm, fueled by the urgency to reconnect with her parents, and Nate matched her pace, his mind filled with strategies and contingencies, the protective instinct within him sharpening.

Jack’s advice had not only provided them with a fleeting touch of normalcy, but had also cast a long shadow of apprehension over what lay ahead. The balance between hope and fear was delicate, and as they disappeared into the city’s scarred landscape, the weight of their mission was heavier than ever.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Nate

Nate led the way through the looted and destroyed streets, his boots crunching on the small pieces of debris that littered the ground, rifle low and ready. Rosa walked close behind, map in hand, telling him which way to go. The desolation of Augusta was stark, each turn revealing more of the city’s downfall; buildings that once echoed with life were silent, their fronts marked by bullet holes and interiors exposed to the elements.

Each breath was a chore, the air thick, almost a physical presence, laden with the scent of smoke and the tang of something that reminded Nate of rust. It clung to their clothes, their skin, a constant reminder of the city’s fate. As Nate scanned the horizon, distant apartment buildings pierced the monochrome sky, their sides blackened by fire.

They moved in silence, the only sound their synchronized footsteps and the distant, occasional crack of gunfire that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, Nate’s gaze darting from shadow to shadow, the rifle following his line of sight. They already knew from experience that hostile individuals could be anywhere in the city, and they needed to be ready.

Despite the anxiety snaking through him, Rosa’s presence was a silent reassurance, her steady breathing a counterpoint to the erratic beat of his heart. Jack had warned them about the dangers of the city, but they had ventured into the urban maze anyway, driven by necessity and a stubborn streak of hope that Rosa’s parents would be alive and well and waiting for her at their family home.

The back alleys offered a semblance of safety, narrow passages hemmed in by the high walls of abandoned homes that reduced the chances of someone jumping out at them, but it also left them with only one way out if someone else entered the alley. Nature was reclaiming the spaces, ivy crawling up the sides of buildings, and weeds pushing through the cracks in the pavement. It was a wild, unruly beauty that was slowly reclaiming the devastation around them.

Every so often, Nate paused, listening intently for any sound that might betray movement other than their own. A child’s toy xylophone lay abandoned on the sidewalk just up ahead, its bright colors jarring against the gray of the concrete. Further on, at the end of the alley, a Nissan sat parked at an odd angle, its doors ajar, the interior ransacked, even the soft leather seats slashed.

As he stepped over the xylophone, Nate’s mind whirled with thoughts of Mia. Each step toward Rosa’s parents’ house was a step closer to his own reckoning, to facing the life he had left behind. And yet, with Rosa by his side, a burgeoning sense of courage filled him, a belief that perhaps redemption was not beyond reach, that Mia and Sarah would be alive and well in Asheville, and that they’d welcome him with forgiveness in their hearts.

From somewhere nearby, two men started arguing with raised voices, and Nate and Rosa picked up speed, hurrying to put space between them and the men. They headed directly down a suburban street and cut across an intersection, then paused in the shadow of an overpass, where Nate pointed out the gang tags decorating the concrete surface.

“These must be the signs Jack was talking about.”

Rosa reached out and traced one of the graffitied tags with her finger, then turned to Nate. “Did you ever imagine things could be this bad here?” Her voice was low, barely above a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the tentative quiet around them.

Nate shook his head, his gaze meeting hers. “No. But then again, I never imagined I’d find someone like you in all this chaos.” He offered a small, wistful smile.

Rosa leaned closer, her voice tinged with a mix of fear and determination. “Nate, promise me something. No matter what happens, we stay together until we reach my parents’ house. Okay?”

He nodded, the resolution in her eyes mirroring a similar resolve within him. There was no way he was going to leave her. Not a chance in hell.

“I promise, Rosa. We’re in this together, all the way. And hey,” he added, trying to inject a lighter note, “after all we’ve been through, I’d say we make a pretty good team.”

Rosa’s lips twitched into a brief smile, but it was fleeting. “I just hope we’re not too late,” she murmured, her gaze drifting back to the desolate cityscape.

Nate reached out, taking her hand and squeezing it gently. “We won’t be. We’ve made it this far, haven’t we? And I’m not about to give up now. Not when we’re so close.”

She tightened her grip and they continued hand-in-hand, every creak and rustle setting Nate’s nerves on edge, a constant reminder of the precariousness of their situation. Augusta had been transformed into a place where survival was the only law, and every shadow might conceal friend or foe.

As they navigated a narrow street, Nate’s eyes caught the flicker of a fire, its glow spilling from the shattered windows of what used to be the storefront of a corner store. The remnants of the building provided scant shelter to a small group gathered around the flames, their faces etched with weariness and hunger.

Two teenage girls, hair lank and falling over their wide-set eyes, sat between their mother and a man who could be their grandfather, while a younger boy of twelve or so stood stock still, staring at Nate and Rosa with a whittled branch in one hand, fingers curled around the makeshift spear. The mother stood, her battered shotgun trained on them, expression carved from the same hard, unforgiving reality that surrounded them. She fixed Nate and Rosa with a stare, the shotgun an extension of her very being.

Rosa tensed beside him, but he kept his pace steady, his demeanor calm. “Just keep walking,” he said in a low voice. “They’re just keeping themselves safe.”

As they walked past, his own hand gripped their rifle, a silent signal of his readiness to defend but not provoke. His eyes locked for a moment with the mother’s, the woman’s gaze piercing, as if assessing their intent, their worth in a fractured world. In that brief exchange, an unspoken agreement was forged, a tacit understanding that they were not enemies but merely fellow travelers on different paths.

With a nod from the mother that was more felt than seen, Nate and Rosa continued on, leaving the group behind them. The encounter, brief as it was, left a lingering sense of the fragile balance that governed what was left of society, where trust was a luxury few could afford, but mutual respect could still hold sway in the silence between strangers.

Once they’d put some distance between themselves and the family, Rosa paused to consult the map that Jack had drawn for them, and a haze of gray smoke washed over them as a cold breeze punched its way down the street. Nate pulled his jacket up to cover his mouth, the air thicker than before, heavy with the stench of burned rubber and stale fear.

Rosa also covered her mouth and pointed down the road toward a looted coffee shop. Charred vehicles and trash formed a makeshift barricade across the road, ashen debris littering the ground all around. The shopfronts bore the scars of conflict—spray-painted gang tags that marked the territory like runes of a forgotten spell, cryptic and foreboding.

As they navigated the no-man’s-land, the sudden scrape of a shoe on concrete shattered the silence. From the shadowed crevices of abandoned buildings and behind the overturned husks of burned-out vehicles, figures emerged, their faces hidden behind bandanas and balaclavas and as unreadable as the graffiti that claimed the walls, while the cold glint of guns emerged from the folds of their clothing.

Adrenaline surged through Nate and he instinctively raised the rifle, even as his mind raced for a solution that didn’t end in bloodshed. Beside him, Rosa’s slight intake of breath was the only sign of her fear; her stance was firm and resolute, projecting calm confidence.

“Whoa, easy,” Nate called out, his voice steady, striving to inject the tension with a semblance of reason as he counted ten figures coalescing around them. “We’re not looking for trouble. Just passing through.”

A tall figure with a bandana masking his face stepped forward, his gun unwavering. “Nobody just passes through anymore,” he retorted, his voice muffled.

“Please,” Rosa said. “We’re trying to reach someone important to us. That’s all.”

The standoff stretched, a moment suspended in time, where every breath, every slight movement, seemed amplified. Nate’s gaze never wavered from the man in front of him, a silent battle of wills playing out in the space between them.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Nate

Nate’s focus remained locked on the man standing ten yards away, directly in front of him. His stance was defensive, his gaze searching the streetscape behind the man, the scorched barricade fifty yards away, the shadowed alleys, the empty shells that had once been stores, the husks of burned cars—desperate to find a way out of their predicament.

A tense quiet filled the air, broken only by the rapid beating of Nate’s heart and the faint sound of footsteps closing in around them. It was a suffocating sound, a heavy weight pressing down on them with each breath. The tension seemed to amplify everything, making it feel as if time had slowed down and each second was drawn out into an eternity as they tipped closer to the precipice.

In his peripheral vision, Nate was acutely aware of the encroaching figures. They moved with a predatory grace, circling Nate and Rosa in a tight, suffocating ring that seemed to shrink with every passing second. The group of men, all armed and masked, continued to bear down on them, their steps deliberate, a silent, menacing dance that echoed the threat in their narrowed eyes.

“Tell your men to get back,” Nate said to the tall man. “I’m serious!”

The man remained silent for a few beats before the skin around his eyes crinkled, as though his mouth—hidden behind the bandana—had twisted into a cruel smile. His handgun still trained on Nate’s chest, the air visibly rippled, as if the very molecules were charged with electricity. Shadows deepened and colors dulled, creating an eerie, otherworldly effect as a thick cloud passed over the already obscured sun, while a strange distant banging, like someone hammering their way through a door, drifted on the cold wind.

Out of the corner of his eye, Nate caught a glimpse of a man with scraggly, pale brown hair leering at Rosa. The man’s intentions were clear in his predatory gaze that swept the length of her body, and Nate’s hold on the rifle tightened, his knuckles turning white. Rosa shifted closer to him, her breath shallow but holding herself tall. A moment later, the circling man lunged forward and grabbed Rosa’s arm, yanking her to him, nails digging into her skin. She cried out in surprise and pain, thrashing to get free, and Nate whirled, leveling his rifle at the man’s head.

The scraggly man’s grip on Rosa tightened, and he pressed his pistol against the side of Rosa’s forehead, stilling her. His bandana had fallen down in the brief scuffle, and revealing yellowed teeth bared in a grotesque smile that never reached his cold, calculating eyes. Rosa’s sharp intake of breath was barely audible over the pounding of Nate’s heart, each beat a thunderous echo in his ears.

“Let go of her,” he shouted.

“Put your gun down, man, before someone gets hurt,” the tall man said to Nate, his tone verging on bored, but Nate didn’t turn to face him.

The others had stopped circling, their movements halted by the undeniable promise of violence in the unfolding situation. Rosa met Nate’s gaze, a silent communication passing between them. She was scared, but she trusted him, her faith tethering them despite the world spinning out of control all around.

The scraggly man grinned at Nate. “You wouldn’t dare risk me blowing the head off your pretty companion,” he taunted.

Nate responded with a hard smile, devoid of humor. “Try me.” His voice was low, a deadly calm that contrasted sharply with the tumultuous rage boiling beneath the surface. “Let her go now and you might live to see another day.”

In that moment, under the frigid Georgia sky, the world seemed to narrow to the point of Nate’s rifle aimed squarely at the man’s grimy, sneering face. His finger hovered over the trigger, a lifeline and a curse all at once. At the same time, the man pincered Rosa’s arm, squeezing hard, and she let out a small whimper. Something primal stirred within Nate, a fierce protectiveness that bordered on insanity. He would kill the man if he hurt Rosa. Kill all of them.

“Come on, bro, you’re just going to get yourself shot,” the tall man said, stepping into Nate’s line of sight. “He just wants to have some fun with her. We’ll take your stuff and we’ll all go on our way. Happy happy.”

Rosa stood completely still, her skin pale under the gray light, while the circle of men shifted again as Nate’s mind raced, frantically searching for options, for any way of getting Rosa to safety. They were outnumbered, outgunned, but not yet defeated. The thought of that man, any of the men, touching her filled him with rage, and the resolve that had carried them that far, through cities and wilderness and the countless trials of a world unmoored, burned inside him.

And then, the unexpected—a gunshot, not from the circle of men, but from just out of sight, the bullet slicing through the air. A man to Nate’s left cried out in pain, clutching his shoulder before he dropped to his knees, and the circle broke. More gunfire rent the air, and confusion reigned as the men dove for cover before returning fire.

Rosa’s sudden movement was a blur as she slammed her head back with all her might, her skull connecting with the man’s nose in a sickening crunch. His howl of pain reached Nate, a primal sound of anguish and surprise, and as his grip loosened, Rosa twisted free, her movements fast and driven by pure instinct.

She hit the ground hard, the impact jarring, but there was no time for pain, no moment to catch her breath. Nate squeezed off a shot, catching the man who’d just been holding Rosa in the chest, his face already painted red from the blood gushing from his nose. Nate’s bullet struck him and he jerked backward, his hands instinctively grabbing at his chest where a dark red stain spread quickly. He stumbled before falling to the ground on his side, the red bloom on his chest growing larger with each passing moment, ragged breaths soon turning into gurgles as blood filled his airways.

“Rosa,” Nate shouted as she scrambled on all fours toward him, her focus singular.

Bullets sliced through the air with a sound like angry wasps, each one a potential end, a shouted threat of death. Concrete chips from the building behind him flew past Nate’s head as his hand closed around Rosa’s arm, before he dragged her to the scant shelter offered by a sedan several yards away.

They huddled together, the car cold and unyielding against their backs as gunshots continued to thunder. Rosa pressed her hands to her ears, her body curled into a tight ball, eyes shut tight, a desperate attempt to block out the reality imploding all around them. Nate dared a glance over the car’s hood, scanning the unfolding battle. A new group had emerged, the air filled with the sound of their gunfire, a relentless barrage that answered the aggression of the other group, who just moments before had been intent on robbing Nate and having their way with Rosa.

As he watched the tall man take a bullet to the shoulder, hope surged through Nate. The arrival of the new group, whoever they were, had shifted the odds, and had given them an opportunity. He reached for Rosa’s hand, coaxing it away from her head, then held it in his own, a silent promise that he would do everything in his power to see them through the situation, to lead them out of harm’s way and back on track to reach her parents.

Nate raised his voice, yelling over the gunshots. “Come on, this is our chance!”

Rosa seemed to have pulled herself together, and she gave him a firm nod to say she was ready, then they sprinted to the next burned-out vehicle along the road. Keeping low, they continued to run away from the warring groups. A bullet ricocheted off a car just as they cleared it, but they didn’t stop.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Nate

Lungs burning, Nate and Rosa raced down an alley and onto a different street, then sprinted through the labyrinth of ruined streets, their breaths ragged, hearts pounding in their chests like frantic drums. The din of gunfire receded with each desperate step until silence, heavy and ominous, enveloped them. They slowed to a stop, sides heaving, adrenaline slowly ebbing. They had made it out alive, if only by the skin of their teeth.

Nate turned to Rosa, searching her face for signs of the fear he’d felt clawing at his own insides when that man had her in his grip, the gun pressed against her head. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. Her body trembled against his, her hands ice cold. He held her tightly, and she buried her face in his neck, her breath warm against his skin, and the world outside their embrace ceased to exist, if only for a moment.

“I’m okay,” she murmured, her voice muffled against his jacket.

But her body told a different story, still shuddering with the aftershocks of their narrow escape. Nate’s arms remained locked around her, his chin resting atop her head. He wanted to believe her, to convince himself that they were both okay, that they’d somehow emerged unscathed, but the weight of the day, the close brush with the unthinkable, hung between them.

Reluctantly, they pulled apart, the cold air wrapping around them once more, a sharp contrast to the warmth they’d found in each other’s arms. Rosa wiped her face with the back of her hand, and Nate was relieved to see a determined glint had returned to her eyes as she surveyed their surroundings. She pulled out the map Jack had drawn, then glanced around once more.

“This way,” she said, her voice steadier now, pointing down a street that bore the scars of the city’s upheaval. “I know where I am. We’re getting close.”

Nate nodded, his hand finding hers, their fingers intertwining instinctively. Together, they continued their journey, the familiarity of the surroundings emboldening Rosa, her steps more assured as they drew nearer to her childhood home. They turned a corner, and there it was—Rosa’s street, the row of houses standing defiantly amid the chaos. Her grip tightened on his hand, a silent plea for strength, and together, they moved forward, each step bringing them closer to what remained of Rosa’s past, and to whatever awaited them at her family home.

A modest bungalow with a low-pitched roof, the house stood between other homes of a similar style, each building on the street marred by the telltale signs of forced entry and hasty fortifications. The once cheerful exterior, which Rosa had described with sweet blue shutters and a neatly tended garden, was a canvas of somber grays and browns, the shutters torn off and windows boarded with mismatched pieces of wood. The front door, reinforced with heavy planks, bore silent witness to the desperation that had swept through the neighborhood.

Rosa led Nate through a gate and down a paved path leading to the backyard, her steps quickening as they walked along the side of the silent house. A stone of dread had settled in Nate’s stomach, but he followed her without a word across the overgrown garden, remnants of a happier time swallowed by weeds and neglect.

Rosa suddenly stopped, her gaze fixed on a solitary wooden cross that stood stark against the encroaching wilderness. The earth around it appeared freshly turned, a dark patch in the otherwise untamed growth. With a hesitant step, she approached, her breath caught in a silent gasp as she traced the hand-written name on the cross—her mother’s. The realization hit her like a physical blow, her body visibly sagging as shock took hold.

Rosa kneeled beside the cross, her fingers gently skimming the delicate roses planted behind it. “These were her favorite,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, laden with a mix of grief and disbelief as the sky overhead churned, gray and moody. “She’d get a new rose plant from my father every year for Christmas. But she always said I was the sweetest rose she’d ever had the pleasure to grow and nurture.”

Rosa’s face, etched with pain and confusion, turned to Nate, seeking something—anything—to anchor her in the swirling storm of her emotions. He offered his hand and pulled her into a tight hug, the strength going out of her legs as she cried against him.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. He held her for another long moment until she seemed able to stand on her own, then slowly released his hold on her.

“I need to see if my dad is inside,” she said, sniffing and dragging a sleeve across her face. “If he made it and went somewhere else, he would have left me a note.”

Nate nodded. “Of course.”

They walked hand-in-hand to the house, and she paused at the back door, picking up a small, unassuming rock nestled among the overgrown shrubs. She flipped the rock over, revealing a hidden compartment underneath, where a key lay nestled within. With a slightly shaking hand, she retrieved the key and inserted it into the back door’s lock, the metal grinding slightly before turning with a satisfying click. The door swung open with a push, creaking softly on its hinges, as if reluctant to reveal the secrets held within.

Stepping over the threshold, Rosa paused, her silhouette framed by the doorway, a mix of determination and vulnerability in her stance. Nate remained close, instinctively readying the rifle as they ventured into the quiet remnants of Rosa’s past. The door led directly into a small alcove off the kitchen where a dining table took up most of the space. Overturned furniture and broken dishes littered the floor, where looters had no doubt made their way through the house.

The dim interior of the house was suffused with an odd, musty smell, a mix of decay and disuse that hung heavy in the air. Nate followed closely as Rosa navigated through the familiar rooms, dust motes shifting in the scant rays of light filtering through the boarded-up windows. Stripped of its warmth and vitality, the house stood as a hollow shell.

As they reached the doorway to her parents’ room, Rosa froze, her hand flying to her mouth. Nate looked over her shoulder into the deathly still room. At the center of the stillness lay her father, propped up in bed, his figure shrunken and frail, the bed sheets stained with dark patches of dried blood. He looked like he was sleeping, his face gaunt, etched with lines of suffering and loss, his hair thinning and flat on his head, while the soft, muted colors of the walls looked on silently at the heartbreak unfolding within. Rosa rushed to his side, dropping to her knees beside the bed, her hands reaching out to gently touch him.

Her voice trembled as she whispered, “Dad, it’s me, Rosa. I’m here.”

Her father’s eyes fluttered open, a glimmer of recognition cutting through the haze of pain. “Rosa,” he breathed, a smile touching his pale lips, “my little girl.”

Nate stood back, a silent observer to their poignant reunion, the rifle forgotten in his hand.

Her father clasped Rosa’s hand with surprising strength, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a tender gesture. “I knew you’d come,” he murmured, his gaze shifting between Rosa and Nate, a flicker of gratitude in his expression for the stranger who had brought his daughter back to him in his final hours.

Her father’s eyes, though dimmed by pain, sparkled with an unspoken pride as he returned his gaze to Rosa. “To see you safe, that’s all I needed,” he rasped, each word a struggle.

Rosa introduced Nate and her father’s gaze lingered on him, before offering a silent nod.

“What happened here, Dad?” Rosa’s voice cracked as she took in the sheet he’d used to bandage his abdomen. “What happened to Mom?”

His breath was shallow, each word laced with effort. “They came in the night, took everything.” A pained sigh escaped him. “Your mother...” His voice trailed off, the unsaid words crushing in their weight. “I buried her beside the roses then dragged myself back in here. I’ve been holding on—for what I didn’t know. But now I know it was for you.”

Rosa’s eyes filled with tears. “We can get help, we’ll find a doctor,” she said, desperation edging her words.

But her father shook his head weakly, his grip on her hand tightening for a moment. “No, Rosa. It’s too late for me. But seeing you, knowing you’re safe. That's all I needed.”

Her father looked at her, his gaze filled with a silent acceptance of his fate, a resignation that stilled Rosa’s frantic plans to find help. Nate swallowed hard. Even if it hadn’t been too late, there was no help to find, no hospitals, no ambulance, no emergency room to rush him to.

Rosa leaned closer, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Dad. I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I’m sorry I went to Mexico.”

He mustered a faint smile, his voice a mere whisper. “You lived, Rosa. You followed your dreams. That’s all we ever wanted for you.”

“I always thought you were so disappointed in me.”

“Your dreams were always yours to chase,” he whispered, a lifetime of love and understanding in those few words.

As tears blurred her vision, Rosa nestled close to him, crawling onto the bed and seeking the comfort of his presence, a child once more in the face of overwhelming loss. His ragged breathing softened to a gentle cadence, like the quiet ebb of a distant tide, while the room, filled with the tangible weight of impending loss, seemed to hold its breath as time stretched and contracted around them.

As the afternoon sun shifted, casting long shadows across the room through the narrow gaps between boards, her father’s eyes grew distant. A serene expression settled over his weathered features, the creases of pain smoothing into peaceful resignation. His grip on her hand eased as the strength ebbed from his fingers.

Rosa leaned closer, her tears falling freely, and she whispered words of love and gratitude, a gentle litany that filled the space between them with warmth and solace. In the stillness that followed, her father’s chest rose with one final, shallow breath and then he exhaled for the last time, his spirit releasing into the quiet, leaving behind all his pain and struggles.

In those last moments, the world narrowed to the small, dim room, to the scene of a daughter saying her final goodbye to her father. And Nate, standing solemnly by, bore witness to the timeless dance of loss and grief as the sun shifted lower in the overcast sky.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Nate

In the gray wash of the afternoon, Rosa perched on the edge of the worn sofa in the living room of her family home, her figure shrouded in the dim light that seeped through the boarded-up windows. The silence of the house was oppressive, and Nate lingered in the doorway, watching her. They’d just finished burying her father beside where her mother lay, and he wanted to reach out, to offer some semblance of comfort, but the space between them was filled with the intangible weight of her loss.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” he said, before stepping out into the chill of the backyard. “I’m just outside if you need me.”

He gathered a handful of dry twigs and leaves, his movements mechanical as he set about lighting a small fire. The flickering flames soon cast a soft glow, cutting through the afternoon’s dim light. He filled their battered pot with water, setting it over the fire, watching as it slowly came to a boil. Then he steeped their final tea bag, an Earl Gray they’d found in the back of a pantry in one of the many houses they’d scavenged from, the aroma bitter-sweet in the crisp air.

Returning to Rosa, he handed her the steaming cup. She looked up as she accepted the mug of steaming black tea. “I can’t stay here, Nate,” she whispered, her voice barely carrying across the room. “There’s nothing left for me now.”

Nate nodded—the house felt more like a tomb than a home, a shell holding the remnants of a past too painful to cling to. But his head was heavy with guilt. He had longed for her company on the remainder of his journey, hoping for her steady presence as he faced Sarah and Mia, but their reality was a stark contrast to that which he’d imagined, marred by loss and overshadowed by grief, her parents’ deaths a somber backdrop to their togetherness.

“We’ll go as soon as you’re ready,” he assured her, pushing down his own feelings. His job was to be there for her and support her in whatever way she needed.

He packed their few belongings and did a quick walk through of the house to see if there was anything useful they should bring with them, but the looters who’d killed Rosa’s mother and wounded her father had taken anything of worth. He paused in her parents’ room, taking a small framed photo of Rosa as a child, her smiling parents staring at her as the three of them posed on a long wooden jetty, the cerulean sea stretching out behind them.

Life was just unfair, sometimes. Her parents had doted on her by all accounts, had put all their energy into raising their beautiful, spirited, red-haired daughter. And then circumstances had snatched them cruelly away, while Nate’s own father was probably still alive somewhere, a man who’d neglected his own family and used any excuse to be away on a work trip, to avoid his responsibilities.

With a sinking sensation, Nate realized that analogy applied to him, too. He was still alive, walking, talking, breathing... His relationship with Sarah had been the closest he’d come to considering a settled life, and in some twisted way, walking out on her and Mia had been his way of trying to protect them from himself. He didn’t know how to be a father, and he’d made the worst mistake of his life... but there he was. By fate or luck or divine intervention, he’d somehow been given a second chance.

With the photograph in one hand, he vowed not to waste it, to do everything in his power to make it up to Mia when he finally got to Asheville. He returned to Rosa and held the photograph out to her. She looked at it for a long time, slowly tracing the shape of her mom and dad’s faces, before tucking it into her backpack.

“Are you ready?”

She nodded, and he reached out his hand to her. She stood, and for a brief moment their weights were perfectly balanced, a counterpoint of love and support that flowed through Nate and into Rosa. He pulled her into a quick hug, kissing the side of her head, then they shouldered their backpacks, Nate taking the rifle in his other hand.

As they stepped outside, Rosa paused to lay a single red rose between her parents’ graves, then they walked hand in hand onto the street, the afternoon light casting long shadows across the overgrown yard, the world outside the house a stark landscape of abandonment and decay.

“I don’t want to stay in the city tonight,” she said. “If it’s okay with you, let’s keep walking until we get to the motorcycle.”

“We’ll need to be careful,” he replied. “It’s going to be dark in a few hours. But I understand.”

The city around them whispered terrible tales as they made their way through the silent streets, the fading light painting the looted buildings and debris-strewn streets in hues of gold and brown. Abandoned vehicles lay across their path, anything of value stripped and taken weeks ago, some charred by fires that had raged unchecked, smoldering in the distance and sending plumes of smoke into the bruised sky.

The occasional crack of gunfire punctuated the air and as night fell, survivors moved like shadows among the ruins. Nate and Rosa moved more carefully than before, wary and ready just in case. A band of teenagers, their youth masked by the hard set of their jaws, rummaged through a convenience store. One girl, with her hair pulled back tightly, stood watch at the door, a baseball bat gripped firmly in her hands, her eyes darting nervously at every sound. She spotted Nate and Rosa and stared at them as they walked past, not blinking, her entire body rigid and ready.

They went under the overpass where they’d briefly sheltered previously, spotting a solitary figure shuffling along the side of the street, his movements slow and labored. Clad in a mismatched array of clothing, he pushed a shopping cart filled with cans, bottles, and the occasional glint of something metallic. His wary gaze lifted as Nate and Rosa passed, a silent nod exchanged between them.

Near an intersection where the remnants of a barricade lay scattered, a small family picked their way cautiously through an already looted fast-food restaurant, no doubt searching for any supplies that had been overlooked. The woman, clutching a child to her chest, whispered urgently to the man, who scanned Nate and Rosa with grim determination, briefly raising his handgun but lowering it when they continued without slowing. The child’s face peeked over the woman’s shoulder, her expression filled with confusion and fear, too young to understand the rules of survival.

No sooner had Nate and Rosa passed the wary family than the tense silence was shattered by a fierce gunfight erupting just a block away. The sudden cacophony of gunfire was startling, bullets ricocheting off concrete and brick, sparking fear and chaos in an instant. Nate’s head whipped around to the source of the gunfire, his instincts kicking in.

Without hesitation, he shouted to the family, “Run! Get out of here!”

His voice was urgent, commanding, cutting through the panic that threatened to paralyze. He waited until the family started moving, then grabbed Rosa’s hand with a grip that brooked no argument, propelling them both into a desperate sprint, away from the violence that had erupted so close to them. Their feet pounded against the cracked pavement, the sounds of their flight mingling with the continuing gunfire, as they sought safety in the maze of the city’s streets and alleys.

As they neared the suburban area on the outskirts of the city where they’d left their motorcycle, the sun dipped below the horizon, the city swallowed by darkness, shadows deepening in the corners. Nate and Rosa pressed on, their steps quick and silent, guided by the faint glow of the moon that broke through the cloud cover. Streetlamps, long dead, stretched overhead like skeletal fingers.

Finally, they reached the garage where they had hidden the motorcycle. Nate lifted the garage door, the metal screeching softly in protest, and the dim moonlight filtered in. His heart skipped a beat when his eyes found the motorcycle, tucked away beneath the oil-stained sheet and pieces of debris, just as they had left it. Relief washed over him, a quiet victory in a world where nothing could be taken for granted.

Rosa stepped in beside him and together they uncovered the motorcycle, their movements synchronized in the quiet of the garage. With a shared glance, it was time to leave the shadows and grief of Augusta behind, to venture onto the uncertain road ahead.

A moment later, the motorcycle roared to life, its sound a defiant cry against the silence of the night. They set off through the darkness toward the promise of a new dawn, leaving the city and its ghosts behind, the open road a ribbon of possibility stretching out into the distance.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Sarah

Morning broke as Sarah made her way into the kitchen, the familiar scents of black tea and freshly baked bread comforting in the early chill. June was already there, a steaming mug in hand, lost in thought over a spread of papers that littered the kitchen table—annotated maps, notes from the meetings with community leaders that had been held the day before, endless lists.

Sparky lifted her head as Sarah poured herself a mug of tea and added a splash of milk, before helping herself to bread and jam. The dog’s tail thumped briefly against the cool floor tiles before giving a soft huff and nestling her head back onto her paws, succumbing once more to sleep.

“Morning, June,” Sarah said as she took a seat at the kitchen table.

June looked up, a smile breaking through her preoccupied expression. “Morning, Sarah. Sleep well?”

“Like a log,” Sarah replied, blowing on the surface of her tea before taking a tentative sip. “Looks like you’re up to something important?”

June sighed, pushing the papers aside. “Just going over some notes before the meeting with the sheriff and the other leaders. They’re heading back home today, and there’s a lot to finalize.”

“The Barter Fair was a hit, wasn’t it?” Sarah remarked, spreading some jam on the bread June had baked.

“It really was,” June agreed, her eyes lighting up at the memory. “We’re planning a second one in a few days. You know, I’ve been thinking—I’d like to share some of my teaching resources with the other communities. It would be nice if we could get a couple more schools going in the area and bring the kids together once the militia is dealt with.”

There was a brief pause, a hiccup as they both resisted the urge to push back on June’s glossing over of the threat posed by the militia. There was no way they’d just deal with the militia once they made their move, but sometimes it was nice to just put their heads in the sand, and as each day passed without any movement from the militia, Sarah’s dread at the impending attack as well as her hope that the worst had passed grew in equal measure.

Sarah refocused on June’s suggestion about the school, impressed as always by her dear friend’s ever-giving nature. “That’s a great idea, June. Routine and normalcy is great for the kids, and we need to keep focused on the future. Things won’t always be this bad.”

June smiled, then stood and put her papers in a pile before giving Sarah’s shoulder a quick squeeze. “I’m going to head down to the community center. I’ll catch up with you later.”

In a move that surprised Sarah, June leaned down and kissed the side of her head, before turning, the sound of her footsteps receding until the front door closed behind her.

June’s departure from the kitchen left a brief hush, the kind that seems to hover, a fleeting stillness, quickly shattered by the sound of footsteps thundering down the stairs. Mia appeared first, closely followed by the twins. Jeremy, Tony, and Harry followed behind, filling the room with vibrant life.

The kitchen transformed into a whirlwind of activity as Sarah took the helm, wielding a bread knife as she sliced the golden crusty loaf, still warm, each piece a promise of the simple comforts of home, while ruby-red jam glistened as she spread it generously over each slice, the sweet, tangy aroma filling the air.

Mugs of tea, sweetened for the kids with a little sugar, made the rounds, the steam curling and twisting into the chilly air. The chaos, with its symphony of requests for more jam, please and the clink of cutlery, was a kind of music to Sarah’s ears, a melody of community and care that she wouldn’t trade for the world.

In the midst of the breakfast bustle, Sarah caught Mia’s eye, and as Mia drained the last of her mug, they stepped together into the living room, sinking into the lumpy sofa side-by-side. Sarah had been making an effort to connect with Mia before their days got underway, their chats a patchwork of the mundane and meaningful, the kind of talk that stitched the fabric of relationships tighter with each word. It was a precious interlude, grounding Sarah in the midst of the excitement over their visitors and the constant push and pull of survival.

As their conversation came to a natural close and Sarah readied herself to say goodbye, Mia turned to her, her young eyes reflecting a mix of curiosity and concern. “Mom, do you think the militia will attack today?” she asked, her voice small but serious.

Sarah’s chest constricted at the question, hating that Mia had to worry about such things. She reached out, taking Mia’s hand in hers, offering a squeeze of reassurance. “I don’t think so,” she replied, her tone soothing. “But even if they do, we won’t be taken by surprise again. We’ve got good people keeping watch, and we’re all looking out for each other. And our new friends from the other communities are going to help keep us safe, too.”

Mia nodded, but the crease of worry between her brows remained. Sensing her daughter’s need for further comfort, Sarah continued, “Remember the evacuation drill we practiced yesterday? We all know what to do if anything happens, right? We’ve gone over it so many times you could do it in your sleep.”

“Yeah,” Mia responded, a hint of relief creeping into her voice. “We all meet at Miss Jenny’s house, and everyone has a job to do.”

“That’s right,” Sarah replied, her words wrapping around Mia like a warm embrace. “We’ve planned and prepared for every possibility, Mia. It’s important to be ready and careful, but it’s just as important to enjoy the good moments, like the Barter Fair yesterday.”

Mia’s grip on Sarah’s hand tightened for a moment, and the shadow in her gray eyes gradually lifted. Sarah pulled her into a quick hug, then softly kissed her cheek goodbye. Every little moment had grown to have so much significance since the banking disaster unraveled everything, when they could no longer take tomorrow for granted, and she held Mia a moment longer before letting go.

As Sarah stepped out into the crisp morning air, the gentle rustle of leaves underfoot, Tex emerged from the house he shared with Sarah’s father next door, his stride confident yet relaxed. Their paths converged naturally, and they both nodded and smiled, a silent agreement to share the walk to the community center.

“Morning, m’lady,” he said with a tilt of his head as they met on the street.

“Good morning, Tex. How is Rusty today?”

“Still limping around, but you know your dad. He’s treating Rusty like he’s Daniel’s own flesh and blood. He’d feed that dog with a baby bottle if it would make him feel better.”

“I’m surprised he hasn’t already done that,” Sarah replied.

“You know,” Tex said, a playful challenge in his tone, “enough about your dad, as much as I love him. I bet I can make you laugh with just one word.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow as they continued walking side by side in the middle of the road. “Oh, really? And what word might that be?”

Tex leaned in, a conspiratorial smile playing on his lips. “Snickerdoodle.”

Sarah couldn’t help it. Laughter bubbled up from deep within, genuine and unguarded. “That’s so ridiculous,” she said. “Fine. You win. You made me laugh with one word. Alright, my turn. What do you call a fake noodle?”

Tex used one hand to push the dark hair out of his eyes, his boots crunching the fall leaves that littered the road. “I don’t know, what?”

“An impasta!” Sarah replied.

“That was truly awful,” Tex said, rolling his eyes before returning his gaze to her face.

As he stared at her, his expression shifted, the playfulness giving way to something deeper, more earnest. He reached for her hand, his touch light yet full of intent, leading her to the seclusion offered by an ancient oak growing by the side of the road on someone’s front yard. The tree stood like a sentinel, its branches bare above them, the house behind dark.

“Sarah,” Tex said, his voice soft, the mischievous twinkle replaced by a warmth that sent ripples through her.

The air between them thickened with anticipation, the rest of the world receding as if granting them a brief moment of privacy. Sarah found herself caught in the depth of Tex’s gaze, the question in his eyes clear even before he voiced it.

“May I kiss you?” he asked, the words a gentle offering between them.

Sarah’s heart skipped, the vulnerability in Tex’s request laying bare the depth of his feelings. “Yes,” she whispered back.

Their kiss was a meeting of souls, a tender exploration that spoke volumes in the silence of their embrace. It was a moment suspended in time, a declaration made not with grand gestures but in the quiet simplicity of their touch. They eventually stepped apart, and the world around them slowly came back into focus, the distant sounds of the settlement a reminder of the life that pulsed around them, that they had places to go and people to see.

“Thanks,” he whispered, kissing the back of her hand. “That’s just what I needed to start my day.”

“Me too,” she replied, her head still spinning a little.

They walked side by side once more, their kiss lingering, a shared secret, a promise of what could be, even in the middle of everything else going on. Sarah’s thoughts drifted to June’s cautionary words about the luxury of love in a time of survival. But the flutter in her chest, the undeniable pull toward Tex, convinced her of the fallacy in that belief. Love was not a luxury but a necessity, as important as food and shelter.

But Mia’s wellbeing cast a long shadow over her newfound happiness. “We need to be careful,” Sarah found herself saying, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions coursing through her. “Mia’s been through so much. We can’t rush this.”

Tex nodded, his expression serious, the weight of her words not lost on him. “I understand. We’ll take it slow,” he promised.

As they approached the community center, the atmosphere was lively, despite the early hour of the morning. Tex spotted Elara sitting at one of the tables that had been dragged out onto the street yesterday, eating breakfast with a few others from her settlement. Other visitors sat at different tables, all sharing a meal prepared by Asheville volunteers.

“Elara, there you are!” Tex called out, his warm voice carrying across the space.

“Tex,” she acknowledged, a tight smile touching her lips. As Elara’s eyes shifted to Sarah, any warmth in her expression evaporated. “Sarah.”

Her tone was still polite but noticeably cooler, as if each word were measured and weighed before being spoken. Sarah managed a tentative smile, the undercurrent of tension prickling at her skin, a wedge of annoyance settling in her stomach. She’d never done anything to offend Elara. Maybe Tex’s sister thought she just wasn’t good enough for him.

“Elara, it’s good to see you,” Sarah said, hoping to bridge the gap with courtesy. “I hope you slept well and are enjoying the Asheville hospitality.

Elara offered a nod, her response clipped. “Indeed.” Her gaze quickly moved back to her brother. “Enjoy the morning, Tex. I think there are some informal events happening you can amuse yourself with. I’ll be busy in the leaders meeting.”

Sarah tried to catch Tex’s eye, but he seemed oblivious.

“Look, I’ll leave you two to catch up,” Sarah said, pausing to put a lingering, deliberate kiss on Tex’s lips, glancing at Elara out of the corner of her eye, the other woman bristling. She spoke in a low voice to Tex, unable to resist stirring the pot. “Let’s get together later, maybe just the two of us. I can help you amuse yourself.”

Without looking back, she walked the short distance to the community center and stepped inside, where the atmosphere was charged with a different kind of intensity. June and the sheriff stood against one wall, their heads bowed in what appeared to be a deep and serious discussion. Sarah thought it might be a personal matter, but Officer Mitchell joined them a moment later, looking equally bothered.

June noticed Sarah and beckoned her closer. As Sarah drew near, the focus of their concern became apparent: the sheriff was holding a weathered rock in one hand, and a creased piece of paper in the other.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Sarah

In the aftermath of the Barter Fair, tables still filled the community center. A handful of volunteers moved among them, their movements methodical as they began the process of cleaning up, a couple wielding brooms, another with a garbage bag while several with mops trailed behind, their conversation and occasional shouts to one another echoing in the vast room.

Standing by the side wall, the sheriff turned a small, unremarkable rock over in one hand, a crumpled piece of paper in the other. His expression, often unreadable, hinted at the gravity of the words hidden within the note’s folds, and June and Officer Mitchell both stared at the sheriff, as though waiting for him to offer an opinion. Sarah raised one eyebrow in question.

The sheriff met her eyes briefly before setting the rock on a nearby table and laying the note flat, his fingers working to smooth out the creases. Sarah moved closer, taking in the hastily penned message, instantly recognizable as Lucas’ handwriting.

“That’s from Lucas,” he said, nodding at the note on the table. His voice was full of caution, the underlying tension clear. “Claims he wants to give you and June the rest of Eddie’s supplies. I’m not buying it, though. Feels too much like a trap to me. I think we toss this in the trash can and move on with our day.”

Officer Mitchell shifted his weight, frowning. “And what’s this about forgiving him?” he asked, his gaze sharp as he looked between June and Sarah. The hostility both men felt toward Lucas rolled off them in waves. “You reckon this is him feeling guilty about that fire he set? Or something else?”

The air between them grew heavy, laden with words unsaid and lingering grief over Victor’s death. What Sarah suspected was the truth about Lucas’ apology filled her mouth, making her throat ache and her lips parched—the note wasn’t about arson; it was a veiled confession of a much darker deed. She glanced at June, whose jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, and a silent agreement passed between them, a decision to hold their suspicions close, at least for the moment.

“Yes, you’re probably right, Officer Mitchell,” June said. “I’m sure he regrets burning that house down. And for the record, I don’t believe it’s a trap, and we shouldn’t wait too long to retrieve those supplies, otherwise someone else might stumble over them.” She stood with her arms folded across her chest, her voice cutting through the ambient noise. “Whatever Lucas has done in the past, he wouldn’t set a trap for me and Sarah. We’ve all been friends for a long time, and I know this for certain.”

Sarah nodded along beside June, although she wasn’t quite as confident as June. The Lucas who’d set fire to his own home, the paranoid, delusional man she’d not seen in weeks, the one she suspected of shooting Victor, was almost unrecognizable from the man she’d once known, the man she had once considered as close to her as a brother.

“It’s not a good idea, June,” the sheriff replied. “We need to think about appearances. How’s it going to look if you just head off on a wild goose chase right before we are about to meet with the other leaders? We’re trying to project a certain confidence at the moment so everyone is on the same page.”

“We need to go and check it out,” June said. “I’ll make sure we’re back before the leaders convene. We’ll take the motorcycles and I won’t miss that meeting. You don’t need to worry.”

The sheriff hesitated, perhaps realizing that permission wasn’t his to give. His gaze shifted from June to Sarah and back again, the internal battle evident in his furrowed brow, before he gave them a curt nod and handed over the note.

“Thank you, Sheriff,” Sarah said as June pivoted and marched off between the tables. “We’ll be back soon.”

A short time later, they were ready to go, and June revved the engine of her motorcycle, the low growl breaking the morning’s quiet as Sarah mounted her own bike, the weight of the rifle slung across her back a constant reminder of the potential danger ahead. Elara watched silently from where she sat at the outside table, but Sarah paid her no heed.

They passed the familiar checkpoint at the barricade, where those on watch nodded and waved in greeting, before the ruined streetscape unfurled in front of them, a tapestry of looted homes interspersed with the remnants of a world long gone—family-sized SUVs abandoned on the road, sodden clothes and debris blocking storm water drains, all surrounded by scorched walls and broken windows.

A few blocks from the settlement they encountered a patrol group on bicycles, all armed with rifles. June and Sarah slowed, acknowledging the patrol with a wave, while the group returned the gesture, several of the patrol members looking confused to see Sarah and June outside the barricade. But June sped up again and Sarah followed her, the exchange brief as they pressed on, not wanting to offer an explanation for their unusual trip.

They traversed the lonely streets, both watchful for any sign of trouble, and the warehouse identified by Lucas soon appeared on the street up ahead, tall and abandoned, its windows shattered and boarded up. Sarah slowed, her gaze roaming the building. The winter sun cast pale light on the concrete walls, highlighting the rusted metal doors, the surrounding streets empty and desolate, littered with debris and signs of looting.

They circled around to the back of the warehouse and killed the engines, the sudden silence broken only by the occasional gust of icy wind whistling through the broken, boarded-up windows and rustling through scattered debris. A creaking sound could be heard as the old warehouse shifted. All of a sudden, Sarah’s heart was beating like a caged bird against her ribcage, adrenaline coursing through her, the grip on her rifle tightening as the reality of their mission settled in.

As they moved carefully toward the back door, her mind raced, the sheriff’s words echoing in her thoughts. “What if it is a trap?” she asked, her voice barely audible. “I mean, it’s not like Lucas has been himself lately.”

June cast her a look, her gaze steady. “Then we deal with it,” she replied, her tone carrying a quiet confidence that did little to ease the knot of fear in Sarah’s stomach.

The warehouse door creaked ominously as June nudged it open, before stepping into the cavernous gloom. Sarah followed, the stale air inside thick with dust motes, the sudden current of fresh air flowing through the open door making the motes twist and spin in the shafts of light that pierced the darkness. They both continued into the warehouse, the sound of their boots on the concrete floor echoing back at them, as if the very building were warning them not to enter.

“Come on,” June said, her voice filled with enough bravery for the two of them, and they continued side by side, rifles raised as they walked between rows of empty shelves.

They kept going until they reached the right-hand side of the warehouse and gradually lowered their rifles when it was clear they were alone. The vast space, with its towering shelves and shadowed corners, seemed deserted, a mausoleum of forgotten things rather than a trap.

“Oh, June. Look.”

Sarah pointed to the remnants of a pitiful camp in the corner, her chest tightening with a surprising surge of emotion. A sleeping nook sat beside an old filing cabinet that had been used as a table, with footprints in the dust showing the route Lucas had walked around the lonely space. And worst of all, Lucas’ guitar, his most beloved possession, sat alone, leaning against the wall.

Sarah forced herself away from the sight, and they found the stockpile tucked away in a corner, just where Lucas said it would be. Eddie’s ledger lay wedged in between two crates, its leather cover worn and faded, the pages filled with Eddie’s cryptic clues and subsequent pages detailing the supplies Lucas had already unearthed. June soon found a folded map with the remaining buried stockpiles neatly marked—there were still dozens of caches buried around Asheville.

June flipped the ledger open, her finger tracing the lines of text written in Eddie’s hand. “Bless Eddie. He was thorough,” she murmured, more to herself than to Sarah, before glancing up. “Remember that day in the coffee shop he tried to warn us? He thought the entire digital banking system, including the FedCoin, was so risky.”

“I wish we’d listened to him.”

“Hindsight is 20/20.”

Sarah peered over June’s shoulder, taking in the neat lists in Lucas’ handwriting, then shook her head. “Where has Lucas gone? He left all this behind. What’s his plan? He’s not thinking rationally about anything right now.”

The question lingered between them, laden with concern and an underlying fear for what might have happened to their friend.

June shook her head slowly. “I wish I had an answer, I really do. Come on, let’s go through this stuff so we can get back.”

They began to sift through the supplies: cans and packets of food, medical kits, blankets, all manner of camping equipment, heirloom seeds, solar chargers, and a vast cache of weapons and ammunition. June paused, her gaze returning to the ledger’s pages before glancing up at Sarah.

“This is more than just supplies. It’s a plan, a lifeline he left for us,” she said. “I wish Lucas had stayed so we could try to talk some sense into him.”

Sarah leaned against a nearby crate. “Do you think we’ll ever see him again?” she asked. “After what happened to Victor. It feels like there’s no coming back from that.”

June closed the ledger, her expression contemplative. “I don’t know. But to be honest,” she gestured to the stockpile around them, “this feels like a goodbye.”

The finality of the word echoed off the warehouse walls. Goodbye. Sarah’s throat grew tight at the thought, the possibility of Lucas alone and adrift, never seeing him again, too much to bear.

“We should look for him,” Sarah said, the determination in her voice belying the fear that knotted her stomach. She walked over to Lucas’ guitar and picked it up. “He might need our help.”

June shook her head. “There’s no way we’ll get through to him. And even if we did, if what we think is true, if he really… shot Victor, none of us can move past that. You said that yourself.”

“I just— I can’t shake the feeling that he’s out there, somewhere, thinking he’s got no one left to turn to.”

June moved closer, wrapping an arm around Sarah’s shoulders in a comforting embrace. “Hey, we’re a family, right? We’ll figure this out together. If there’s any way we can help Lucas, we’ll do it.”

Sarah leaned into the hug, the warmth of June’s presence a small comfort against the cold uncertainty of the situation. In the quiet of the warehouse, surrounded by the remnants of Lucas’ last act of care, they stood together a moment longer, a united front against the unknown. They may have lost Lucas, but at least they had each other.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

June

Outside the bustling community center, June addressed the group who’d gathered to help bring back Eddie’s supplies. Around them, the morning was alive with activity, the air filled with the murmur of voices and occasional laughter as Asheville residents involved their guests in the day-to-day activities that kept the community running.

“I can’t thank you all enough,” June said as she scanned the familiar faces, her gaze landing on Jeremy, Tony and then Daniel. “Sarah is waiting at the warehouse to guard the supplies, and obviously, we need to bring everything back as soon as possible. We’ve gathered as many bike trailers as we can, but it might take two trips.”

She glanced at the dozen or so bicycles standing a short distance away on the side of the road, ready for the volunteers. They’d almost all been scavenged from around town, and each was hooked up to a bike trailer that had likely once been used to transport children or haul groceries.

Jeremy, his gaze sharp and inquisitive, stepped forward, the crowd parting slightly for him as he fixed his eyes on June. “Why did Lucas leave all those supplies behind? What’s making him run?” The group fell silent, Jeremy’s questions expanding to fill the quiet. Before June could respond, he continued. “The likelihood of him leaving all the supplies behind for benevolent reasons, considering his isolation from the rest of the community and obvious disregard for us, is low. I don’t like this.”

Elara had been standing close by, and she edged closer at Jeremy’s words. “Yes, what exactly is in this stockpile?” Her tone was casual but laced with an undercurrent of keen interest. “You mentioned food earlier. If this guy is unstable, which several of your people have confirmed to me, he could have poisoned the supplies or something.”

Elara’s gaze lingered on June, who tried not to bristle—diplomacy was more important than ever. The gathered crowd’s attention had shifted, everyone looking at June, the air charged with silent anticipation as they waited for her response.

“Lucas was a personal friend of mine,” June said after a brief pause as she gathered her thoughts. “I’m confident the food supplies haven’t been tampered with.”

“But June⁠—”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Lucas has lost it. I’m with Jeremy. I don’t like this.”

A barrage of comments raced toward June, but movement caught her eye. Tex, usually the embodiment of calm, paced at the edge of the assembled volunteers, his gaze fixed on the road leading out of Asheville.

“You’re going to have to trust me on this,” June said, raising her hands in a placating gesture. “And anyone who isn’t comfortable does not need to eat the food supplies we bring back.”

The questions started again, but June shook her head. “Alright people, we’ve talked enough. It’s time to get moving.” She clapped her hands together a couple of times and the volunteers fell silent.

“Come on, let’s not waste any more time,” Tex urged, his voice carrying an edge of impatience. “Sarah’s out there by herself, and I don’t like it.”

June nodded her agreement. Sarah had stayed at the warehouse to guard the supplies, and she didn’t like leaving Sarah there alone anymore than Tex did. As the others broke away, Daniel headed toward her, a smile on his face like seeing June was the absolute best part of his day.

“Where are Aria and Bailey?” she asked, returning the smile.

“I left the dogs at home today,” he replied. “I didn’t want to leave Rusty all alone for too long.”

“Good idea. He’s just a big baby, you know.” She grinned to let Daniel know she was joking.

“He may be a baby, but he’s my baby,” Daniel replied, also grinning. June reached for a box of ammunition and passed it to him, a surge of heat shooting through her as their fingers touched, the brief contact sending an unexpected wave of warmth up her arm and through her chest. She quickly withdrew her hand, a faint blush coloring her cheeks, but not before catching Daniel’s eyes and seeing a hint of desire there.

The sheriff’s voice cut through the zinging atmosphere, his tone laced with frustration. “June, we don’t have all day,” he barked from where he stood in the doorway to the community center.

June glanced around, noting that Elara had slipped inside already, then met the sheriff’s gaze with a composed expression. “The group is almost ready,” she assured him, aware of Daniel moving away in her peripheral vision. “I’m just making sure everything’s in order. I’ll only be another minute or two.”

The sheriff scanned the group, his eyes lingering on Daniel before shifting to the rifles being checked and double-checked. With a curt nod, he stepped back, the door closing behind him, allowing June a few more begrudging minutes to oversee the group’s preparations.

“Remember, stay sharp and stick together,” June said, her voice firm, cutting through the chatter with the authority she wore so naturally. “You’re in and out as quickly as possible.”

The group nodded, their faces set in determined lines as they shouldered their packs and checked their weapons one final time, before mounting their bikes and setting off. June watched a moment longer, the line of bicycles and brightly colored wagons making their way toward the barricade, before turning to the community center, her mind already switching gears.

She pushed the door open and stepped inside, the buzz of the Barter Fair yesterday giving way to a more strategic hush. At the far corner, in the sheriff’s command center, the new council had convened. Elara was deep in conversation with Thomas Hashman, his broad shoulders squared as if ready to bear the weight of their decisions. Beside him sat Marianne Evans, her slight frame dwarfed by the bigger man, a fringe of dark hair casting a shadow over her eyes. Jasper Hill sat beside her, his lean, restless energy seeming to mirror his constant vigilance over safety concerns.

The sheriff, Officer Mitchell, and Mr. Darrow, whose grief had settled into a quiet resolve, completed the circle. Their discussion, already underway, was punctuated by the scratch of pencils on paper and the occasional murmur of agreement or dissent. June approached, her presence acknowledged with nods and a slight rearrangement of chairs to welcome her into the fold.

“We’re discussing the logistics of our communities banding together,” Elara said, her gaze sharp and tone cold.

“Thanks for filling me in,” June replied, opening a notebook and picking up a pen to take notes.

The conversation turned to the concept of early warning systems, a network of signals and scouts that could provide advance notice of any militia movement. Ideas were volleyed back and forth, each contribution refining the plan into something feasible.

The sheriff cleared his throat. “Why not move everyone to Asheville for the time being?”

June looked up in surprise at his bold proposal.

“We have the infrastructure to house everyone, and together, we stand a stronger chance, especially if the militia manages to take us by surprise again.”

“That’s just not feasible, Sheriff Hayes. Our communities need us,” Thomas countered, his voice firm. “We can’t just uproot and leave. Our farms, our homes—it’s not just land; it’s our life’s work. And if we leave to protect your home, we leave ours vulnerable.”

Marianne and Jasper echoed his sentiments, the very thought of abandoning their communities unthinkable. The discussion seemed to hit an impasse until June leaned forward.

“What if you all have volunteers on standby?” she proposed. “Ready to converge on Asheville at the first sign of trouble. And each of you sends a handful of people to stay in Asheville for a short period to assist in patrol and scouting missions.”

The idea took root, a middle ground that honored both the need for immediate action and the ties that bound them to their respective homes, and June made a note of the agreement in the minutes. As she finished her notes, the conversation shifted, the table already cluttered with maps, their edges worn from frequent use, fingers tracing over roads, rivers, and landmarks, pinpointing strategic locations.

“Here,” Jasper said, tapping a spot on the map, “and here are our best choke points. If we fortify these positions, we might be able to control their movements if they make a move to attack the settlement.”

“That’s the most obvious route for them to take if they attack, but there’s no guarantee they will take that route.” Elara shook her head. “They already evaded Asheville’s scouts once. We need to throw out all of our assumptions about this group.”

Marianne leaned in, her finger gliding to a different area. “That’s true, in which case we need clear escape routes from the settlement. Routes that are quick and that lead back to a safe rendezvous point. We all agree that preserving lives is more important than resources.”

“Of course,” replied the sheriff, his jaw tightening. “But I’m not prepared to just roll over and give them whatever they want.”

“That goes without saying,” Elara said coolly. “Which is why we’re all here. So let’s get back to the task at hand.”

As they debated the merits of each route and position, the room’s atmosphere was one of focused intensity, each leader contributing their knowledge to the collective strategy until the discussion was interrupted by the sound of the door swinging open and footsteps rapidly approaching. A woman from the scouting group, her boots dusty from the road, approached the council with an urgency that drew all eyes to her. Short, blond hair topped a determined expression, her face flushed from exertion and eyes sharp, scanning each face as she approached the council.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said, stopping beside the sheriff.

“Linda,” the sheriff said with a nod. “Is there any news to report?”

“We’ve just returned from our shift. We spotted increased activity at the camp, but no move to mobilize yet.”

The room absorbed the news, the tension momentarily abating as they considered the implications.

“What do you mean by increased activity?” asked Jasper.

Standing with the poise of someone who’d seen more than her share of trouble, Linda glanced at Jasper. “We observed more structured training drills than before. It’s not just random exercises; there’s a pattern, a discipline to it now, like they’re gearing up for something.”

“Training drills? What are we talking about here?” Thomas leaned forward.

“They’re practicing in small units, it looks like. And there’s been some cataloging and packing of supplies and items they scavenged from Fairview, too—ammunition, food rations. It’s like they’re preparing for something.”

Elara looked up at the ceiling, as though thinking. “Packing and cataloging supplies could mean they’re gearing up for movement or ensuring they can hold their position for a longer period. Did you see any indication of which it might be?”

Linda shook her head, her expression grim. “It’s hard to say for certain. But the level of movement and activity suggests they’re not planning on staying put. They’re getting ready for something else.”

“Do we have a more accurate estimate on their numbers?” Mr. Darrow inquired in his Irish accent, fingers steepled in front of him.

“We still believe there are roughly eighty to ninety, from what we have gathered. A handful of men joined the group a week or so ago, but there have been no other additions to the ranks,” replied Linda. “And obviously, we took care of ten or so of them at the last attack.”

The sheriff nodded. “Thank you. We need to keep a close eye on them. Linda, make sure each scouting team is fully briefed. Any change in their status, I want to know immediately.”

Linda gave a curt nod. “Understood, Sheriff. We’ll keep you apprised of any developments.”

As she turned to leave, the council members exchanged worried glances and the sheriff leaned forward.

“If no one else has anything to raise, I think we’re done for today.” He glanced around the table and everyone shook their heads.

Thomas let out a long breath, stretching his arms over his head. “We’ll all send our volunteers to the settlement early tomorrow, and we’ll hold a second Barter Fair in two days’ time. The first fair was good for morale.”

“Sounds good,” the sheriff replied. “Meeting adjourned. Thank you all for your time.”

The other leaders nodded and as they all stood, June offered her hand to each of them, before gathering the minutes under one arm. As they headed outside and prepared to say goodbye, the air was charged with a renewed sense of purpose, although the path forward was still fraught with uncertainty.

CHAPTER TWENTY

June

As the afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky, its golden rays bathed the streets of Asheville in a warm, serene light. Outside the community center, a series of heartfelt farewells unfolded, each group taking a moment to savor the unity they had forged amid the chaos that pelted them unrelentingly, day in and day out.

June stood in the middle of it all, her keen eyes observing the interplay of emotions as leaders from the various communities prepared to part ways. The hopes of their collective futures hung in the air, each goodbye laced with the silent promise to stand together against whatever threats might come. Elara was the last to leave, and her departure was notably tense, the finality of the moment underscored by her evident frustration with Tex.

“Tex, you know we could use your skills back home,” she pressed, her voice a blend of persuasion and impatience as she stood beside her horse in the middle of the street, the rest of her group watching silently behind her.

Tex stood beside her horse’s head, gently stroking its nose and neck, meeting her gaze with calm resolve. “I reckon I’m going to stay here a bit longer. You can count me as one of the volunteers you send to help with patrols and scouting.” He winked at her. “Besides, I can’t get on your last nerve here, Elara.”

The air crackled as Elara let out a sigh. “Very well,” she conceded, an edge of annoyance in her voice. “Suit yourself, Tex. You always do, anyway.”

Without another glance, she turned, signaling her group to move out, before mounting her horse. A moment later, the procession of horses and bicycles set off, the rhythmic sounds of their departure echoing down the street. Elara, seated confidently atop her horse, led the way, her posture rigid, back ramrod straight. June watched silently, her thoughts a tangled web of concern for the future, curiosity about Elara and her relationship with Tex, and admiration for the resilience of those around her, including the representatives from the surrounding communities who’d agreed to put themselves at risk so they were all stronger.

As the last of the Elara’s people disappeared from view, June took a deep breath, allowing herself a moment of reflection—in unity there was strength and the possibility of a brighter tomorrow, and she pushed away some of the weight that had settled on her shoulders. She spent the next half hour helping to shift tables and chairs that had been set up outside into a neat stack at the side of the community center, before her mind turned to the supplies that had been recovered from the warehouse. As they finished putting away the tables, she decided to check in on Sarah and the group who were going through the supplies inside the community center.

She had just turned to walk inside when distant gunfire erupted. The reports anchored her firmly in the present, and her heart skipped a beat, the sound igniting a familiar surge of adrenaline that rushed through her. The sheriff had been standing near the entrance of the community center, and his hand reached for the radio which crackled at his hip. Everyone outside the community center stilled, a hush settling over them as they stared at the sheriff, every ear straining to catch the words on the other end.

The sheriff’s voice, tense but controlled, broke the quiet. “Is it the militia?”

June, her instincts on high alert, found herself locking eyes with the sheriff. In that brief exchange, a myriad of possibilities flashed through her mind, each scenario more dire than the last. But the slight shake of the sheriff’s head dispelled the immediate fear of the militia’s involvement, offering a sliver of relief.

The call ended, and with a grim expression, the sheriff addressed the gathered crowd as more gunfire sounded in the distance. “We’re under attack, not by the militia, but an unknown group at the northern barricade,” he announced.

June didn’t need to be told twice. Propelled by a duty to protect that ran deep in her bones, she checked over her rifle and sprinted toward the barricade, following the sounds of gunfire. Behind her, the piercing wail of the police car siren erupted, a clarion call to arms for the community. As June dashed down the street, her path illuminated by the fading light of the day, the echoes of her footsteps mingled with the growing clamor of the community’s response as others left their homes or followed behind her, the siren wailing all the while.

The barricade soon came into sight, a patchwork of abandoned vehicles and debris blocking the street, a makeshift shield against the outside world, its silhouette stark against the dusky sky. June rushed toward the fight and was immediately thrust into a scene of desperate defense. The air was laden with the acrid scent of gunpowder, each gunshot a jarring note in a discordant symphony.

Around her, Asheville’s residents, ordinary folk transformed into armed guards, stood firm. They were not soldiers by trade but everyday people, their hands more accustomed to tools of trade than weapons of war. Yet, there they were, shoulder to shoulder, their resolve as stiff as the barricade they protected. Their faces were illuminated by intermittent muzzle flashes, a tapestry of fear and bravery. Her heart pounding in her chest, June hurried to stand beside Fred Mellows, who’d been a plumber before the disaster.

“What’s happening?” she asked. “Who’s attacking us?”

Fred reloaded his rifle with practiced hands and spared her a quick glance. “A truck, four assailants, tried to ram the barricade. They’re now holed up in the old Whitaker place, firing wild.” His words were punctuated by the crack of rifle shots. “No one is hurt. Yet.”

His words sharpened June’s focus and she moved forward until she had a better view of the street beyond the barricade. The Whitakers had lived across the road, their once neat cottage turned into a battleground, its windows shattered, the echo of gunfire spilling from its walls. They hadn’t been seen in months, but there was no time to spare a thought for the missing family. Daniel appeared by June’s side a moment later and they agreed they needed to get closer, hurrying to the house to the side of the barricade, June filling him in as they jogged with a shared purpose that spoke of a deep trust between them.

Together, they navigated the lengthening shadows, ducking behind pieces of cover, their movements a blend of caution and courage as they pressed onward. The attackers were relentless, their gunfire a constant threat that whistled past June and Daniel’s positions, but they reached the house and hurried through the front door, June with her eyes on the ground as they navigated the darkened space.

They soon reached the back door and crept out through the tangle of weeds, taking cover behind the fence that backed the road on the other side, giving them a clear view of the Whitakers’ house. June and Daniel crouched low behind the fence, its weathered wood providing scant cover from the relentless assault. The Whitakers’ house was on the other side of the road, its windows darkened save for the intermittent muzzle flashes that betrayed the attackers’ positions.

From their vantage point, they could see shadows moving inside the house, brief glimpses of their assailants as they peeked out to fire. The attackers seemed disorganized, their lack of coordination suggesting a desperation that would make them unpredictable. Behind June, those who’d been on watch and others who had joined them held their ground. They were a diverse group—farmers, teachers, shopkeepers—all bound by the singular goal of protecting their home.

June glanced over her shoulder. Beside the barricade, the attackers’ truck stood with its front crumpled against another vehicle that had formed part of the barricade, its engine still running, doors open in the aftermath of the attempted breach as the attackers had fled. In the tense silence between gunfire, June turned to Daniel.

“We need to disrupt their attack, take them by surprise and drive them back before someone on our side gets hurt. Any ideas?”

Daniel scanned the enemy’s position, then nodded at the truck. “If we could get to that truck, we could drive it right up to the house. It would give us the edge we need.”

“It’s risky,” she replied, brow furrowing.

Daniel’s gaze was fixed on the truck, calculating the risk. “Look, the distance isn’t much,” he said. “If we time it right, our chances of getting hit are slim. And if we can get that truck moving, we could end this standoff quickly. I’m sick of seeing our people injured.”

Adrenaline surged through June at the thought, the strategy appealing to a part of her that craved action over deliberation. It was a stark contrast to her usual cautious self, the weight of leadership often tempering her impulses. “You’re sure we can make it?” she asked, seeking reassurance in Daniel’s steady gaze.

“I am,” Daniel affirmed, his confidence infectious. “We’ve got cover fire, and I’ve seen you run. We’re fast, June. We can do this.”

The idea, reckless though it might be, sparked a flicker of excitement in June. The thought of taking direct action, of turning the tide of the battle in their favor and ending things before anyone got hurt, was exhilarating. For so long, they’d been at the whims of the awful situation unfolding around them, and June had had enough.

“Alright,” she said, her decision made, the thrill of the moment pushing her doubts aside. “Let’s do it. On your mark.”

Daniel gave a curt nod. “Let’s get closer and then on three,” he whispered.

Their plan was a gamble, a desperate ploy in a desperate time, but with a shared nod of understanding, they exchanged one final, meaningful look, and June raised herself a little and caught Fred’s attention, mouthing, “Cover us!”

He flashed a thumbs up and she turned back to Daniel. The seconds stretched between them, filled with unspoken words. Then, as one, they ran low along the fence line until they were close to the barricade, and slipped through a gap in the fence.

“One... two... three!”

They broke cover and sprinted to the abandoned truck. Gunfire erupted around them, bullets biting into the asphalt as the attackers tried to cut them down. Adrenaline fueled their dash, legs pumping furiously as they raced to the truck, Fred firing to cover them. The dash to the truck was a blur of motion, the distance closing with each pounding step.

They reached the truck and threw themselves inside, bullets ricocheting off the metal exterior. Daniel slid into the driver’s seat as June took up position by the passenger side window, rifle ready as they sank low in their seats. For a brief moment they held one another’s gaze, the sheer exhilaration of what they’d just done pulsing like a living thing between them.

That moment, the reckless gamble, was out of character for June, but as she exchanged a determined look with Daniel, a rush of clarity hit her. Sometimes, to protect what was dear, risks had to be taken, and as they prepared to drive the truck into the fray, June felt more alive than she had in years.

“Are you ready?” Daniel reached out and squeezed her arm.

“I’m ready.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Daniel

As Daniel hoisted himself into the driver’s seat of the truck, the metallic pings of bullets ricocheting off the vehicle’s frame underscored the gravity of their decision. Glancing over at June, her face set in a mask of determination despite the chaos erupting around them, a wave of affection washed over him for her bravery, her unflappable, giving nature.

In that moment, the depth of his feelings for her was undeniable, a stark revelation amid the gunfire. He loved her. He really loved the woman, and he’d wait as long as she needed. They’d taken a risk going for the truck, but as June met his gaze, a silent promise passed between them—they were going to pull it off.

With her by his side, an unshakeable confidence surged through him. Together, they were more than just two individuals caught in the fray; they were a united front, poised to bring a fast end to the attack and safeguard their community from further harm. No one else needed to be shot, injured or worse. By going on the offense, they’d catch their attackers by surprise and it would all be over soon.

“Seat belt,” he shouted, waiting a beat as they both buckled up. Then he threw the truck into reverse and spun it around so it was facing the Whitaker’s property, before gunning the engine, his heart racing. They peeled out from the barricade in a screech of tires.

“Here we go!” yelled Daniel as he aimed the truck directly at the Whitaker house. “Brace yourself!”

June dug her feet into the floor in front of her, slouched low in her seat, and leaned out the window, firing shots at the house as he drove. Wood splintered and glass shattered as bullets peppered the house. A moment later, the truck barreled into the front porch with a tremendous crash as Daniel hit the brakes.

The impact of the truck against the porch sent a jolt through Daniel’s body, but he kept his grip tight on the wheel. The truck rocked forward and then settled back, stilling. Beside him, June was a force to be reckoned with, her aim steady and true as she returned fire once more, the crack of her rifle punctuating the chaos.

For a tense stretch of time, the dusk air was filled with the sound of gunfire, the exchange brutal. Daniel and June worked in tandem, their movements synchronized in the cramped confines of the truck. With each attacker that fell silent, a surge of grim satisfaction punched through him knowing they were one step closer to ending the threat.

In the charged silence between volleys of gunfire, Daniel’s focus narrowed to the figure darting between shadows in the room beyond the broken front windows. He steadied his breath, his grip on the pistol firm and familiar. As he squeezed the trigger, the gun recoiled sharply against his palm, the sound of the discharge punctuating the night.

Watching the man fall, a tangle of motion and shadow, a complex knot of emotions unraveled within him. There was relief, certainly, that their plan was working, but it was tinged with a somber acknowledgment of the cost, the realization that survival in this new world was painted in shades of moral gray. Beside him, June lined up another target, squeezing off two rapid shots, until finally an eerie silence descended.

“We need to clear the house,” Daniel said after several long, quiet moments passed, his voice low. “Make sure they’re all down.”

June nodded, her expression grim but resolute. Together, they prepared to exit the truck, moving with practiced caution, the night air filled with the scent of gunpowder and the lingering echoes of the battle.

“Now!” she said, pushing her door open and stepping out.

They made it to the front door before fresh gunfire erupted around them. Daniel cursed as they dove for cover, hitting the ground inside the house and pulling up tight against one of the walls. The house was dark, shadows jumping in his periphery, and Daniel blinked as his eyes adjusted.

Someone fired at them, plaster chips flying over their heads as the bullets struck the wall close by, and June unleashed a hailstorm of return fire while Daniel covered her back, pistol in hand. In a strange moment of clarity, he realized it was the most insane thing he’d done since the world went to hell, but he’d do it again in a heartbeat if it meant defending their home with June.

“June!“ he yelled above the din of gunfire. “I’ve got your six!”

She didn’t respond, but he could tell she’d heard him. The gunfire was relentless, a barrage that seemed to come from all directions, but Daniel allowed himself a moment to find his calm, the clarity of the moment sharpening his senses as he and June pressed against the wall. The gunshots were coming from their right and he grabbed June’s hand and pointed, then slipped around her, took a deep breath, and darted past the open doorway, positioning himself so he and June faced one another, flanking the door to the living room.

June covered him as he leaned around the doorway to get eyes on their attacker. The man in the living room was a shadowy figure, moving with a desperate kind of energy, the muzzle flashes from his weapon casting brief, stark light on his features—hard, determined, and fueled by the knowledge he was the last man standing. Tall and muscular, his movements were calculated, a predator in the dimly lit chaos of the house.

Daniel pulled back and gestured to June where the man had been standing. With a deep sense of calm that radiated from the inside out, June waited for the right moment, her rifle steady in her hands. When the attacker paused, perhaps to reload or to reassess his position, she leaned out, her shots precise and deadly, and the man crumpled, the threat neutralized in a matter of seconds. The sound of his body hitting the floor was oddly muted, a soft thud that contrasted with the loud violence of the preceding moments.

A dense silence followed, filled with the echoes of their rapid breaths and the distant, muffled sounds of those on the other side of the barricade calling to one another. Daniel kept his weapon trained on the still form in the living room, his heart racing, the residue of the fight coursing through him.

“June, you okay?” he asked, his voice low.

“Yeah,” she replied, her tone matching his.

Together, they approached the fallen attacker, the fading light of the setting sun cutting through the darkness from the broken windows, illuminating the man’s features: a stranger, just another casualty in the seemingly endless struggle for survival. As he looked at the dead man, a pang of something he couldn’t quite identify hit him—regret, maybe, or simple sorrow for what the world had become. Beside him, June’s presence was a steady reminder of why they fought, of the community they were determined to protect at all costs, and he pushed the feeling away, although he couldn’t banish it entirely.

“We should clear the rest of the house,” he said.

June nodded, and they continued through the house, Daniel’s senses hyper-alert to any sign of movement. Room by room, they cleared the space, stepping over four other bodies, the silence that greeted them in each room a tense confirmation of their success and the heavy realization of what they had been forced to do.

Daniel’s head spun with the complexity of his emotions—relief at the safety of his community, sorrow for the necessity for violence. As they regrouped outside, the weight of the night’s events settled on his shoulders. He glanced at June, her face illuminated in the golden light, and admiration for her strength and determination hit him anew.

“We did what we had to do,” he said, his voice carrying a mix of assurance and regret, speaking more to himself than to June. “For Asheville.”

June met his gaze, her eyes reflecting a similar turmoil of emotions. In that shared look, Daniel found not only the burden of leadership but also the unspoken bond that tied them together, a connection forged not just by mutual attraction, but by the recognition of the similarities in their souls, something that went much deeper than just the physical. The older he got, the more he understood just how rare such a connection was, and he held her gaze a moment longer.

“We should head back,” he suggested, his voice breaking the silence.

Before June could respond, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed from the direction of the barricade, and the sheriff appeared, his face contorted with anger as he breached the barricade and jogged toward them.

“What the heck were you thinking?” he bellowed, his fury palpable in the dimming light.

Daniel bristled at the sheriff’s tone, instinctively stepping in front of June, a protective gesture born of both concern and defiance.

“You put yourselves at needless risk. I’ve never seen such stupid, foolhardy behavior.”

Daniel opened his mouth, prepared to defend their actions, to argue that their risk had been calculated, necessary even. But as he met the sheriff’s gaze, he saw beyond the anger, to the deep-seated pain and fear that lay beneath. It was a look he recognized, one that mirrored his own on too many sleepless nights after Linda had left him. In that moment, his resolve softened—the sheriff’s outburst wasn’t just a reprimand but a reflection of his own struggles and losses.

“You’re right,” Daniel conceded, his voice steady, acknowledging the sheriff’s concerns. “It was a risk, but it was one we felt we had to take. I’m sorry.”

The apology seemed to take the sheriff aback, his fury dimming as he processed Daniel’s words. After a moment, the tension that had crackled between them eased, replaced by a tacit understanding of the burdens they each carried.

“Come on, let’s get back to the community center,” June said. “I’m starving and I’m sure everyone else is, too. Maybe we can pull out the grill, rug up, and eat alfresco tonight.”

The sheriff gave a stiff nod. Silently, the three of them turned to walk back toward the heart of their community, their steps in sync. The sheriff’s anger hadn’t entirely dissipated, but in its place Daniel sensed a grudging respect, an acknowledgment of the shared commitment to protect their home, no matter the cost.

As they approached the barricade, the silhouettes of those who had been fighting from inside the settlement were outlined against the fading light. Daniel raised a hand and Fred’s unmistakable form waved back. The challenges ahead would be many, both inside and outside the barricade, but Daniel would keep going. Keep pushing forward with everything he had.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Daniel

After the high energy of the previous two days, the evening descended gently on Asheville, draping a cool veil over the community as they congregated on the street in front of the community center. The chill of the night did little to dampen the spirits of the settlement’s residents, who, in the aftermath of the day’s skirmishes and the intensity of the Barter Fair, sought connection in each other’s company and the simple pleasure of a shared meal.

At the heart of the gathering, Daniel found himself manning the grill alongside Tony and Harry. The trio tended to sizzling meats and vegetables with a careful eye, ensuring that each morsel was cooked to perfection. The aroma of the grilling food mingled with the crisp evening air, drawing the community closer, people standing around chatting and sharing stories.

“Keep an eye on those skewers, Daniel,” Tony said with a wink, his voice carrying over the conversation bubbling around them. “You wouldn’t want to overdo them after everything you’ve been through today.”

Daniel nodded, expertly flipping the skewers with a practiced flick of his wrist. “Today tested us,” he mused, “but I think I can rise to this challenge.” He grinned, gesturing at the assembled crowd, their faces aglow with lantern light. “This is a great end to the day, I have to say. Good food, good company, and a moment of peace.”

Harry watched the corn cobs in front of him carefully, brushing a little of his so-called secret marinade over them. “This is what it’s all about, right?”

Daniel nodded, glancing over the tables to his right, the makeshift dining area illuminated by strands of lights connected to the community center’s solar panels. Families sat together, jackets zipped against the cold, blankets keeping laps and hands warm, the scene exuding a cozy glow that offset the evening’s cold, the assortment of tables, each different in size and shape, forming a patchwork banquet hall under the stars.

Laughter and lively conversations filled the air, while children darted among the tables, their high-pitched giggles adding to the symphony of sounds. Daniel spotted Mia and Harry’s twins throwing a ball for Aria and Bailey, and grinned. As he continued to survey the scene, his thoughts occasionally drifted back to the day’s events—the unity displayed, the challenges faced, and he was reminded of the strength that lay at the core of their community.

In moments like those, with the flicker of lanterns and the soft glow of string lights casting a warm glow on smiling faces, the trials of the day receded, leaving only the enduring spirit of Asheville and its people. As Daniel turned the last of the skewers over the glowing embers, his gaze wandered, landing on Sarah and Tex, who were busily brewing a large pot of mint tea over a small fire built on the pavement outside the community center. Steam rose from the pot in gentle swirls as they worked in tandem, their movements fluid and harmonious.

The laughter that emanated from their corner was infectious, their banter light and filled with a warmth that seemed to radiate outward, enveloping those nearby. Daniel couldn’t help but smile at their antics, their playful humor, so natural and unrestrained; Tex’s exaggerated theatrics as he pretended the tea was a potent elixir, and Sarah’s feigned astonishment at its miraculous effects.

“Careful now,” Tex said, holding a steaming cup with care, “this brew has the power to thaw the coldest of nights, to mend the weariest of souls! It’s even been used as a love potion on the night of a full moon.”

Sarah played along, accepting a cup with a mock bow. “Oh, wise one, share with us your secrets,” she replied, her eyes twinkling in a way Daniel hadn’t seen in years.

His thoughts drifted, contrasting the vibrant woman in front of him with the memory of his daughter in darker times. He remembered the days following Nate’s departure, the shadow that had seemed to envelop her, the uncertainty and pain that had been her constant companions, and Linda’s insistence on adoption had only deepened Sarah’s suffering.

As Daniel watched Sarah’s laughter mingle with Tex’s, his mind was cast back to a day, not long after Nate had left, when Sarah had come to him at his lonely mountain home, her eyes red from crying. He’d let her in and pulled her into a hug, although she hadn’t cried at his place—all her tears had already been shed, like she’d been bled dry and there was nothing left inside.

“Dad,” she had said, her voice trembling, “I don’t know if I can do this alone. Mom is getting even worse. Maybe she’s right? Maybe I can’t do this alone.”

Daniel had felt a pang in his heart at those words, seeing the conflict in Sarah’s eyes. Fresh from his own divorce, his world had been unsteady, his faith in the future shaken, but as a father, he had known what he needed to say.

“Sarah,” he said, taking her hands in his, “you’re stronger than you know. And you won’t be alone. I’m here, we all are. We’ll get through this together and it’ll all turn out okay. That baby is lucky to have a mom as wonderful as you.”

Even as he had spoken those words of reassurance, a part of him had wrestled with doubt—maybe everything wouldn’t just turn out okay. But the fears of that day seemed distant, the memory faded, the colors dulled, the details sparse. And looking at her playing along with Tex, surrounded by friends and laughter despite the fact that the world was in meltdown, he couldn’t help but marvel at the resilience of the human spirit, at Sarah’s ability to rise from the depths to find happiness once more. Despite everything she’d been through, she was a fighter. And in the easy rapport she shared with Tex, he saw not just the healing of old wounds but the blossoming of something new and beautiful.

As the communal meal officially commenced, everyone took a seat around the tables set up under the open sky. Plates were passed hand to hand, piled high with the fruits of their collective labor, and Daniel found himself seated amid a group that included Sarah and Tex, their earlier jesting giving way to a more subdued exchange of tales and laughter. The dogs settled at his feet and Daniel shared his meal with them, making a mental note to save something for Rusty, who was resting back at home. As he joined in with the lively conversation, contributing his own anecdotes to the mix, Daniel glanced at Sarah, smiling at her as their eyes met.

The sheriff rose and clinked his glass to get everyone’s attention, his glass raised high as he called for silence. “Folks,” he said, “today was a testament to who we are. Not just the battle, but this,” he gestured expansively, encompassing the assembled community and the spread before them, “and the Barter Fair, the way we’ve come together and forged new friendships.”

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the faces turned toward him. “We’ve shown that not only can we survive, but we thrive. Through our unity, our willingness to support one another, we’ve built something stronger than any challenge thrown our way. And we’re going to keep fighting, no matter what else life throws at us.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd, glasses and cups raised in echo of the sheriff’s sentiment, although the rolled eyes and smirks coming from some didn’t escape Daniel’s attention.

“To us,” the sheriff concluded, “to Asheville and the bonds that hold us. May we continue to find strength in our unity and light in the darkest of times.”

The toast was met with a chorus of agreement, the clink of glass against glass punctuating the sentiment, and Daniel joined in, his voice mingling with those of his neighbors. As the meal resumed, the hum of conversation filling the air once more, Daniel sought out June and held her gaze for a long moment, before turning back to the people around him.

Plates were soon empty and the communal meal wound down. String lights were switched off, the crowd slowly thinning, with small groups and families retreating to their homes, their bellies and hearts full. In the quieting space, Daniel seized the opportunity to pull Sarah aside, away from the dwindling clusters of conversation.

“Sarah,” he said, holding her gaze. “I just wanted to say your strength over the last ten years, well, it’s inspiring. The way you’ve stood tall, shouldered so much, especially for Mia... I’m proud of you.”

Sarah looked momentarily taken aback. “Thanks, Dad. But what brought this on? Have you been getting into Fred’s moonshine?” She grinned to let him know she was joking, although she continued to look perplexed by the earnestness in Daniel’s expression.

“I’m just proud of you. Can’t a dad tell his daughter that every once in a while?”

Sarah gave a brief nod, her expression sobering. The quiet around them seemed to hold their conversation in a soft embrace, allowing a moment of reflection.

“Looking back, it’s hard to believe how far Mia and I have come,” Sarah admitted, her gaze drifting to the horizon as she tightened her jacket against the icy wind that had picked up. “After Nate left, I found strength I didn’t know I had. But it hasn’t always been easy. You know that. You saw the dark times. Living paycheck-to-paycheck, working double shifts to make ends meet.”

Daniel nodded, understanding the depth of her words and her integrity. She’d worked harder than anyone he’d ever met to keep her head above water, refusing to take even a cent of the money Linda tried to send her, other than the money at Christmas that she allowed Mia to spend. And she’d never have accepted the money from Nate if she’d known where it had really come from.

They hugged and parted ways, Sarah heading back to her house to get Mia into bed, and Daniel lingering to help with the cleanup. With the community center almost deserted, save for a few lingering souls, Daniel stacked plates alongside Jeremy and a few others. There was a sense of closure, yet also forward-looking hope as the last of the lights were switched off, the night sky coming alive with hundreds of pinprick stars that pierced the darkness.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Lucas

The night had draped its inky cloak over the landscape by the time Lucas, shadowed by Victor’s persistent figure, stumbled upon the abandoned farmhouse at the edge of Asheville’s limits. The buildings had already been looted and picked over, the farmhouse’s timbers groaning with the weight of neglect in the cold wind, windows like hollow eyes staring blankly into the encroaching darkness.

Lucas navigated the debris-strewn path to the farmhouse’s weary door, its hinges protesting with a metallic screech as he pushed it open, the lock already forced. The interior was filled with dust-laden surfaces and cobweb-draped corners as Lucas used his flashlight to probe the dark. It was bare and unwelcoming, but promised a refuge from the biting wind that clawed through his jacket, snapping at any exposed skin.

He cleared the house quickly, Victor walking behind him in silence, then headed for the living room, where a fireplace stood, dark and cold, on one side of the room. Picture frames hung crookedly, a reminder of happier times, while the furniture was damaged or stained, with shards of broken glass and useless trinkets scattered over the floor.

Lucas gathered together a few pieces of wooden furniture, breaking them down with quiet efficiency to fuel a modest fire, which he lit directly in the fireplace. He was mindful to draw all the curtains and keep the flames low to avoid any unwanted attention, while Victor hovered at the edge of the yellow light cast by the fire, his face illuminated in the dance of light and shadows.

“You call that a fire, Lucas? I’ve seen more warmth from a matchstick,” Victor said, speaking for the first time since they entered the farmhouse, his voice echoing oddly in the empty space.

Lucas offered a tired smirk, the corner of his mouth twitching despite the solitude that clung to him like a second skin. “Well, feel free to start your own, Vic. Oh, wait... that’s right, you’re not really here.”

“No need to get personal.”

The air reeked of must and decay, mixed with a hint of cigarette smoke, and Lucas wrinkled his nose as he tended to the meager fire, the crackle of the flames in the otherwise silent room amplifying his sense of isolation, the absence of human warmth even more acutely felt in the empty house. As the fire burned softly, casting a warm, if feeble, glow, Victor moved closer and leaned against the wall beside the fireplace, arms folded over his chest.

“You know, Lucas, if this survival gig doesn’t pan out, you could always start a career as an icicle sculptor. Given the warmth of this fire, you’d have plenty of material to work with.”

Lucas raised his hands up to the flames. “Glad to see your sense of humor is still intact, Victor. Maybe try haunting a comedy club next time?”

“Oh, come on, Lucas,” Victor replied, his tone mocking. “You’ve got to admit, there’s a certain... rustic charm to slowly freezing in a derelict farmhouse. Very pioneer spirit. And besides, you know there’s no such thing as ghosts. You’re the only reason I’m here.”

Shaking his head, Lucas poked at the fire with a poker that had been resting against the mantle, coaxing a few more reluctant flames to life. “Rustic charm isn’t quite the comfort I was going for. And I suppose you’re not so bad. Beats talking to myself.”

Victor laughed and moved closer, crouching beside Lucas. “Well, you’re in luck. With me around, it’s technically a dialogue. Albeit one-sided.”

A wave of dizziness hit Lucas as his gaze roamed the familiar planes of Victor’s face, the bald head, the heavy eyebrows and dark eyes. It was like the walls were pressing in on him, and he stood abruptly.

“I need some air. I’m going to check the barn and the other buildings.”

“Want company?”

“No.”

He grabbed his rifle and walked toward the door, annoyed to see Victor trailing after him in his peripheral vision. Stepping outside, his flashlight cut a narrow swath of light through the darkness, and he approached the dilapidated barn, the silhouette of which loomed against the starlit sky.

A moment later, Lucas pulled open the barn’s weathered door and the beam of his flashlight swept across the interior, revealing a surprising flurry of activity. A small flock of chickens, seemingly unfazed by the world’s upheaval, flew from their roosts, their movements erratic in the artificial light.

“Look at that,” Lucas said, a mix of amusement and disbelief coloring his voice as the chickens scattered at the sudden intrusion, their clucking filling the otherwise silent barn.

He stepped inside, his flashlight revealing a spilled sack of feed and the corner where the chickens had been congregating. There, amid the straw and shadows, he found a small clutch of eggs. As he carefully gathered the eggs, slipping them into his jacket pockets, Victor stood watching with his hands on his hips.

“Be careful, Lucas, wouldn’t want to startle your newfound friends.”

“Just collecting what’s on offer, Vic. No harm in that,” he replied, the weight of the eggs in his hands a small but tangible comfort.

“Ah, the joys of farm life. Are you planning on eating them, Lucas, or hatching them? Maybe you can add poultry farmer to your resume, seeing as you never made it as a musician.”

Lucas ignored him, heading back toward the house. In the farmhouse kitchen, he found an old fry pan coated with layers of dust. He cleaned it as best he could before setting it over the small fire he’d managed to coax into life in the hearth. The eggs sizzled as they hit the hot surface, the sound oddly comforting in the otherwise silent house.

Victor grew unexpectedly quiet, his usual smirk fading into something more reflective, almost melancholy. Lucas glanced over, the shift in Victor’s demeanor casting a pall over his own spirits.

“What’s up?”

“Just thinking,” Victor finally said, his voice lacking its usual sharpness. “Thinking about all the things we left behind in Asheville.”

Lucas didn’t respond immediately, focusing on the eggs instead, flipping them with a spatula he’d grabbed from one of the upturned kitchen drawers. The simplicity of the task, the normalcy of it, was a stark contrast to the complexity of his current reality, and for a moment, he allowed himself to just focus on the eggs sizzling in the pan.

But Victor’s words echoed in his mind, stirring a whirlpool of memories and what-ifs. Unbidden, Sarah’s image floated to the forefront of his thoughts, her soft, dark hair, her beautiful smile, the sound of her laughter, the way her presence had once brightened his darkest days.

A sharp pang of loss pierced through him, so intense that he bowed his head, resting it against his knee as he fought to regain composure. The smell of burning snapped him back to the present. He jerked upright, cursing under his breath as he saw the edges of the eggs turning black. Quickly, he pulled the pan off the fire, salvaging what he could of the meal.

As he ate the slightly charred eggs, the earlier warmth of success at finding them was overshadowed by the lingering ache of his memories. Victor, still quiet, offered no further commentary, and Lucas was left to navigate the turbulent waters of his emotions alone.

When the fire had dwindled to glowing embers and night had wrapped the farmhouse in its deepest shadows, Victor’s voice cut through the stillness, breaking the reflective silence that had settled between them. His form, barely visible in the dim light, seemed to project an earnestness that was uncharacteristic.

“You know, Lucas,” Victor said, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone, “there’s a whole world out there beyond the frostbitten grip of Asheville. Places where the sun is out year round, where the shadows of the past don’t loom quite so large.”

His interest piqued despite himself, Lucas turned to face Victor. “And where might these mythical lands be?” he asked.

Victor leaned in as if to share a secret. “South, my friend. Florida. Texas. California. We could travel there, leave all this behind.”

Lucas considered Victor’s words, the allure of a fresh start, free from his past failures and the ghosts that haunted him. But then he shook his head.

“No. I can’t leave. Sarah or June might need me.”

Victor waved a dismissive hand, his expression one of unwavering confidence.

“They don’t care about you. And think of the possibilities, Lucas. New horizons, new stories to be written. Isn’t there a part of you that yearns for a change, for a chance to redefine your place in this messed up world?”

The thought of escaping the persistent cold, the endless struggles, and perhaps most enticingly, everything he’d done to alienate himself from those he loved, held a strange appeal. As the conversation meandered through the possibilities and pitfalls of such a journey, Lucas found the edges of his resolve softening.

Though a part of him longed to remain anchored to the familiarity of Asheville, even if just on the outskirts of the town that had once been his home, close to the memories and the family he’d found there, another part, emboldened by Victor’s tales, began to entertain the notion of leaving for good.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Lucas

The idea of abandoning Asheville, the only home he’d ever known, and those he’d once considered closer to him than his own family, churned relentlessly in Lucas’ mind, making sleep an elusive companion. Restless and edged with a newfound sense of uncertainty about his future, he sat up from his makeshift bed on the creaky floorboards of the old farmhouse, the heat of the glowing embers beside him warming the side of his face.

The night pressed against the cracked windows, billowing the drapes he’d pulled shut to hide the light from the fire, and he watched the shadowy movement for a few moments longer before standing and pulling on his jacket and boots. Victor appeared beside him as he made his way through the dim outline of the farmhouse’s interior.

“Ah, taking a midnight stroll, are we?” Victor said, his form gaining clarity in the faint moonlight that seeped through the gaps in the kitchen window as they moved into that room.

“I need to check the place out, make sure we’re secure,” Lucas muttered, more to himself than to Victor, as he reached for his flashlight. “Can’t sleep. May as well make sure the house is as safe as it can be.”

Victor walked beside him, adopting an air of mock solemnity. “Allow me to assist, General Lucas. After all, every great leader needs a strategic advisor, even if he is a bit... incorporeal.”

Lucas couldn’t suppress a weary smile as he flicked on the flashlight, its beam cutting through the shadows. They moved methodically from room to room, Lucas closing doors and pushing furniture against them as a barricade, while Victor offered a running commentary on potential vulnerabilities.

“You see that window there?” Victor said, gesturing to a pane of glass that had been smashed. “Perfect spot for an unwelcome visitor to make an entrance. You might want to barricade that, lest you fancy a confrontation at dawn.”

As they circled back to the main living area, Victor’s tone took on a more serious edge. “You know, Lucas, all jest aside, this place isn’t half bad for a temporary hideout. But if you’re serious about heading south, we’ll need to think bigger. Routes, supplies, contingencies. We need to do some serious planning tomorrow.”

The weight of the decision pressed heavily on Lucas as he secured the last window. The prospect of leaving, of severing the ties to the life he’d once loved, left him feeling empty. It was true that he’d lived in the shadow of his own failures for decades, but there had been good things about his life, although there was no denying that everything that had come to pass meant that life could never be his again.

The Verse Den, weekends with Eddie, June and Sarah. Writing music and playing gigs, his guitar, which he’d left in the warehouse. Those things were mere memories, out of reach except in his own mind, and he couldn’t escape the growing realization that the path forward lay in new beginnings, however uncertain they might be. The only option was to leave, to hit the road and leave his many failures behind.

With the house as secure as it was going to be, Lucas kicked off his boots and pulled off his jacket, then climbed back into bed. The wind howled around the house, rattling and creaking the building, but Lucas found the sound oddly comforting. He was on the verge of surrendering to the exhaustion tugging at his eyes when the faint murmur of voices fractured the other sounds. Instantly alert, he exchanged a quick, wordless glance with Victor, who tensed in anticipation.

Moving quickly, Lucas grabbed his rifle and hurried to the kitchen in the direction of the voices, the floorboards cold beneath his feet. He peered through the window, a gust of frigid wind hitting him anew, his breath held tight in his chest. Victor, curiosity piqued, hovered near, his presence more comforting than Lucas cared to admit.

Outside, under the cloak of darkness, a small cadre of figures clad in black moved around the farmhouse with a nonchalance that contradicted their potential threat. Their voices, carried on the harsh wind that whipped around the farmhouse, were tinged with the arrogance of those who believed themselves unobserved.

Lucas’ heart thudded against his ribs, a mix of fear and adrenaline sharpening his senses. The fire he’d kindled earlier, currently mere glowing embers, suddenly seemed like a beacon, and he mentally cursed, grateful for his earlier caution in closing the curtains, the fabric a thin barrier between him and discovery. Added to that, the cold wind was a blessing, dispersing the smoke and carrying away the scent that might betray their exact location. Hopeful the men wouldn’t think to stop and search the farmhouse, he stayed where he was, straining to catch snippets of the conversation.

“We’ve got the new routes mapped out and everything. Won’t be long now.”

Another voice chimed in, laughter threading through his words. “Asheville won’t know what hit ‘em, eh?”

Lucas’ chest tightened at the mention of Asheville and he exchanged a glance with Victor, whose usual smirk was replaced by a look of concern.

“Did they just say Asheville?” Lucas whispered, his voice barely a breath.

Victor nodded. “Sounds like it.”

“They’re coming from Fairview. I think they’re part of the militia and they got past the Asheville scouts.”

“Not good. Not good at all.”

A cold dread settled in Lucas’ stomach. “They’re planning something. We can’t just sit here and do nothing.”

The conversation outside continued, oblivious to the turmoil it had sparked within the farmhouse. Lucas strained to hear more, hoping for any detail that might give them an edge, anything that could help protect the people he once called family, but the men had moved out of earshot.

Victor’s voice, a whisper in his ear, mirrored his concern. “This doesn’t bode well.”

Lucas nodded, his mind racing, considering the implications for the settlement’s defenses, the safety of those he’d left behind. His thoughts tumbled over each other, a sea of what-ifs and maybes, while outside, the group moved on, their voices fading into the night. Long after the voices quieted, he remained at the window, cold seeping into his bones and making his hands numb. The immediate danger to himself had passed, but the threat of the militia remained for those he loved.

Sleep would be impossible. The night stretched ahead, filled with worries and the realization that his ties to Asheville—and the people that still lived there—were not so easily cut. Victor was silent for once, and in that quiet, Lucas weighed the choice in front of him: he could stay and risk the chance at a new start, or leave and turn his back on the people he cared for most in the world.

Back in the warmth of the living room, Lucas paced the worn floorboards, his mind full of conflicting emotions and loyalties. The thought of leaving June and Sarah to face an unexpected attack from the militia left a sharp pang in his chest. But the idea of a fresh start, with Victor’s stories of warmth and a break from the constant struggle for survival, tugged at him.

As he thought about Victor’s earlier arguments to leave Asheville, the faces of those he’d be leaving behind flickered in his mind. June was his oldest and dearest friend, and she’d been a beacon during his darkest moments. She knew him better than anyone, and she’d accepted and loved him, flaws and all.

And then there was Sarah. The love he had for her, a deep, enduring flame that no distance or time could put out, tethered him to Asheville more than any physical chain or rope ever could. The thought of leaving, of not being there to protect or warn her and Mia about the militia... With a heavy sigh, Lucas came to a stop and made his decision. Despite how much he wanted to escape, Sarah meant he couldn’t go. He’d stay, at least for the moment.

“I can’t leave,” he said. “Not yet. Not with them so close and everyone in Asheville unaware that the militia have an alternative route into town.”

Victor nodded, a somber acknowledgment in his dark eyes. “Then we stay,” he agreed. “For now. But you know you can’t just head into town and warn them. Someone will shoot you on the spot after what you did.”

Lucas’ jaw flexed, resolve rushing through him. He would stay for Sarah, for June, and for Mia; he would stand guard against whatever was coming and warn them when the time came. With his decision made, the night stretched on, his thoughts a silent prayer for the safety of those he would always care for.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Nate

In the darkness of the early hours, Nate was in the grip of a nightmare, one that twisted through his subconscious leaving him breathless, his heart racing. His mind was filled with shadows, replaying fragments of memories and fears in a loop that pummeled him over and over as he moved restlessly in his sleep.

Faces from his past flashed in front of him, all those he’d lost along the way, those he’d never see again, each one bleeding into the next. He was running, always running, through a labyrinth with no exit, his heart pounding in his chest, while somewhere nearby, Mia shouted for help. But he could never reach her, no matter how fast or how far he ran.

Gasping, he was jolted awake, the remnants of the dream still clinging to him, his breaths shallow, each one cutting through the silence. The darkness of the woods rose around him, indifferent to his struggle, the faint glow of dying embers from their campfire casting a dim glow in a small circle.

Rosa sat upright in her sleeping bag a short distance away on watch, the rifle across her lap. She noticed Nate’s restlessness, the tension in his body no doubt giving him away, and she unzipped her sleeping bag to move closer, placing a hand on his arm as she settled on the ground beside him.

“Nate,” Rosa said, running her hand down his arm, finding his hand in the darkness, their fingers intertwining. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

The warmth of her skin contrasted with the cold dread that had settled in his heart, and he rolled over to face her, meeting her gaze. Even in the dim light, her pretty face was enough to calm him. She shifted closer and lay down beside him, warming him in a way that no fire ever could. In the silence that followed, punctuated only by the distant call of a night bird and the whisper of the wind through the trees, Nate found a fragile sense of peace, her presence, her quiet strength, anchoring him.

As she lay with him, the haunting images of his nightmare began to recede, although he couldn’t completely silence Mia’s calls for help, and Rosa’s soft murmurs of reassurance were a balm to his frayed nerves. He tried to follow her advice, to just close his eyes and let the quiet of the forest lull him back to sleep, and he turned on his side, facing away from her, gazing into the depths of the dark forest. But sleep wouldn’t come, and the moment stretched out, fears about Mia intruding once again.

“Rosa,” he finally said, his voice low, breaking the quiet. “What if she’s... what if Mia’s not there anymore? What if something happened to her?”

Rosa propped herself up on one elbow. “I know you’re thinking about my parents, but you can’t let yourself think like that. There’s every chance that Mia and her mom are doing well, and tomorrow, you’ll find out for sure. But worrying about it now won’t change anything.”

Nate closed his eyes, trying to push away his dread, but his fears and doubts refused to be banished completely. And so the night stretched on until it was his turn to take watch. He sat up in his sleeping bag, rifle in one hand, the minutes ticking by slowly, time filled with nothing but his own spiraling thoughts and the occasional comforting squeeze of his hand from Rosa, a silent reminder that he wasn’t alone.

As the first light of dawn filtered through the canopy of trees overhead, illuminating their campsite just out of sight of one of the backroads leading to Asheville, Nate’s mind was a battleground of conflicting emotions. His fear that something might have happened to Mia and Sarah had given way to other, more complex emotions: even if they were alive, they weren’t going to want him. The thought of finding Sarah and the daughter he had never known, of seeing the rejection in their eyes, rejection he knew he deserved, was paralyzing.

Rosa woke, stretching her arms over her head, and helped him prepare breakfast. They shared a quiet meal by the rekindled fire, and she took his hand, letting him sit in silence with his own thoughts. The food was simple, just some canned lentil soup that they warmed, but the act of sitting together, sharing a meal, offered a little normalcy in what was going to be anything other than a normal day.

After they ate, Nate excused himself to refill their water bottles, walking to a nearby stream they had discovered the day before. The cool, clear water moved over rocks and fallen branches, and he crouched by the water’s edge, trailing his fingers in the water and letting it rush over his hands. He blinked, unable to shake the image of Mia’s face watching him with eyes full of questions he wasn’t sure he could answer.

He filled their canteens and returned to camp. Rosa watched him approach, the morning light casting shadows over her face where she sat on a fallen log covered in moss. Setting the water down, he met her gaze, and Rosa stood, holding him again as though the physical connection could lend him some of her strength.

As he boiled the water, he looked up and caught her eye, swallowing hard. “What if they don’t want me? I wouldn’t blame them, honestly. What if me intruding in their lives is actually the worst thing I could do for Mia? What if Sarah is with someone, and Mia has a new dad that she loves and he loves her? I’m not sure we should do this. Maybe not knowing is better for everyone.”

“Nate,” she said. “You’ve come so far, not just in miles, but in who you are as a person. Don’t let fear hold you back now, not when you’re so close. Mia deserves to know her real dad. You can’t rob her of the chance of never knowing you.”

Her words pierced through his worry, and as she looked at him, her eyes reflected the man he hoped to be—the man she somehow saw beneath the layers of regret and the many mistakes he’d made.

“You’re right,” Nate admitted, the knot in his chest loosening slightly at her touch, at her faith in him. “I just— I worry about what they’ll see when they look at me. What if Mia can’t forgive me? What if she hates me?”

Rosa squeezed his hand. “Then you’ll earn her forgiveness, every day, if you have to. But you have to be there to start. And I’ll be with you, every step of the way. You won’t be doing this alone.”

Nate nodded, suddenly overcome with gratitude for the gift of her love. He reached out and hugged her, holding her for a long moment before kissing the side of her head.

“Thank you.”

She grinned at him. “You and I are a team, Nate. Nothing’s going to change that.”

Once the water had boiled, Nate and Rosa packed up their camp under the dim light of dawn, the forest around them slowly coming to life. Nate folded the sleeping bag with almost mechanical movements, while Rosa poured a little water over the remains of their fire, stirring the cool ashes to make sure no embers remained.

Together, they packed their belongings into their worn backpacks, the ritual of breaking camp a familiar one, a practiced dance by two people who had come to know one another intimately on every level. The air was crisp, mist moving through the trees and lingering on the distant Blue Ridge Mountains, and they shouldered their packs, casting one last look at the small clearing before turning their backs on it. With a nod to each other, they climbed on the motorcycle and Nate revved the engine.

As they pulled onto the road, icy air rushed past them, the landscape blurring into a patchwork of greens and browns. The road ahead, once an open question, led to only one place: Asheville, and to the possibility of redemption. Nate gripped the handlebars tighter, the engine propelling him toward a situation he both feared and desired.

As they neared the outskirts of Asheville, the landscape began to shift from wilderness to the more structured outskirts of town. Farmhouses appeared, then more densely packed buildings. Nate slowed, Rosa behind him holding the rifle, both scanning for any trouble ahead. Suddenly, he spotted a line of men and women on bicycles blocking the road, each with a rifle leveled directly at him.

“Up ahead,” he said to Rosa, slowing the motorcycle, his heart rate ratcheting up.

He came to a stop twenty yards from the line, and a man with a weathered face and eyes that had seen too much stepped forward, not lowering his rifle.

“Hold up there,” the man called out, his voice authoritative. “Lower the rifle. Slowly.”

Nate’s grip on the handlebars tightened, a flicker of resistance flashing through his mind. They had no idea who those people even were, but a glance at Rosa pushed down the impulse—her expression was calm, a diplomatic smile on her face. With a nod, he carefully dismounted, Rosa following, and she placed the rifle on the ground slowly, showing they posed no threat.

“We’re not looking for trouble,” Nate said, meeting the guard’s gaze. “I’m looking for someone who lives in Asheville. Her name is Sarah Walker. She has a daughter, Mia.”

“We mean no harm,” Rosa added, her voice steady.

The patrol members exchanged looks, the tension momentarily contracting and intensifying. Finally, the man nodded, a gruff acknowledgment.

“We know Sarah. You’ll need to come with us if you want to see her,” he said, gesturing for them to follow. “But we’re taking you directly to the sheriff. If your story doesn’t add up, you're out of here. And it goes without saying that if you try anything stupid, we won’t hesitate to shoot.”

“Understood,” Nate replied. “And Mia? Her daughter.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded.

She was alive. She was alive! Dread and joy roiled through him in equal measure. He exchanged a glance with Rosa, then picked up the rifle, walking the distance to the patrol before handing it over. They were defenseless as they headed into Asheville, the weight of his past and the uncertainty of the future rushing toward one another head on.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Nate

The patrol members surrounded Nate and Rosa as they navigated the motorcycle slowly through the outskirts of Asheville. The streets, once familiar to Nate, bore scars of the collapse: buildings, looted and damaged, stood as hollowed-out reminders of what once was, and Nate’s gaze moved from one shattered window to another, each passing moment worsening the apprehension coiling in his gut.

Rosa’s voice, low and steady beside him, was a lifeline, and he grabbed hold of it, focusing on her words. “Mia’s okay, Nate. This is the best news we could have gotten.”

Her optimism, a stark contrast to the broken world all around, helped a little, even while he grappled with his own swirling thoughts. As they whispered plans and reassured one another, Nate’s hand drifted to the knife at his waist, thinking about their vulnerability. The decision to hand over their rifle had been a mistake, even though they had no other option if they wanted to get into Asheville. They just had to hope that the group was telling the truth about knowing Sarah and Mia, because the cool metal of the knife, hidden beneath his jacket, offered little security.

They continued through Asheville, skirting the edges of what had once been vibrant neighborhoods which had been reduced to an eerie ghost town. Every so often, signs of life could be heard, the distant echo of a dog’s bark, voices carried on the wind—reminders that not all was lost to decay. Rosa’s hand found his, squeezing gently in a wordless gesture of solidarity, and Nate drew a deep breath, steadying himself against the rising tide of his emotions.

A barricade soon appeared ahead, an improvised wall cobbled together from abandoned cars and trucks, pieces of debris wedged in to make it more solid. As Nate and Rosa approached, the eyes of those on watch on top of the barrier bore into them, suspicion etched in every glance. The air was thick with unspoken questions, the tension palpable as they were waved through, leaving the motorcycle on the outside of the barrier and continuing on foot.

A few streets beyond the barricade, the landscape of the town shifted subtly, signs of resilience, of a community determined to claw back from the brink, appearing all around. Houses along the street bore the marks of recent repairs, their façades patched and painted, a defiant splash of color against the backdrop of destruction. Gardens, previously left to wild abandon, showed signs of tending, paths cleared and small vegetable patches established.

Nate’s gaze moved from one house to the next, his eyes darting to each child he saw playing in yards or peering curiously from behind repaired fences. Each small figure sent his heart into a frenzy, the possibility that one of them might be Mia igniting a spark of hope that was as terrifying as it was exhilarating. Rosa held his hand as they walked, following his gaze and somehow understanding what he was going through.

The town he remembered had been transformed by the crisis, but beneath the surface changes, the essence of the place remained, a ghostly reminder of the life he had walked away from. The weight of his choices, the years of absence, were undeniable, but the journey was nearing its end, his reckoning with Sarah and Mia potentially just moments away.

The guards continued to herd them down the street until the community center came into sight, its simple brick front bolstered by wooden boards across the windows and vehicles placed strategically around the front, presumably for cover should the community be attacked. The air buzzed with activity, volunteer groups bustling about with purposeful strides, their glances lingering on Nate and Rosa with a mix of curiosity and wariness.

The distant sound of animals, a cacophony of lowing and clucks, drifted from the rear of the building, and as they were ushered inside, a surprising sight reached them. The interior had been transformed into a hub of trade, tables scattered across the room, laden with an assortment of food and supplies, around which clusters of people haggled and bartered with quiet intensity.

Nate and Rosa were directed to a pair of hard wooden chairs against the wall, the space around them conspicuously empty, and one woman was instructed to wait with them. The woman looked to be no more than forty, with blond hair and dark roots and the perpetually exhausted look of a parent with multiple young children. She spoke briefly into a radio, her voice a low murmur, before nodding to them and taking a seat a few feet away, her rifle across her lap.

Nate’s gaze wandered over the impromptu marketplace, each exchange a snippet of the community’s lifeblood, of the ebb and flow of resources and information that kept them afloat. The wait stretched on, each passing minute amplifying Nate’s sense of being an outsider, his presence unwelcome. An older woman, her hair streaked with gray and her smile warm, approached them with a jug of water and two cups.

“Here, you must be thirsty,” she said, passing them each a cup.

Gratefully accepting the water, Nate took a long sip before whispering to Rosa, “They couldn’t have made this harder if they tried. I don’t know how much longer I can sit in this chair. Waiting.”

“Just give it a little longer.”

Her hand found his, and he sucked in a breath, his body wound tight with tension, each passing moment a thread pulling around him, threatening to snap. Then the heavy door to the community center creaked open, and everyone turned to see the figure that stepped through.

The sheriff paused in the doorway. A solid man with silver hair and bright blue eyes, lines of authority etched into his weathered face, he surveyed the room with a gaze that missed nothing. His eyes landed on Nate and Rosa, and in that moment, the full weight of Nate’s paranoia and worry settled on him. With a nod to the patrol member who had brought them in, the sheriff made his way over, his steps measured and deliberate.

“I’m Sheriff Hayes,” he said, his voice gravelly. “I hear you’re looking for someone.”

Nate took a deep breath, steadying himself against the tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

“I know Sarah Walker,” he said. “We used to be involved. I’ve just come to check in on her and her little girl, Mia. I used to live in Asheville. A long time ago.”

“And your lady friend?” The sheriff tipped his head to Rosa politely.

“Her name is Rosa. We’ve gotten acquainted since the crisis. She’s got no connection to Asheville.”

The sheriff brought one hand to his face, thumb and forefinger cupping his chin, his eyebrows raised as if to say go on. Nate recounted his journey briefly, the words feeling inadequate to capture the breadth of everything he’d been through. The sheriff listened, the skepticism in his eyes a clear indication of the hurdles Nate faced in proving himself. As Nate trailed off, the sheriff remained silent for a moment, his judgment suspended in the air between them.

“You’ve come a long way just to check on an old friend.”

“Sarah and her daughter mean a lot to me,” Nate replied. “And I grew up here. It felt like the right place to come when everything fell apart.”

Something in his words or his expression finally convinced the sheriff, and he gave a nod. “I’ll have someone fetch Sarah,” he said, the underlying implication clear: this was Nate’s chance to prove his sincerity. “But if there’s any funny business, or she tells me she doesn’t know you or doesn’t want to know you, you’re out of here. Got it?”

“Of course.”

The wait that followed was worse than the one before, the room’s atmosphere thick and cloying. Nate’s heart raced, each beat a loud echo in the silence that stretched between him and the door through which Sarah would enter.

And then she was there.

The door burst open, and she hurried in, looking almost exactly the same as he remembered her. Her dark eyes, wide with disbelief, locked onto Nate’s, and for an instant, the years fell away, leaving only the raw, painful reality of their past laid bare between them.

The silence was a tangible thing that pulsed between them, holding them in a moment suspended outside of time. Sarah’s stare was a complex tapestry of emotions—shock, pain, betrayal—all interwoven with the undeniable connection that bound them together: Mia.

Nate stood, his body moving without conscious thought, every instinct screaming at him to bridge the gap between them, to fall to his knees and apologize for the terrible mistake he’d made all those years ago. But the space was more than a physical distance; it was a chasm of words and actions that could never be taken back, and he just stood there, staring at her.

Sarah stepped closer, staring at him too, and then finally she broke the silence, her words laced with a sharp edge of anger.

“Nate.” Her voice, barely above a whisper, was as heavy as an axe. “What the hell are you doing here?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Nate

Sarah’s expression grew even more scathing, and the silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating inside the community center, as Nate searched for the words that had deserted him at the sight of her. Her presence, so familiar but somehow totally different than he remembered, whether by the passage of time and his choices, filled him with emotions he could barely comprehend.

“I just needed to know,” Nate finally managed, swallowing hard. “I needed to see with my own eyes that you and Mia... that you were both safe.”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed, a spark of anger—or was it pain?—flashing in their depths. “Safe?” she echoed, her voice rising slightly. “You disappeared for nine years, and now you suddenly show up on my doorstep because you needed to know?”

Her gaze flicked to Rosa, standing silently by Nate’s side, and her expression shifted from anger to confusion, then to something that looked like betrayal. “Is this your girlfriend?” Sarah asked, the words sharp, cutting through the heavy air between them. “You turn up after all this time with a woman in tow?”

Rosa’s hand tightened around his, a silent show of support, and he met Sarah’s gaze, the complexity of his relationship with Rosa suddenly thrust into the spotlight.

“Yes,” he admitted, even though he and Rosa had never discussed their relationship. The word girlfriend felt both foreign and right in the context. “But that’s not why I’m here. Rosa’s been... she’s been my friend, my support. But coming here, to Asheville, it was independent of her.”

Sarah’s response was a cold, bitter laugh, devoid of humor. “A friend,” she repeated, the word laced with skepticism. “And what? You thought you’d just show up, and everything would be fine? That we’d welcome you with open arms? You and your new girlfriend? Does she know yet how you like to run when the going gets tough?”

Nate shook his head, the gesture one of defeat rather than disagreement. “I don’t expect anything, Sarah. I don’t have the right to. I just... I needed to see you. To apologize. To try and make things right, somehow. To make it up to Mia.”

The words hung in the air, a fragile bridge over the vast gap that separated them. Sarah’s gaze was conflicted, her expression playing out in real time the struggle between the hurt of the past and the undeniable fact that he was Mia’s father. Unfortunately for Nate, hate eventually won out, the emotion rolling off her in waves, and Nate took a step back, dragging his hand across his mouth.

“How dare you?” Sarah’s voice rose, each word sharp as a knife. “After all this time, you just waltz back into our lives? With her?” She gestured accusingly at Rosa, her face a mask of barely controlled rage.

Nate’s heart pounded, the urge to defend himself, to explain the unexplainable, rising within him. “Sarah, please,” he began, his voice pleading, “I know I have no right to ask for forgiveness, but I⁠—”

“Forgiveness?” Sarah cut him off, her laughter harsh and hollow. “You think this is about forgiveness? You abandoned us, Nate. You left me alone to raise our daughter. And now, you come back with... with her, expecting what? A happy family reunion?”

“It’s not like that,” he tried to explain, his words stumbling over each other. “I just wanted to see Mia, to know she’s safe. To... to be part of her life, if that’s even possible.”

Sarah’s gaze turned icy, her next words cutting deeper than any knife. “Mia doesn’t need you. We’ve been doing just fine without you. You can go back to where you came from.”

The finality in her voice was a blow, sending Nate reeling. He looked past Sarah, his eyes searching for a glimpse of Mia, the daughter he had never known, but who had recently occupied every corner of his heart. His gaze landed on the sheriff who stood a few feet from Sarah, arms folded over his chest and an uncomfortable expression on his face.

The rest of the world suddenly came back into focus, and Nate looked over his shoulder to see the people at the trading tables standing stock still, staring at the unfolding scene, listening to every word. Even the kindly older woman who’d given them water stared at him, no doubt processing Sarah’s words, judging him as the man who’d walked out on his family. Shame rolled through him in waves.

The sheriff took a step closer to Sarah and touched her arm. She jerked away like he’d burned her. “Sarah, can I speak to you in private?”

Sarah shook her head, staring at Nate the entire time. “There’s nothing to talk about, Sheriff.” She took a step closer to Nate, each word a declaration of war. “Leave, Nate. Leave Asheville and don’t come back. You’re not welcome here.”

Nate took another step back. The ground had been ripped from beneath him, the weight of Sarah’s words, the finality of her rejection, somehow even worse than he’d imagined.

The sheriff’s gaze lingered on Nate for a moment longer, a silent assessment passing between them. In that brief exchange, Nate sensed an understanding, perhaps even a sliver of sympathy, from the man tasked with upholding order in the small community.

The sheriff turned his attention back to Sarah, his voice low and steady. “Sarah, let’s take a moment. This is a lot for everyone to process.”

Sarah inhaled sharply, her stance rigid, the battle lines clearly drawn. But before she could rebuff the sheriff’s suggestion, he nodded toward the patrol woman, who had remained sitting silently by the wall. “Please, escort Nate and his... friend outside. Give us a few minutes to sort this out.”

The patrol woman stepped forward, her expression neutral. “This way,” she said, gesturing toward the front door.

Nate hesitated, a part of him still desperate to get through to Sarah, to reach out to Mia, who remained an elusive figure just beyond his grasp, but the rational part of his brain told him to go, to give Sarah the space she clearly needed. He’d come so far, been through so much, and even though things had gone badly, it wasn’t over yet. The sheriff had called a time out, given him a brief reprieve, which allowed him to hold on to a glimmer of hope, however faint, that he might actually see his daughter.

Swallowing hard, Nate followed the patrol woman, Rosa walking beside him. They stepped out into the chilled air, the door closing behind them with a soft thud that was felt deep in his chest, a symbolic barrier to the daughter he had longed to know. Outside, the world seemed too bright, the sounds of those going about their lives too loud. The patrol woman led them to a table and chairs that had been set up in the parking lot outside the community center, and gestured for them to sit.

“Wait here,” she instructed, her tone kinder than Nate expected. “The sheriff will come out when things have settled.”

She walked a short distance away, taking up a position leaning against the wall, and Nate and Rosa found themselves alone, the quiet of the parking lot a stark contrast to the turmoil that churned inside Nate. He sank onto the chair, the reality of the situation settling in.

Rosa sat beside him, her hand finding his. “Just give her some time.”

Nate nodded, his mind racing, replaying the confrontation with Sarah, the pain in her eyes, the anger in her voice. He understood her reaction, the years of hurt and abandonment not easily erased by a simple apology, no matter how heartfelt. But despite her reaction, the sheriff’s actions suggested that maybe all was not lost, that there might still be a chance for him to prove himself, to make amends for the past.

As the minutes ticked by, he found his gaze wandering, taking in Asheville’s remaining residents as groups of volunteers moved about around them. A figure in the distance caught his eye: a man pushing a stroller, a child walking beside him. Nate’s breath hitched in his throat as the figure drew nearer, memories of the past shaping into the undeniable reality of the present. It was Daniel, Sarah’s father, his stride confident yet weary, the years having etched deeper lines into his familiar face. Two large dogs trotted beside the stroller, their tails wagging, a little bit of normalcy in a world that had tilted on its axis.

But it was the girl walking beside Daniel that captured Nate’s complete attention. She moved with the carefree energy of the young, and as they drew closer, Nate’s heart seemed to beat in time with their approach. The girl’s features tugged at something deep inside Nate, a recognition that went beyond physical.

When her gaze inadvertently met his, the world seemed to pause, the air charged with a silent acknowledgment. Her eyes were the same as his own, the same color, the same intensity, a mirror to his soul and a beacon to his heart. It was Mia.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Nate

Nate continued to stare at Mia, unable to tear his eyes away. Daniel noticed Nate and Rosa, taking in Nate’s fixed stare, and frowned, the moment of recognition yet to hit him. He followed Nate’s gaze to Mia and then slowed mid-step, realization crossing his face as he made the connection. The stroller came to a halt, the dogs sitting obediently beside it, and Mia looked up at Daniel, saying something too soft for Nate to hear.

Nate stood, driven by an impulse he couldn’t contain, his feet moving before his mind could catch up. Rosa stood too, following a few steps behind as Nate walked slowly toward Daniel and Mia. The pair stood fifty yards away on the side of the street under a skeletal oak, its yellowed leaves littering the ground around them.

His breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight of his daughter, her curious eyes taking him in, too. The world seemed to narrow down to that single, pivotal moment, the culmination of all his fears and all his hopes standing before him in the form of a little girl who shared his blood but knew nothing of him.

As he continued to approach, the space between them charged with a myriad of unspoken emotions, Sarah burst through the community center’s doors, her steps faltering as she took in the scene unfolding on the street. Her eyes darted from Nate, to Mia, then to Daniel, a look of sheer panic crossing her face, before she hurried forward, jogging to Daniel and positioning herself in front of Mia, as though to shield her daughter, her body becoming a barrier, her actions speaking louder than any words could.

Nate stood frozen, the desire to reach out, to connect with his daughter, warring with the respect he owed Sarah’s wishes. The street felt impossibly small, and in that moment it hit him: the true cost of his choices, the depth of the wounds he had inflicted not only on Mia but on Sarah as well.

“Mama, who is that?” Mia’s words hit Nate like a physical blow.

Daniel cleared his throat, then, with measured steps, moved around the stroller, speaking in a low voice to the two dogs, instructing them to stay. Still standing protectively in front of Mia, Sarah watched him with a look of confusion. He stopped beside her, his hand resting briefly on her shoulder, a silent gesture of reassurance before he turned his attention to Nate.

Daniel stared at Nate for a long moment, his gaze a silent assessment that seemed to pierce straight to Nate’s core, before he walked closer to where Nate and Rosa stood on the other side of the road. He stopped in front of them, and Nate braced himself, unsure what to expect, when Daniel unexpectedly extended his hand. Nate hesitated for just a moment, the gesture so ordinary yet so charged with meaning, before reaching out to grasp it. The handshake was firm, an acknowledgment of the complexities of their shared history.

“You did right by coming back,” Daniel said, his voice quiet but clear. “But you gotta give it time. What happened isn’t going to get resolved straight away.”

Nate nodded, words failing him in the face of Daniel’s quiet understanding. It was advice he needed to hear, a reminder of the long road ahead. Daniel squeezed his hand, giving it one last pump, before releasing it and pivoting, heading back to where Sarah and Mia stood. He spoke to them softly, his words lost to the wind, to the birdsong, and the everyday sounds of a community getting on with the day-to-day task of surviving.

A moment later, Daniel gently guided Sarah and Mia away, turning the stroller around to reveal a dog inside with a bandage around one leg. He whistled and the other two dogs trailed behind as the group walked down the street, away from Nate. Sarah cast a final glance over her shoulder, her expression a mix of emotions that Nate couldn’t even begin to unravel.

Nate stood rooted in place, staring at Mia’s small form flanked by her mother and grandfather, until they turned a corner and disappeared. A moment later, the distant thunder of hooves on pavement grew steadily louder, drawing his attention away from his spiraling thoughts. He looked up, his gaze tracing the sound to its source. Five riders approached, their horses graceful in a way that contrasted sharply with the battered streets of Asheville.

The sheriff, who had been watching the exchange between Nate and Daniel from the front door of the community center, walked briskly past, his eyes fixed on the approaching riders. He stopped a few feet away from Nate, planting his hands on his hips as he assessed the newcomers, then shot a glance over his shoulder, his expression a mix of irritation and uncertainty. It was clear that Nate’s presence had complicated matters in a way the sheriff wasn’t expecting.

With a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the entire town, the sheriff’s frown deepened. “Looks like our guests are here.”

His voice suggested the arrival was expected, but part of something even bigger that was going on. He regarded Nate and Rosa for a moment longer, as though deciding what to do next.

“Listen, I’ve got to deal with this. Head into the community center, ask for Jenny Peabody. She’ll sort you out with a place to bunk down for the night.” His tone left no room for argument—Nate’s presence was a problem to be shelved until more pressing matters were dealt with.

As the sheriff strode away to meet the riders, Nate turned to Rosa, offering a half-smile that was more resignation than reassurance. Together, they headed to the community center, which buzzed with the low hum of activity, the air filled with the murmur of conversation. Nate asked for Jenny Peabody, his request met with nods of recognition, and a man pointed out the older lady who’d given them water earlier.

They headed over to Jenny and explained that the sheriff had sent them. After giving Nate what looked like a disapproving look, she gestured for them to follow her, leading them out of the community center once more and away from the sheriff and the group of newcomers who were engaged in amiable conversation, the sheriff shaking hands with them in turn, slapping backs and smiling his welcome.

Nate hurried to keep up with Jenny, who was already moving down the street with purpose, and they passed a group of volunteers focused on repairing and restoring a row of houses that bore the scars of recent looting.

“They’re getting these houses ready for the new arrivals,” Jenny said. “We’ve got some people from different communities joining us to help with security.”

“Have there been problems?” Rosa asked.

Jenny stumbled over her words, hesitating for a long moment. “The sheriff can fill you in,” she eventually said as they stopped in front of a house that, while clearly having seen better days, had been patched up and made habitable. The front door swung open to reveal a sparse interior that was clean and welcoming, and she led them through to a small bedroom, letting them know that it would be theirs for the duration of their stay.

“Thank you,” Nate said. “I was wondering when we might be able to get our rifle and motorcycle. We just want to make sure they’re secure.”

Jenny paused at the doorway, her expression unreadable, repeating her new mantra. “You’ll need to speak with the sheriff about that.”

With that, she excused herself, leaving Nate and Rosa alone in the quiet room. They took a moment to absorb their new surroundings, the simplicity of the room soothing, given everything they’d navigated to get there. The walls were painted a soft beige, with a few cracks visible from the wear and tear of time, and there was a simple wooden bed against one wall, with a white sheet and a thin blanket folded neatly at the foot. A small nightstand stood next to the bed, holding a few books, and across from the bed was a window covered by plain curtains that let in soft light, a view of the street beyond visible through the gap.

“Well, I guess this is home for as long as they’ll have us,” Nate said, perching on the edge of the bed, his emotions abating and leaving him with a strange, hollow feeling. “Miss Peabody doesn’t like me, I can tell.”

Rosa took a seat beside him, giving him a quick smile. “They seem like good people. And Mia is beautiful. She looks just like you. I know that didn’t go exactly as you hoped, but Daniel is right. Just give it some time.”

Nate nodded. Being back in Asheville, the place where his past and future had collided, the echoes of Daniel’s words became a bittersweet refrain. Patience. Time. And as he pictured his daughter walking away from him, a part of him walked with her, bound by an invisible thread of hope and regret, hoping for the day when he might be more than just a stranger on the street.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Sarah

Nate was back. He was there, in Asheville, and it wasn’t a nightmare—Sarah had pinched herself to be sure. She continued walking beside her father, the stroller he was pushing bumping over the road, Rusty inside staring at her like he could see right through her. Bailey and Aria walked beside her father, while Mia remained between them, holding tight to Sarah’s hand.

As they walked away from Nate, the morning sun doing little to warm the cold air gusting up the street, each step was surreal, as if she were moving through an alternate reality from which she couldn’t escape. It didn’t seem possible that Nate was there after all that time, a ghost she’d worked hard to leave in the past, but she’d seen him with her own eyes.

They soon reached home, Sparky’s excited barking and the joyful commotion as she greeted the other dogs momentarily piercing through Sarah’s daze. Their energy and playfulness provided a fleeting anchor to the present moment, and she swallowed hard as she walked inside the house, stepping around the dogs and stopping just inside the front door.

For a long moment, she stood in the entryway, staring at her reflection in the speckled mirror someone had placed on the side table. Her father and Mia walked further into the house, her father’s voice bubbling in the background as he chatted to Mia about the things they had to do that day. But as the world continued to move around her, Sarah was numb, her eyes on her own face, her thoughts a million miles away.

“Mom, who was that man?”

Sarah looked down to see Mia standing beside her, taking in her daughter’s gray eyes, her sweet face waiting for answers Sarah wasn’t ready to give. She swallowed, choked by the tightness in her throat.

“Not now, Mia.”

Daniel stepped closer and took Mia’s hand. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s make some more dog kibble. That was the next thing on our list for today, right?”

“That’s right,” Mia said, although she stared at Sarah as she spoke, her brows furrowed.

With arms that felt leaden, Sarah pulled Mia to her, embracing her, before shooting a grateful look at her father.

“You should go next door to my place for a bit. No one’s home. I’ll hold down the fort here,” Daniel said with a meaningful look that spoke volumes: take some time to pull yourself together.

Sarah nodded and headed to the small house next door, crossing the threshold into her father’s home, each step heavy with the weight of unprocessed emotions. The familiar surroundings of her father’s living room, with its well-worn furniture and the soft morning light streaming through the gaps in the boarded-up windows, offered no comfort. She sank onto the sofa, her gaze fixed vacantly on a wall, seeing nothing as her mind replayed memories she’d long repressed in excruciating detail.

The last couple of months of her pregnancy, a time filled with fear, loneliness, and the bitter sting of abandonment, flooded back with painful clarity. Nate was a wound she’d thought time had healed, but it throbbed with unexpected pain at his reappearance. The rawness of those days, the years of struggle to build a life for herself and Mia that followed, felt as vivid as if it were yesterday.

In the quiet of the morning, with the community outside continuing on unaware that her world had been turned completely upside down, Sarah sucked in a ragged breath. A feeling of nothingness, of being suspended in space and time, enveloped her, a self-protective mechanism against the tide of feelings rushing through her, and she leaned her head back against the sofa, closing her eyes.

Some time later, the creak of the opening door pulled Sarah from the fog that had settled over her, and she opened her eyes to see Tex’s familiar figure framed in the morning light. His usual easy grin was in place, but it faltered as he took in her expression, her emotions playing over her face in the dim room.

“Did someone replace my sunshine with a storm cloud this morning?” Tex teased, his voice laced with a warmth meant to comfort.

But Sarah just looked away, her vacant stare fixed on the wall opposite as she struggled to keep a tight lid on the emotions churning inside. Tex walked to her in silence, taking a seat beside her on the worn sofa, his smile faded and replaced by a look of worry.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Tex asked, his voice dropping to a gentle, almost cautious tone, his demeanor shifting from playful to earnest.

Sarah drew a deep, shaky breath, the words filling her mouth, her throat dry.

“Nate’s back.” She swallowed hard, throat coated in glass, his name a bitter pill. “He walked into town like he hasn’t been gone for years. Like he didn’t walk out on me when I was about to give birth. And he wasn’t alone.”

The room seemed to contract around her with the weight of her admission, the walls bearing witness to her unraveling, the crumbling of the last vestiges of her composure.

Tex’s brow furrowed, his hand reaching out and taking hers. “Nate? As in Mia’s dad, Nate?” he clarified, though the answer was written all over her face.

Sarah nodded, the anger simmering beneath her shock finally finding its voice. “Yeah, that Nate. He just strolls back into our lives with... with someone else. After everything he put us through. I don’t know what he’s thinking. Maybe that Mia will run back into his arms, and he and his girlfriend can play happy families with my daughter. But I’m telling you now, that’ll happen over my dead body.”

The injustice of it, the audacity of Nate’s return, ignited a fire inside, burning away the numbness that had held her in its grip just moments before. Her hands curled into tight fists, knuckles white with tension, and a burning sensation radiated from her chest, as if her heart had caught fire and was threatening to consume her. Every muscle in her body tensed, her jaw clenching as she held back a scream of frustration, the intensity of it all overwhelming.

Tex ran a hand through his dark hair, staring at her like he wasn’t sure what to say.

“How can he just show up? How does he think he can make up for what he did?” Sarah’s voice rose, filled with years of pent-up frustration and pain.

Tex’s voice was even more gentle as he squeezed her hand, trying to counterbalance her growing fury. “Maybe he’s here to try and make things right, Sarah. People change, maybe he⁠—”

“Make things right?” Sarah cut in sharply. Her chest tightened with a hurt so deep, it was a physical pain. “How, Tex? How can he possibly undo the last ten years, the nights Mia asked about her dad who was nothing more than a name to her, the days I struggled alone, wondering why we weren’t enough for him to stay?”

The room seemed to shrink with the intensity of her outburst, the walls echoing her every word, amplifying the upheaval inside. Tex leaned back to put space between them.

“I don’t know, Sarah,” Tex said. “I can’t imagine what you went through. But holding on to that anger, it’s only going to eat away at you. Maybe hearing him out could give you some peace, if not for your sake, then maybe for Mia’s.”

Sarah’s breath hitched, her fiery gaze softening for a moment as she considered his words. The idea of peace, of some resolution to the years of hurt, was a balm she longed for, but the thought of facing Nate, of reopening old wounds, was just too much to bear. As Tex reached out, his hand tentatively covering hers, she pulled back.

“I get that you’re hurt, Sarah,” he said, trying to bridge the gap her anger had created once more. “But maybe—just maybe—he’s here to do whatever it takes. Maybe he’s realized the horrible mistake he made.”

The suggestion, well-intentioned as it was, struck a raw nerve. Sarah’s anger boiled over, a tidal wave of emotion that couldn’t be contained. “Horrible mistake?” she echoed, her voice sharp and brittle. “Yes. It was a horrible mistake that he’ll never be able to fix. How does someone fix abandoning their own child? For leaving when I needed him the most? Get real, Tex. This isn’t a movie with a happy ending, this is real life.”

Hurt flashed in Tex’s eyes, and he recoiled slightly, as if her words had physically struck him. A part of her, distant and detached, recognized that she was directing her anger at the wrong person, but the overwhelming sense of betrayal and injustice clouded her judgment.

“I— I need some space,” she managed to choke out, her voice breaking under the strain of her emotions. With a strength she didn’t feel, she pushed herself to her feet, the movements rigid and mechanical.

Tex watched as she strode to the door. “Sarah, I⁠—”

But she couldn’t stay, couldn’t face another moment of trying to articulate the depth of her pain at seeing Nate again. Her father had told her Nate might come, but never in her wildest dreams had she really believed the man would make it. Without another word, Sarah stepped outside, closing the door behind her, the cool morning air doing nothing to soothe the fire raging in her heart.

Outside, she found herself aimlessly wandering, each step carrying her further from the house, from Tex, from the suffocating weight of her emotions. The familiar streetscape seemed alien, the knowledge that Nate was out there, somewhere close by, burning her from the inside out.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Sarah

The chill in the air deepened as Sarah wandered through the streets of Asheville. She glanced up, the sky a tapestry of darkening clouds, then continued walking, her eyes on the ground in front of her. How had her world been turned upside down in a matter of moments? Nate’s sudden reappearance had torn through her life like a hurricane, pulling up memories and emotions she’d rather have stayed buried. Forever.

She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could just block it all out, when the first drops of rain began to fall, light at first, then with increasing intensity. Sarah barely noticed, her thoughts stuck in the past, replaying the day she’d come home from work to find a note on the kitchen bench. A note!

The rain intensified, and the few people who’d remained on the streets hurried indoors to seek shelter, the sound of their steps soon fading away. But Sarah kept walking, raindrops tracing cold paths down her cheeks, indistinguishable from the tears she no longer bothered to keep in.

She hadn’t cried about Nate or everything that happened after for a long time—the estrangement from her mother, the struggle to make sure the cupboards were filled with nutritious and healthy food, that Mia had shoes that fit, a warm winter jacket every winter, that the heat and gas stayed on. But as the skies opened up overhead, the sheer physicality of the rain against her skin allowed the tight coil of anger and hurt inside her to unspool, if only slightly. Each step became a catharsis, each breath in the rain-soaked air a small act of defiance against the pain of Nate’s return.

She kept walking and crying until both her tears and the storm dried up, the cool air clean and fresh-tasting. People began emerging from their homes once more, venturing onto the street to continue whatever chores the storm had interrupted. Soaked to the bone, Sarah’s feet led her beyond the familiar streets around the community center, into the quieter streets still within the barricade, where no one had moved into the looted homes that lined the roads, and she could have some time to herself. She continued walking, the regularity of her footfalls almost meditative, until the sound of raised voices drew her from her thoughts.

Up ahead, at one of the old wells that served as a water source for the community, a group stood in a circle, emotions high, tools scattered on the ground around the well. Jeremy stood among them, his distinctive silhouette marked by the animated motion of his hands as they fluttered by his side, his words both urgent and frustrated. One of the volunteers, a broad-shouldered man with a face reddened by more than just the cold, appeared to have taken issue with Jeremy, and Sarah hurried closer. She paused a short distance away, her heart still heavy but her mind sharpening at the scene unfolding in front of her. Jeremy’s hands continued their agitated dance, a sign of his growing distress.

“It’s the pump,” Jeremy insisted, his voice tinged with the strain of being misunderstood, his usual directness likely being misconstrued as aggression or impertinence in the tense atmosphere.

The man rolled his eyes. “We know it’s the pump. Now just be quiet, like I already asked you, so I can get it fixed.”

“You’re not understanding me,” Jeremy said, his voice rising in pitch. “Nothing you’re doing is working. My mama always said to slow down so people understand, but it doesn’t matter how slow I go, because you’re not listening.”

The man’s head whipped around. “Are you calling me slow?”

“The pump must be clogged with debris. It’s a simple fix if we just clear the blockage.”

The broad-shouldered man, clearly not accustomed to being given advice by someone much younger than him, bristled at Jeremy’s explanation. “Look, kid, I’ve been fixing things around here longer than you’ve been out of diapers.”

“If the inflow valve is blocked, whatever you do up here won’t fix anything.”

The man scoffed, turning to the others with a look of exasperation. “This kid clearly doesn’t know when to stop talking.”

“It’s simple!” Jeremy looked like he was on the verge of tears.

The broad-shouldered man, his patience frayed, shot back, “We don’t need your kind of help, Jeremy. Just back off, alright?”

Sarah couldn’t stand by any longer. “Hey, what’s going on here?”

She stood close to Jeremy, arms folded over her chest, making it clear whose side she was there to support, her anguish over Nate momentarily forgotten. Jeremy looked visibly relieved as she pivoted to face him, taking several slow, deep breaths until he mirrored her breathing, his hands slowly stilling.

“The pump, Sarah, it’s not working right. I think it’s blocked inside the well, but he won’t listen,” he said, gesturing toward the man with a mixture of appeal and frustration.

Sarah turned to the man, her approach diplomatic yet firm. “Let’s just take a moment, okay? Jeremy’s good with things like this. If he says it’s blocked, it’s worth checking out.”

“He’s been shouting about it for the last fifteen minutes,” the man replied.

“Let’s just listen and try out his suggestion, and if he’s wrong, there’s no harm done, right? But continuing to argue about it is just making everyone stressed.”

The man, taken aback, hesitated, then nodded grudgingly. “Alright, let’s hear it then,” he conceded. “But if he’s wrong, I want him out of here so I can work in peace.”

“We’ll both leave you to it,” Sarah promised, and the man’s posture relaxed slightly.

As Sarah and the group gathered around the old well, Jeremy took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

“Look,” he said, “the manual pump’s piston isn’t moving freely. It’s likely there’s sediment or debris caught in the intake valve at the bottom.”

The broad-shouldered man, skepticism etched across his features, crossed his arms defensively. “You seem to know an awful lot about wells,” he muttered, his tone still laced with doubt.

Sarah shot him a warning look, and he glanced away.

Jeremy looked around at the assembled group, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. “If we can lower someone down, we can clear the blockage directly.”

“You gotta be kidding me.” The broad man shook his head, others joining in. “No way we are lowering someone into the well. We’re here to fix it, not get someone killed.”

“Is there another way?” Sarah asked, holding Jeremy’s gaze steady and offering him a smile.

“Maybe there’s a safer way,” he said, his expression tightening as his mind raced through alternatives. “We don’t have to go down. We might be able to clear it from up here.”

Jeremy’s gaze swept over the assortment of tools and materials scattered around them, his mind no doubt ticking through possibilities. With a spark of inspiration, he grabbed a length of sturdy but flexible wire and a tool that looked like a screwdriver with a hook on the end. The group watched, a mix of curiosity and skepticism in their eyes, as Jeremy began to fashion a makeshift tool. Straightening the wire, Jeremy formed a long, slender probe, then he attached the tool to one end.

“This should reach the blockage without anyone needing to risk going down,” he explained, his voice steadier than before. Sarah nodded, impressed by Jeremy’s quick thinking and adaptability, and the tension that had hung over the group began to dissipate, replaced by a cautious optimism as Jeremy kneeled by the well’s edge, the newly crafted tool in one hand.

He slowly lowered the wire into the well, guiding it until the makeshift hook disappeared into the shadowy depths. After a moment that stretched taut with anticipation, Jeremy seemed to feel a slight resistance. With a careful combination of twisting and pulling, he pulled the wire up to reveal a tangle of roots and debris.

Scattered applause broke the silence as Jeremy lowered the probe again, repeating the process until it came up clear. Sarah looked up, pleased to see the broad man’s anger had been replaced with a nod of respect—when he clapped Jeremy on the back, it was with an unspoken apology.

Jeremy continued to work carefully until he was satisfied the blockage had been cleared, then they worked as a group to reassemble the pump. When they tested it, water flowed freely once again into the bucket positioned at the outlet, and a stronger round of applause broke out.

In that moment, surrounded by her neighbors, her hands dirty from the work, a flicker of something like hope pushed through the emotional fog that had settled over her since she first set eyes on Nate. She held Jeremy’s gaze for a long moment, smiling at him, relieved to see his broad grin.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Sarah

As Sarah and Jeremy walked away from the well, the camaraderie of the group fading behind them, her intrusive thoughts about Nate returned, and she slipped into silence. The brief respite from the shared success at the well tumbled away as Nate’s return invaded her mind like unwelcome shadows at dusk.

They walked without speaking, the sky overhead still overcast as they stepped over puddles and went wide of rain-drenched trees and shrubs. An image of Nate’s face slashed through Sarah’s head, and her hands tightened into fists at her side. Jeremy stared at her for a long moment, to the point of discomfort, and Sarah looked away, not wanting to meet his eye.

“You’re upset,” he said, his tone devoid of judgment, just a simple statement of what he saw.

Sarah stopped walking, wrestling with the turmoil Nate’s return had stirred inside, while Jeremy’s earnest gaze held steady, searching her face. She rarely confided in people about Nate, and hadn’t spoken of him for years to anyone, except when her father had recently confessed he’d been in touch with Nate and asked him to return.

But Sarah had changed. She was no longer the person she was before the disaster, always wanting to stand on her own two feet, never accepting help from anyone. Jeremy was her friend, and the way he looked at her, like he really cared about her, loosened something inside, and she found herself voicing the thoughts she’d been struggling to contain.

“Mia’s dad is back,” she said, the words bitter on her tongue. “After all these years, he just... shows up here in Asheville.”

Jeremy processed this information, his brow furrowed in thought. “And you’re not happy about that?”

Sarah let out a mirthless laugh. “Definitely not. I hoped I’d never have to see him again. He left me when I needed him, left Mia. She’s never known her dad. He’s been gone her whole life.”

She glanced at the tree just behind Jeremy growing on the side of the road, water dripping from bare branches reaching for the gray clouds. Their house was just around the corner, and Nate was somewhere in the settlement, too, a thought that left her cold.

After a long moment, Jeremy finally spoke. “Maybe Mia would like to know her dad.”

His words sent a jolt through her. She’d been so focused on her own hurt, on the shock of seeing Nate again after so many years, the idea that Mia would want to know him was something she hadn’t fully considered. Jeremy’s perspective, though painful to contemplate, offered a new angle—one that prioritized Mia’s needs and her future. And Jeremy was right—Mia would like to know her dad.

“But how can I trust him after everything?” Sarah’s voice cracked with the weight of her emotions. “How do I protect Mia from getting hurt if he decides to leave again?”

Jeremy met her gaze, his expression earnest. “You can’t control what he does. My mama always told me that. You can only control yourself. But you can be there for Mia, like you have been for me and everyone else.” He paused, his face growing serious. “I know if my dad left me, I’d want to talk to him if he showed up again. Actually, I’d give anything to see my dad again.”

Sarah absorbed Jeremy’s words, a sense of sadness for everything and everyone they’d lost in the disaster hitting her anew, while the simplicity of his logic offered her a sense of clarity. His words couldn’t erase her fears or the complexity of the situation, but they reminded her of the strength she possessed and the fact she’d always put Mia first and would continue to do so forever.

With a quick hug goodbye and a whispered thank you, Sarah continued to the house. She paused briefly, taking in the two story building they’d made their own, the dramatic Blue Ridge Mountains rising in the distance, recent snowfall whitening the peaks. The conversation she was about to have with Mia was one she’d never really believed would be necessary—Nate had been firmly in the past for so long now—and she was completely unprepared to speak to her daughter about him.

Biting her lip, she pushed the door open. Sparky, along with the other dogs, greeted her with enthusiastic barks and wagging tails, even Rusty limping over to give her hand a quick sniff. Her father met her at the door, his eyes searching hers without saying a word.

“I need to talk to Mia,” Sarah said, her voice firmer than she felt.

Her father nodded, understanding the gravity of the conversation ahead. He reached out and rested his hand on her shoulder, a silent gesture of support. “I’m proud of you, Sarah. Whatever happens, we’ll face it as a family.”

“Thank you, Dad.”

With a deep breath, Sarah stepped inside, the familiar warmth of the house wrapping around her in a comforting embrace. Mia was in the living room coloring, a camping lantern resting on the coffee table beside her, but her hand stilled, her lips pressed together nervously, no doubt silenced by Sarah’s solemn expression.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” Daniel called as he headed to the kitchen. The rest of the house was quiet, the others engaged in tasks around the settlement.

“Mia, sweetheart, I need to tell you something,” Sarah said as she walked to the sofa and patted the cushion beside her, a silent invitation for Mia to join her. She obliged, sitting with her legs folded beneath her as she faced Sarah.

“You know the man we saw on the street earlier, the one Grandad shook hands with?”

Mia nodded.

Sarah took a deep breath. She had to just spit it out, like pulling off a plaster. “Well, that was your dad... Nate... he’s come back to Asheville.”

Mia’s eyes widened, a flurry of emotions crossing her young face. “Is he still here? Is he staying?” she asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and caution.

Sarah took Mia’s hands in hers, offering a reassuring squeeze. “I think he’s here somewhere. And I don’t have all the answers, baby. But I promise you, no matter what, I won’t let him hurt you or disappoint you. We’ll figure this out together, okay?”

The weight of the moment settled between them, heavy and significant. Mia’s next question came hesitantly, her words tinged with the innocence of youth.

“But he left us. Why is he back now?”

Sarah’s heart ached with the need to protect her daughter from the pain and confusion that had shadowed her own life for so long, and she searched for words that would satisfy Mia’s curiosity without burdening her.

“Sometimes, people think they need to go away to find out things about themselves or to figure out what’s important. Sometimes they make big mistakes, like the one your dad made. I think maybe your dad has learned something from being away. That could be why he’s back.”

Mia considered this, her brow furrowing in thought. “Will I get to meet him?” she asked, a hint of both apprehension and intrigue in her voice.

Sarah nodded, her resolve firming. “Yes, when you’re ready. We’ll do it together, and I’ll be with you every step of the way. We’re a team, remember?”

Mia’s small smile in response was tentative but genuine. “Okay, Mom. I trust you. And I think I’m ready now. If you’re okay with that.”

“I’m okay with that, baby girl. This is about you, not me.”

Sarah pulled Mia into a gentle embrace, her promise to protect and guide her daughter through whatever lay ahead a solemn vow. The complexities of Nate’s return, the unresolved pain and the uncertain future all paled in comparison to making sure whatever happened next didn’t hurt Mia in any way.

Sarah kissed the top of Mia’s head, the scent of the shampoo June had made familiar and comforting. “I’ve got a few things I need to sort out, but we’ll talk more about this later today, okay? I promise.”

As Sarah stepped back into the chill of the day, her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and plans. She needed to find out where Nate was, what his intentions were, but first, she had chores and responsibilities that couldn’t wait. She headed down the street, the community center bustling with activity, a palpable sense of urgency in the air as preparations for increased patrols and defenses were underway. Sarah spotted a dozen people she didn’t know—volunteers from the surrounding communities there to help.

Tex caught her eye among the crowd, the moment lengthening as he probed her expression, seeking confirmation she was alright. She offered him a small, apologetic smile, mouthing a silent sorry for her earlier outburst. Tex, ever understanding, tipped his head slightly, his gesture conveying a wealth of meaning: it’s okay. I’m here for you.

Sarah wove her way through the throngs of people, eyes scanning the faces all around until they landed on June. Without a word, she pulled June aside, the need to share the weight of Nate’s return pressing on her. In a quiet corner, her words tumbled out: confusion, fear, and a fierce protectiveness over Mia.

June listened intently. As soon as Sarah was finished, she wrapped Sarah in a comforting hug, a silent promise of support.

“We’ll get through this,” June said, her arms still around Sarah. “You’re not alone. I’m heading out on patrol, but I’ll find you when I get back. I’ll come with you to talk to him, if you like.”

“I’d like that. I’m scared to face him because I don’t know why he’s here, and that just makes me angry. He should be scared to face me.”

June finally released Sarah and let out a laugh. “Trust me, I’m sure he’s plenty scared. And you don’t need to face him alone. I promise.”

She gave Sarah one more smile, then turned to join the group gearing up for patrol. Sarah watched as June spoke briefly to the sheriff and then set off with the others on bicycles, including Tex, rifles slung over their shoulders, figures gradually growing smaller until they turned a corner and disappeared.

A sense of resolve settled over her, despite her lingering anxiety about Nate. The knowledge that she was part of a community that stood together against any threat, that she had friends who would stand by her side through whatever challenges lay ahead, bolstering her.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

June

June adjusted her gear, thinking about what Sarah had just told her, her fingers nimble despite the cold. The space in front of the community center buzzed with a quiet intensity, the groups of newcomers mingling with familiar faces, all united by a single mission: keep themselves and their communities safe from the militia. Close by, Tex stood chatting to a couple of people from his own community outside of Leicester, his usual easy going demeanor edged with the day’s seriousness.

As they made their final checks, June caught sight of the sheriff approaching, his stride purposeful and his expression unreadable. She offered him a nod, hoping to acknowledge the shared effort they’d made in the past few days, but his response was curt, a brief glance that barely concealed his annoyance.

“Make sure you all keep a low profile,” the sheriff said, his gaze sweeping over the group before settling on June. He stepped closer to her, voice dropping, eyes narrowing. “We don’t need any heroes today, especially with all our friends watching.”

A twinge of irritation tightened June’s chest but she chose not to respond. “Understood, Sheriff. We’ll be careful,” she assured him, her voice steady, betraying none of her frustration.

Tex stepped in, offering a wide smile. “Don’t worry, we’ll be on the straight and narrow. Right, June?”

June managed a small smile in response, grateful for Tex’s attempt to lighten the mood. “Right. Straight-laced is my middle name,” she said.

As the sheriff turned to leave, his parting words were unnecessarily gruff. “Just remember, it’s not just your lives on the line. We’re all counting on you. Hopefully, you can handle that and you’re not going to take any unnecessary risks.”

“Let’s move out,” June called, ignoring the jibe, her voice cutting through the crisp air, and with a collective nod, they set off, leaving the safety of the community center behind as they ventured into the uncertain day ahead. Legs pumping the pedals in a rhythmic motion, June took a moment to survey the other nine in her group, some strangers, all wearing determined expressions.

They passed through the barricade and rode as a pack down the road. Tex pedaled smoothly beside June, his casual demeanor in contrast to the nervousness that hummed through the group, and he flicked his dark hair out of his eyes before giving her a dazzling smile. It was hard not to like him.

“Let me introduce you to some of my friends,” he said, gesturing to the riders who moved up to ride behind them. “This is Marissa, one of the best hunters in Elara’s community, and Cole. He’s got an eye for detail like no one else.”

June nodded in greeting, and Marissa smiled, her eyes sharp and assessing, while Cole just tipped his head, his quiet presence somehow reassuring. As they rode, the landscape around them shifted, and they soon left the town behind, buildings giving way to wide open spaces, the mountains in the distance crowned with the first snow of the season. June pulled her jacket tighter around her, the chill in the air hinting at the harsh winter ahead.

“Looks like we’re in for a cold one,” she remarked, her breath visible in the air.

“I agree,” Tex replied. “Let’s hope we can deal with this militia sooner rather than later, so we can focus on getting through the next few months.”

The group soon turned off the road, riding down an unsealed trail with loose rocks and several steep sections that fell away on one side. As she cycled, June thought about what Sarah had told her before she left—Nate’s sudden reappearance had thrown Sarah for a loop, and June didn’t blame her. Things were tough already, and the last thing they needed was another complication.

But June also knew how Mia had longed to meet her father, and part of her couldn’t deny she was happy for the girl, as long as Nate was there to make amends for what he’d done. If he was just there to cause trouble, well, he’d have June to deal with.

They rode carefully down the track, everyone slowing instinctively as the trail grew steeper until they reached their destination, a secluded hilltop that offered a clear view of Fairview, where the other scouting group was just packing up. Dismounting, June briefly spoke to the team leader, who summarized what they’d seen before saying goodbye, June’s group settling into position, binoculars at the ready, while the other group headed back to Asheville. June pressed a pair of binoculars to her face and scanned the area below, her heart rate ticking up a notch as she spotted militia members moving about the camp in group formations.

“Looks like they’re still doing training exercises,” she said, passing the binoculars to Tex.

Tex took the binoculars from June, following her gaze. “They’re not just half-assing it, that’s some serious tactical training.” His voice was low, a mix of concern and analytical detachment.

June nodded, taking in the sight of the militia members who seemed all too prepared, their actions coordinated and deliberate in a way that made her deeply uncomfortable.

“They’re definitely gearing up for something,” she murmured, the knowledge settling like a stone in her stomach. It was one thing to hear a report about it, another to see it with her own eyes.

Marissa adjusted her position, her eyes never leaving the scene below. “And look at the supplies being loaded. That’s a lot of provisions.”

Cole, who had been scanning the perimeter of the camp, added, “Their patrols are more frequent too, compared to what I read in the logbooks back at the settlement. Tighter security. It’s like they’re expecting trouble—or planning to start it.”

A chill passed through June that had little to do with the mountain air and she pulled out a notebook, taking careful notes of everything they saw. Her group settled into a tense vigil, each member acutely aware of the gravity of their findings and the potential threat looming over Asheville, occasionally calling out notes for June to jot down, or speaking in low voices to one another.

Marissa, standing beside her, lowered her binoculars, her expression focused. “Are we sure we can see well enough from here? I’m concerned they know we’re here, or know we are watching, at least. A group could easily slip out unnoticed.”

Cole pursed his lips. “I suppose that’s possible, but getting closer will definitely tip them off. Best to keep our distance and gather what intel we can from here.”

June appreciated the wisdom in his words, the balance between eagerness for information and the necessity for caution clear in her mind, and she nodded her agreement. The group continued their surveillance, everyone quiet as they committed every detail to memory. After several hours, with the sun climbing higher in the overcast sky, a new scouting group arrived to take over, and June briefed the team leader before signaling it was time to head back.

“Come on, team,” she said, a mix of satisfaction and unease rolling through her at the information they’d gathered.

As they navigated the rugged trail back toward Asheville, the group maintained a steady pace. Suddenly, a sharp cry cut through the air, followed by the unmistakable sound of a bike skidding on loose gravel. June’s heart skipped as she turned to see Alex, one of the new volunteers from Elara’s community, grappling with his bike before sliding down a small embankment and landing in an awkward heap. The group stopped, concern on every face as they rushed to Alex’s side. June kneeled beside him while someone else gathered his bike.

“You okay, Alex?” she asked.

Alex grimaced, attempting to sit up. “I think so. Just twisted my ankle, I guess.” His voice was tight with pain, and there was no mistaking his embarrassment.

The chill in the air seemed to bite a little harder as June assessed Alex’s ankle, her fingers gentle but firm. “Looks like a sprain. We need to immobilize it for the ride back,” she said, remembering some of the basic first aid training she’d received when she became a Girl Scout troop leader.

Cole had been inspecting Alex’s bike, and he looked up. “The bike’s fine, but riding back on this terrain might not be the best idea for that ankle,” he said, scanning the surrounding woods for a solution.

“Alex, you can double up with me if you want,” Tex said. “We’ll leave your bike here and come back for it later.”

“I’m sorry about this,” Alex said, his cheeks flushed as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I know we’re supposed to be here to help.”

“Don’t be silly,” June replied. “It’s no big deal. Let me get it strapped up for you, and we can get on the road back home.”

June repurposed a spare sweater from Marissa’s pack, cutting it into long strips, then selected a suitable piece of wood from the underbrush, cutting it to the perfect size with her hunting knife to use as a splint to support Alex’s ankle.

“Okay, Alex, this might hurt a little,” she warned, her voice firm as she began the careful process of strapping his ankle. She wrapped the fabric strips around the wood splint, securing it tightly enough to immobilize the joint but not so tight as to cut off circulation.

With the splint in place, she and Tex helped Alex to his feet. He tested his weight on the injured ankle, wincing but nodding, indicating it was bearable. Tex, with a reassuring pat on Alex’s back, guided him to his bike, and June ensured Alex was seated securely behind Tex, his injured leg extended to avoid any unnecessary pressure. Once everyone was ready, they set off cycling once more.

As Asheville came into view, a collective sigh rippled through the group. Despite the mishap, their mission had yielded some good intelligence, although the sense of achievement was tempered by the knowledge of the militia threat, the clear indication they were planning for something. But the new volunteers seemed like good, decent people: they had each other’s backs, and that was what would matter most when the chips were down.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

June

June and Sarah walked side-by-side down the streets of the settlement, dusk settling over them. A patrol group on bikes set off, the whir of their wheels and the chorus of greetings a comforting sound as they passed, while the streets were filled with the smell of cooking food, lanterns and candles lighting windows, signaling the end of the day.

June glanced sideways at Sarah, taking in her proud profile, the heavy weight of tension furrowing her brow. A silent storm was brewing inside her friend, and Sarah’s usual light-hearted demeanor was absent. She was more likely to make a bad joke in a tense situation than let herself get dragged down into the mire of it all, but all June could see in her expression was a steely resolve that tried to mask the demons from her past she was about to confront.

As they reached the row of homes that had been fixed up for the volunteers from surrounding communities, June paused, seeking out the house the sheriff had specified as the one where Nate and his girlfriend Rosa would be staying.

“It’s that one,” she said to Sarah, pointing to a modest villa with sheets of plastic tacked over the broken windows and the door fixed back on its hinges.

She took a moment to squeeze Sarah’s hand, then they walked up the overgrown path and knocked, before someone inside called for them to come in. June pushed the door open, the warm buzz of conversation greeting them, a stark contrast to the hint of cold dread that was knotting her stomach. Her gaze swept the room, instinctively knowing who Nate was before any introductions were made. The resemblance to Mia was uncanny; his ash-blonde hair and those distinctive gray eyes, fringed with surprisingly dark lashes, mirrored those of his daughter.

Nate, unaware of the impending storm, was the picture of ease, his laughter mingling with the chatter of the group around him. Beside him, the red-haired woman June recognized as Rosa from Sarah’s description, tilted her head back in an open-mouthed laugh. Beside June, Sarah bristled, the sight of Nate so at ease no doubt sparking her indignation. She caught Sarah’s eye, noting the rigid set of her jaw, the silent battle being waged inside, and before the tension could escalate, she stepped forward, her voice calm yet firm.

“Nate?” she called out, ensuring her voice was heard over the hum of conversation.

He looked up, the humor fading from his features as he met June’s gaze, before taking in Sarah with her arms folded over her chest, an unspoken current of anxious anticipation passing between them.

“Do you mind stepping outside so we can have a quick chat?” June forced a smile she didn’t feel. “It won’t take long.”

Rosa sensed the shift in atmosphere and exchanged a brief look with Nate, before she nodded slightly as if to say go on.

“Sure, let’s talk,” Nate said, his tone measured, the tense smile on his face faltering as he stood.

June stepped aside to let him out onto the front yard, then positioned herself between the two of them, before suggesting they head to the green space on the corner of the street. The walk to the corner was short but tense, the playground deserted when they reached it, its colorful equipment muted in the fading light of dusk. Leaves crunched underfoot, scattered across the ground and clinging to the bare trees that lined two sides of the space.

They took their seats on a wooden bench overlooking an old-fashioned metal slide, June hoping it would serve as a neutral ground for what was to come. She took a moment to observe Nate, the lines of his face, the casual cross of his ankles that contradicted the tension in his fidgeting hands. The resemblance to Mia was more than just physical, it was a tangible reminder of the bond, however fractured, that tied him to Sarah and their daughter.

For a brief moment, the only sounds were the faint rustling of leaves and the sweet sound of birdsong. Then the wind picked up and the creaking of chains on the empty swings echoed through the stillness, while the air carried a crispness, a foreboding feeling of colder days to come. Sarah’s voice broke the silence, her tone laced with a controlled tension that must have taken significant effort on her part.

“Why now, Nate? After all this time, what made you decide to come back?” Her question hung in the air, heavy with years of pain and unanswered questions.

Nate shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flitting between Sarah and the ground in front of him. “I— I’ve had a lot of time to think, to realize my mistake,” he said, his voice faltering under the weight of his confession. “I can’t change the past, but I’m hoping... I’m hoping there’s a chance to make things right. To be part of Mia’s life.”

Sarah’s laugh, sharp and devoid of humor, sliced through his words. “You think you can just walk back into her life after nine years? You missed everything, Nate. Everything.”

June observed quietly, the raw emotions on display a stark reminder of the vulnerability and cost of getting into a relationship. She couldn’t help but draw parallels to her own feelings for Daniel, the love she harbored in the quiet spaces of her heart. But witnessing the pain unfolding around her only confirmed that she had neither the time nor the inclination to be getting into a relationship, especially when they were battling for survival on a daily basis.

Nate’s expression was a mix of remorse and desperation as he folded and unfolded his legs, glancing at Sarah and then out at the snow-capped mountains in the distance. “I know I can’t undo the past, but I’m here now, willing to do whatever it takes. I just want the chance to know my daughter, to be part of her life, even if it’s from the sidelines.”

Sarah’s posture stiffened, her eyes narrowing as she processed his words. The silence that followed was fraught with tension, until she exhaled, a decision made.

“Fine. You can meet her. Tomorrow, before the Barter Fair. But Rosa stays out of this.”

“Rosa is a good person. She’s not here to try to take your place or get involved in any dramas. She’s not a threat to you.”

Sarah’s head snapped around, and June was glad she’d chosen to sit between the pair. “Is that what you think? That I’m threatened by that woman? That I’m jealous? I’m sure she’ll be out of your life soon enough, Nate. You’ll be bored with her or leave her behind while you head off to find yourself. I’m not worried. I just don’t want to complicate things for Mia. Get over yourself.”

Nate had the good graces to look shamefaced. “That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry. This is a difficult situation for all of us. I just meant Rosa has been through a lot. She was traveling to see her parents and had to watch her father die. She was all alone, which is why she came with me to Asheville.”

His words seemed to give Sarah pause, and she swallowed before replying. “Just so you know, I’d be angry about you coming back with or without Rosa. She’s probably a perfectly nice woman. It’s you I have issue with.”

“Let’s all take a deep breath,” June said, resting a reassuring hand on Sarah’s leg. “We were making good progress.”

“And I’m still saying yes,” Sarah said, her jaw flexing. “But it’s only because it’s what Mia wants. If it was up to me, we’d never see him again.”

Nate’s reaction was a mixture of shock and gratitude, his eyes widening as he processed her words. “Thank you, Sarah. I won’t let you down. Not this time.”

“It’s Mia you need to be worrying about. I’m a big girl.”

“Of course. I know what I did to her. And you have to believe me that I’ll do whatever it takes to make it up to her.”

Sarah looked out at the darkening playground, a strange kind of calm washing over her. “She just wanted to know you, Nate. All this time. She just wanted to know her father.”

“I know,” he replied, his voice going hoarse. He stood and then, in a move that surprised June, dropped to his knees, facing Sarah. The lengthening shadows cut across his handsome face, his expression earnest.

“I know there is no excuse for walking out on you. There’s nothing I can do or say to justify it. But I just need you to know that I thought I was doing you both a favor. I never had a man like Daniel in my life. I didn’t know what it meant to be a father.”

Nate’s voice cracked as he continued, the raw emotion evident in every word. “I was scared, Sarah. Scared of messing up, of not being enough. I thought leaving was the best thing I could do for you both.”

Sarah stared at him, her face unreadable, the anger that had fueled her seemingly dissipated, leaving behind a weary resignation. “Leaving was the worst thing you could’ve done, Nate. You left a hole in Mia’s life, one that I’ve been trying to fill ever since.”

“I know, and I’m so sorry. I can’t even begin to imagine the pain I caused, the struggles you’ve faced because of me.” Nate’s shoulders shook as he fought to maintain his composure, the gravity of his mistakes crashing down on him in real time. “I’m here now, though. I know it doesn’t change the past, but I want to be here for Mia, for whatever she needs.”

Sarah sighed, the fight gone from her voice. “It’s going to take more than just showing up to make things right, Nate. Mia’s a smart kid. She’s going to have questions, lots of them. And you better be prepared to answer every single one.”

“I will be. I’ll do whatever it takes,” Nate promised, his voice firm.

June watched the exchange silently, her heart aching for both Sarah and Mia. The complexities of human emotions, the tangled web of past mistakes and future hopes, were laid bare in front of her, and in that moment, she understood the depth of what it meant to love and be loved, the vulnerability and strength it required, the faithfulness and dependability. Love wasn’t in the grand gestures and big moments, it was in the everyday, when loving someone got hard but was done anyway, by showing up, by being there even in challenging times.

Nate finally stood, his shoulders squared as if ready to face whatever came next, and Sarah gave him a nod. It wasn’t forgiveness, but perhaps it was a start. As they stood to leave, Nate shook his head.

“I’m going to stay here a bit longer and, you know, process it all. Thank you, Sarah. Thank you. You won’t regret it.”

Sarah laughed bitterly. “I hope for once you’re telling the truth, Nate. Because this time it’s your daughter’s heart on the line.”

June’s arm found its way around Sarah’s shoulders, offering a silent show of support as they walked away. “You’re doing the right thing,” she murmured once they were out of earshot, her voice soft.

Sarah nodded, a semblance of resolve returning to her features. “I know. For Mia. But it feels like I’m making the biggest mistake of my life letting him back in. I swear, if he hurts her...”

“I know. We’ll both be going after him, don’t you worry.”

Sarah forced a smile, a mother’s love battling the scars of her past. As they walked away, leaving Nate alone on the bench, the playground’s innocuous setting felt like the scene of a battle, a place where the first steps toward an uncertain reconciliation had been taken, however tentative.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Daniel

The next morning was cold, but Sarah’s kitchen was warm, steam from the tea in front of Daniel mingling with a cool draft that whispered through the slightly ajar window, carrying the crisp scent of fall. His fingers wrapped around the teacup, the ceramic radiating a gentle heat, while the laughter of children playing upstairs filled the house, a lively soundtrack to the quiet moment shared between the adults gathered around the table.

Tex leaned back in his chair, a calm presence as he kept his gaze on Sarah. She sat across from Daniel, her hands clasped tightly around her own cup, the tension in her shoulders speaking volumes.

“We need some more tea and maybe even some coffee if anyone has any to trade,” Sarah said. “Will you both keep an eye out at the Barter Fair?”

“Of course,” Tex replied. “Your wish is my command.”

Sarah offered him a feeble smile before focusing on Daniel. “Dad, would you take Mia to meet Nate?” Her voice, usually so strong, wavered slightly.

Daniel paused, searching Sarah’s face for any hint of hesitation, but her expression was resolute, her decision made. “Of course I’ll do that for you, honey. But are you sure?”

She nodded, a faint but grateful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “It’s for the best,” she said. “I don’t want my own emotions to have an impact on what is going to be a very important day for Mia. She deserves to enjoy this, regardless of how I feel.”

Daniel’s heart ached for his daughter, for everything she’d been through, but in that moment he’d never felt prouder of her. “Alright,” he agreed softly. “I’ll take her.”

They discussed the details, and Daniel suggested that Rusty stay with Sparky so he wouldn’t overexert himself, while Aria and Bailey, always eager for an adventure, would join him and Mia. With the plan in place, Daniel excused himself and walked up the stairs, leaving Sarah and Tex to talk between themselves, the sounds of imaginative play growing louder with each step.

He walked into the kids’ room and found Mia orchestrating the construction of a fort with Harry’s twins. Her energy was infectious, her laughter a balm to Daniel’s soul. No matter the circumstances, kids would be kids, even if they were building a fort from scavenged blankets and pillows left in the house they’d taken up temporary residence in as society unraveled around them.

Noticing his appearance in the doorway, Mia’s focus shifted. “Is it time to go, Grandad?”

“Sure is, kiddo.”

She bounced up and down on her toes, the pretty pale blue dress she’d selected to wear fluttering around her knees while the twins resumed their fort building in earnest.

“Are you sure you’re not going to be cold in that dress?”

“I’m wearing stockings, see?” She lifted a leg to point out the thick woolen stockings. “And I’m going to take a jacket.”

Daniel took a moment to study her. “You look beautiful.”

A flush colored her cheeks, and she smiled. “Will you tie a ribbon in my hair?” She hurried to her bedside table and retrieved a pink ribbon before proffering it to him.

He carefully tied the ribbon around her ponytail, a simple act that stole his voice as he gently brushed some loose strands of hair away from Mia’s face when she turned to face him. For a moment, Daniel was lost in memories of tying ribbons in Sarah’s hair, the passage of time a relentless force that had transformed his little girl into the strong woman sitting downstairs.

“Are you okay, Grandad?”

“I’m fine. Come on, cheeky, let’s get going.” He glanced at Harry’s boys. “See you later, kids. Be good!”

Together, they made their way downstairs, the promise of a new chapter unfolding in front of them. Sarah was waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs, her eyes softening as they landed on Mia, dressed so carefully for her meeting with Nate. She enveloped Mia in a warm embrace, a silent exchange of strength and love passing between mother and daughter.

“You look wonderful, Mia,” Sarah whispered, her voice thick with unspoken emotions. “I’m so proud of the special girl you are.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Mia replied, her voice muffled against Sarah’s torso, arms tightening around her mother’s waist.

After a moment, they parted, and Sarah gave Daniel a nod, her gratitude clear. Stepping outside with Mia, Aria and Bailey tearing off down the street chasing leaves being tossed in a gust of wind, the crisp fall air greeted them, and Daniel leaned down to zip up her jacket. The community center wasn’t far, but the walk there seemed to stretch, each step heavy with the significance of what lay ahead.

As they approached, the lively sounds of preparations for the second Barter Fair filled the air. Elara and several others from her community were just arriving, their horses trotting down the street with an air of excitement, while Mia skipped alongside Daniel, her words mingling with the barks of Aria and Bailey as they playfully darted around her.

Daniel’s gaze was drawn to the front of the community center where Sheriff Hayes stood, his posture rigid amongst a group of Asheville residents whose faces were marked with frustration, a chorus of voices complaining to the sheriff about various issues. The sheriff caught Daniel’s gaze, and for a moment, their eyes locked, the sheriff’s usual stern demeanor undercut by a flicker of something else—uncertainty, perhaps, or apprehension.

Daniel dragged his gaze away, conscious that the sheriff had already set a firm boundary about Daniel getting involved in his business. As they rounded the corner to the back of the community center, the sight of Nate waiting by an old oak tree, a makeshift bouquet of fall leaves in hand, momentarily stilled Mia.

The apprehension on Nate’s face was obvious, his gaze flicking between Daniel and Mia—he’d clearly been waiting for that precise moment with a mix of hope for the future and fear of what reality might be. Mia picked up her pace again, her earlier exuberance giving way to caution, while Nate pushed away from the tree and took a tentative step forward, extending the leafy bouquet to her.

“Hi, Mia. I thought these might look nice in your room,” he said, his voice betraying a hint of nervousness. “I wanted to get you flowers, but it’s not the right time of year.”

Mia’s response was a study in grace, far beyond her years. She took the leaves with a gentle hand, offering a small curtsy that seemed to come from a place of fairy tales, princesses and handsome knights, a place where little girls got the happy ending they deserved.

“Thank you, Mr. Nate,” she said, her voice soft but clear.

The formality of her address didn’t go unnoticed by Daniel, a reminder of the distance yet to be bridged between father and daughter. But as Nate’s face lit up with a genuine smile, a cautious thread of hope weaved around the trio.

“Shall we take a walk?” Daniel suggested, aiming to ease into the delicate meeting. “The dogs love chasing the birds away from the greenhouses.”

Nate kneeled down and let Aria and Bailey make a fuss over him, using both hands to pat and stroke them as they wagged their tails and gave him enthusiastic sniffs.

“You didn’t have a dog last time I saw you,” Nate commented, focusing on Daniel. “But now you have three? I saw you pushing the other injured one in a stroller.”

“It’s a long story,” Daniel replied with a smile. “I’ll have to tell you about it another time.”

Nate stood, brushing his hands off on his pants. “Of course. Today is all about this special little lady. May I?” He bowed and offered her his arm, which Mia took with a delighted look on her face.

As they moved together through the community’s small farm area, Mia took the lead, her initial reserve melting away as she shared the small joys of her world with Nate. Snowflake, the community’s beloved cow, received a formal introduction, followed by a parade past the goats and chickens, Mia’s commentary sprinkled with questions that were both innocent and probing.

“Where have you been?” she asked, her gaze lifting to meet Nate’s as they paused by the chicken coop. “Mama said you were traveling.”

“I’ve been all over the place taking photographs. All around the world, learning a lot about myself and the different people that live in other countries,” Nate replied, his answer measured but sincere. “But I realized the most important thing was right here all along.”

Mia seemed to ponder this, accepting his presence despite the complexities of his long absence, although her curiosity got the better of her as they continued their walk, her questions volleying one after another.

“What’s your favorite food?” she asked Nate, her hand still tucked in his arm as they approached the greenhouses.

“Pizza, definitely,” Nate answered with a laugh, glancing down at her. “What about you?”

“I like Mom’s spaghetti,” Mia replied thoughtfully, “but I also really like the fresh tomatoes we grow here. Grandad slices them up with a little salt.”

The conversation meandered, touching on favorite colors, animals, and memories. But then Mia’s questions took a more serious turn.

“Why did you come back?” she asked, her voice quieter, a hint of vulnerability in her gaze.

Nate hesitated, his expression turning somber. “Because I realized I wanted to get to know you, Mia. I realized I made a big mistake leaving, and I wanted to try to make things right.”

“Do you... do you like me so far?”

Nate considered her words, his brow furrowing slightly. “I think you are impossible not to like,” he said. “In fact, I don’t believe there’s anyone in the world who wouldn’t like you.”

“Sometimes I fight with Matthew and Luke. I don’t always like sharing a room with them.”

Daniel smiled to himself from where he walked a few steps behind them, listening to their exchange, his heart full of a mix of emotions. He thought about his own role as a father and grandfather, how it had shaped him, and how it remained the most important role he’d ever had in his life. He was grateful that Mia and Nate had an opportunity for a second chance—a rare gift in a world where not everyone got the chance to right their wrongs.

His thoughts drifted to Linda, and the unresolved tensions that had marred her relationship with Sarah. She’d died with so much left unsaid, so many wrongs not righted, and death was so final. There was no coming back, no chance to start over or ask for forgiveness. Sarah and her mother would never get a chance like Mia and Nate.

The sudden clamor of raised voices from the front of the community center jolted Daniel from his thoughts, and he stopped, listening intently. The voices grew louder and he cast a quick glance at Nate and Mia, seeing the confusion mirrored on their faces.

“Stay here with Mia,” he said to Nate. “I need to see what’s going on.”

Nate nodded, his expression serious as he turned his full attention to the girl, engaging her in light conversation to distract her from the commotion. Daniel instructed the dogs to stay, knowing they’d keep watch over Mia, then made his way toward the source of the disturbance, his steps quickening as the voices grew louder.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Daniel

As Daniel rounded the corner of the community center, a chorus of raised voices hit him with full force. A group of Asheville residents had gathered at the front door, a handful of bodies forming a barrier to the entrance of the building, their familiar faces tight with anger. A crowd surged around them, openly gaping at the men whose collective frustration was clear as their demands for action against the militia punctuated the air.

“The militia’s going to make a move soon. We need to do something before they catch us off-guard again,” one man shouted, his voice edged with fear and anger.

“We can’t just sit back and wait for them to make the first move!” a woman added, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “We should be going on the offensive. Hit them where it hurts before they see us coming.”

“Why are we wasting time hosting a fair? Can’t you see how ridiculous this is?”

Sheriff Hayes stood a few feet away, hands on his hips, his usual authoritative demeanor struggling against the tide of words.

“Come on, now. This isn’t the time or the place. We’ve got guests.” He shot a meaningful glance at Elara and the other community leaders who stood just behind him. “Just move aside so we can get started, and all this will be forgotten.”

But his attempts to calm the group in front of the door were met with even more resistance, his words seeming to dissipate before anyone even took them in. Daniel’s gaze shifted to the sidelines where Elara and the other community leaders stood, some expressions concerned, others annoyed. Elara’s voice, sharp and clear, cut through the other sounds.

“Strong leadership is important now more than ever,” she called out, her eyes locked on the sheriff. “Your people need to fall in line. I wouldn’t tolerate something like this.”

Beside her, Thomas Hashman’s broad shoulders tensed, his stance solid as he observed the standoff. Marianne Evans, slight in stature but no less imposing, watched with keen eyes, her dark bangs framing a face set in concentration, while Jasper Hill stood slightly apart, his lean frame tensed, showing a readiness to act if needed.

A patrol group stood beside them, about to head out on their bicycles, rifles slung over shoulders. The group consisted of men and women from Asheville dressed in dark or camouflage clothing, standing clustered together, bicycles propped against their legs, each member’s face stern and focused as they prepared to head out on their mission, momentarily distracted by the scene unfolding at the community center and looking torn as to whether they should stay or go.

Daniel turned his attention back to the five blocking the door, resisting the urge to help, knowing full well any contribution by him would be unwelcome by the sheriff, especially with an audience. As the group blocking the door continued to call for action against the militia, June elbowed her way through the gathered crowd, her voice calm but insistent as she stopped in front of the group and addressed them.

“Mr. Barlow, Tommy, what’s going on here?”

“We’re trying to put a stop to this nonsense, June,” replied Mr. Barlow, an older man in his sixties with a straight back and a full head of salt and pepper hair.

“We all want the same thing here—safety and security for our families,” she said, trying to reach the heart of their concerns. “But stopping the Barter Fair isn’t the solution.” Her gaze swept over the faces in front of her. “It’s our chance to strengthen ties with our allies, to build a united front against the militia.”

A voice from the crowd cut through before anyone else could reply. “And what if it’s too late by then? These guys are right. We need to act now, before the militia decides for us!”

“Action, yes, but not at the cost of our community,” June said, standing a little taller, the muted light catching her eyes. “We can’t let fear divide us.”

Her gaze landed on Daniel and he nodded in agreement, while the sheriff moved to stand beside her.

“We’re doing everything we can to protect Asheville,” the sheriff said, his voice strained. “But hijacking a community event is not the answer.”

“Leadership requires making tough calls sometimes,” Elara said in a voice that was clearly audible, shaking her head before glancing at her watch.

“Come on then, let’s move along now.” The sheriff stepped closer, hands out as if to shoo them away.

“Don’t you touch me,” Mr. Barlow said, standing taller, tightening his grip on the man beside him.

The group’s resolve seemed to harden at his words, their demands echoing louder as they called for immediate action against the looming militia threat. In a matter of moments, the cries from the group of five and the gathered crowd reached a fever pitch, the group’s insistence on canceling the Barter Fair clashing head-on with the sheriff. Voices rose, the collective anxiety of the crowd fueling a fire that threatened to grow and engulf the sheriff’s plans.

June’s attempts to mediate grew more urgent, her words slicing through the charged air. “This isn’t us,” she implored. “Turning against each other... this isn’t the solution.”

But her words seemed to dissolve into the snowballing argument, the group firming their linked arms as they blocked the way.

“You’re supposed to protect us!” one of the men called out to the sheriff. “What kind of leader are you?”

“Maybe it’s time for someone else to take over. Because right now, we’re all in the firing line and you don’t seem to care.”

A chorus of voices added their agreement.

“Sheriff,” came Elara’s voice, and his head snapped around.

She held his gaze for a long moment, communicating something wordlessly, the cloudy sky overhead churning as the wind rushed the gray into a fast-moving, chaotic design that covered the sun. The sheriff broke eye contact before pivoting and focusing on the patrol, who remained standing beside Elara and the other leaders. His jaw flexed as he motioned to them. The patrol members looked momentarily confused, before the sheriff stepped forward and made his meaning crystal clear.

“Move them along. Now! By whatever means necessary.”

The patrol members wore reluctant expressions as they drew their rifles, and the gathered crowd fell silent. Daniel’s gaze locked onto the sheriff, who stood resolute, a grim set to his jaw.

“This is not how we solve our problems,” the sheriff said, his voice cutting through the din. “We stand together, not apart. You need to move aside so we can start the Barter Fair as planned.”

“Please, let’s not do this,” June said, strained but firm, trying to bridge the widening gap between the sheriff and the dissenting group.

Mr. Barlow, whose voice had been loud with challenge moments before, spoke with a hint of uncertainty. “You’d really turn those on us, your own people?”

The sheriff’s gaze darted to Elara, then back to Mr. Barlow. “If it means protecting the rest of us, yes. Please step aside.”

The silence deepened, the only sound the uneasy shuffle of feet and the distant clucking of chickens, the birds unaware of the human drama unfolding at the front of the community center. A profound sadness filled Daniel at the sight of the patrol group with their rifles drawn and aimed at the five blocking the front door. He could see both sides of the argument, but the show of force seemed unwarranted, like the sheriff’s ego had stepped in and was making decisions for him.

One of the men by the door swore, then motioned for the others to follow him, the group moving off muttering angrily with their heads down, the tense moment finally dissolving as the group reluctantly backed down, their grievances still simmering beneath the surface. Those who had gathered around began to whisper among themselves, while the patrol group slowly lowered their rifles. Daniel moved closer to June, offering a supportive nod.

“Maybe it’s best to postpone the fair,” he whispered, hoping to offer a solution that might mend the rift that the standoff had caused. “Even if just for a few hours. We could offer to go and speak to Mr. Barlow and the others.”

June’s sigh was heavy with weariness. “I know. But you heard him,” she said, nodding toward the sheriff, who was already addressing the remaining crowd. “He’s not going to listen to a suggestion like that.”

“I apologize for that minor inconvenience, folks,” the sheriff said. “I’m happy to let you all know that the Barter Fair is open for trade!” As if to underscore June’s point, his voice boomed with a forced cheer in an attempt to mask the tension of just moments before.

Daniel swallowed hard, his thoughts turbulent as he watched the leaders being ushered inside. Despite the sheriff’s declarations that it had just been a minor inconvenience, the morning’s events would leave a mark on Asheville, a crack in the community’s foundation that would need more than a trade fair to repair.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Nate

In the crisp morning air, the garden behind the community center offered a moment of peace. Nate and Mia stood side by side, watching the goats play in their pen, the cold nipping at their cheeks, the garden’s greenery muted in the late fall weather, although there was a stark beauty in the frosted leaves, greenhouses, and the sparse, hardy shrubs that clung to life.

Mia’s breath formed small clouds in the chill, her laughter cutting through the morning’s stillness as they watched the goats’ playful headbutts and agile leaps. Aria and Bailey sat on the grass a short distance away, their presence a comforting constant as they alternated between observing the horses tied up on the grass and the birds perched on the water trough. Nate turned to Mia, her cheeks pink in the cold, her blue dress setting off the deep gray of her eyes.

“See how they play, so fearless and free?” he said aloud, his voice tinged with a newfound appreciation for the moment’s simplicity as they watched the goats. “There’s a lesson in that for us all.”

Mia nodded, her attention momentarily captured by a particularly spirited goat. “Do you think they know it’s cold?” she asked, a smile tugging at her lips.

“Maybe,” Nate replied, “but they don’t let it bother them.”

As they watched the goats, a thread of connection weaved between him and Mia, each shared smile and laugh a stitch in the fabric of their new relationship. The noises from the front of the community center—raised voices and the occasional shout—barely reached them, and Nate was grateful for the respite, the chance to be just Mia’s dad, if only for a moment.

As far as Nate was concerned, the complexities of the world beyond the garden’s borders could wait. There was only the crisp air, the playful goats, and the quiet joy of getting to know his daughter. But the break was short-lived. Soon, the voices grew louder, clearly arguing and tense, and Mia glanced toward the commotion, her brow furrowing.

Nate offered her a smile, hoping to distract her. “You know, in stories, every princess has her loyal knights. Aria and Bailey should be yours, fair lady.”

Mia’s eyes sparkled and she tightened her grip on the bouquet of fall leaves he’d given her. “Do they protect the garden from dragons?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” Nate replied, playing along. “And you know, every princess also has a secret garden, just like this one, where magic happens and worries fade away.”

But the tranquility of the garden couldn’t fully mask the tension that simmered just a short distance away, and the distant voices grew louder still. The dogs stood up, pacing back and forth, glancing between Mia and the community center, no doubt torn by their command to stay and their curiosity about the scene unfolding close by. Then, as quickly as the voices had escalated, everything went quiet again, the usual sounds of conversation and the echo of feet in the community center resuming a few moments later.

The back door of the community center opened, pulling Nate’s attention, and June appeared. Her brisk walk toward them broke the enchantment of their secluded moment, her presence a bridge back to the community’s bustling reality. Despite the obvious weight on her shoulders, her smile was genuine as she caught sight of Mia, her eyes lighting up with warmth.

“The Barter Fair has started,” she said. “Would you two like to join us?”

Nate couldn’t help but notice the tightness around June’s eyes, the subtle markers of stress that she couldn’t quite mask.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

He’d only met June once before, but it was obvious she was upfront, with an ability to navigate through challenges with a steady hand. For her to show even a hint of strain meant things were probably worse than they seemed. June offered a noncommittal shrug, a small frown marring her features before she regained her composure.

“Just the usual challenges,” she said, brushing off the question with what seemed like practiced ease. “But it’s nothing we can’t handle.”

Nate nodded in understanding—given the world they’d all been thrust into, every day was a difficult one. He turned to Mia, extending his arm with a flourish that brought a giggle from her.

“Shall we, Princess Mia?” he asked, his tone light despite the hint of worry gnawing at his thoughts.

The dogs remained in the garden as they entered the community center behind June, the lively chatter and sound of bartering filling the air. People moved between tables, examining goods, exchanging handshakes, and telling stories. Despite the happy atmosphere, Nate sensed a tension in shared looks, conversations that skirted around deeper concerns.

Rosa caught his eye from across the room, her smile bright but respectful of the distance Sarah had requested. She waved, and Nate offered a nod in return, before walking between the tables with Mia, taking in the homemade produce and scavenged goods. The large room was filled with tables all crowded with trinkets, tools, and various items up for trade, the smell of homemade goods and cooked food wafting around the Barter Fair.

“Wow, they look delicious,” Nate said, pointing to some soft rolls sitting beside scones and cookies, the items arrayed enticingly on a table covered with a red linen tablecloth.

Mia nodded, and Nate pulled a granola bar from his daypack, offering it to the older lady behind the table in exchange for a bag of four rolls. She nodded her agreement and Nate took the rolls, before presenting them to Mia.

“Thank you, Mr. Nate,” she replied, tearing off a piece of bread before offering one of the rolls to him.

He chewed the bread, Mia’s arm linked through his, and thought that nothing had ever tasted better as they continued to peruse the items on offer. The aroma of dried meat mingled with the musty smell of old books and worn clothing, while underlying it all was a subtle scent of sweat from the hard work of those bartering for goods. As they meandered, Nate’s gaze was drawn to the sheriff, who was deep in conversation with a couple of community members, his expression serious but controlled. A little way off, Daniel was talking to Jenny Peabody, who Nate recognized from the previous night. He pointed out Daniel to Mia, and then guided Mia gently in Daniel’s direction.

As they passed the sheriff, his radio crackled to life, the static breaking through the hum of bartering and chatter. Nate watched as the sheriff answered, the color draining from his face as he listened, his posture stiffening with each passing second. Daniel, noticing the change, excused himself from his conversation with Jenny and moved closer to the sheriff, his expression turning to one of concern.

Nate held Mia’s arm a little closer, a protective instinct kicking in as the sheriff ended the call, only for his radio to burst into life once again with another urgent message. This time, the news seemed even more dire, and tension spread through the people he’d been speaking to moments before as snippets of the conversation were overheard. The sheriff, looking ashen, clicked off his radio and turned to address the gathering crowd, his voice carrying a grave tone.

“We’re under attack,” he announced, the words hitting Nate like a physical blow. “Multiple barricades are being attacked as we speak. We need to prepare ourselves. It’s the militia. It has to be, for an attack of this scale.”

The festive atmosphere of the Barter Fair shattered in an instant, replaced by a palpable sense of urgency and fear. People began to move quickly, some toward the sheriff to receive instructions, others to find their loved ones. Nate’s chest grew tight as he looked down at Mia, her face a mirror of the confusion and fear that gripped the community.

Without a word, he put his arm around her shoulders, squeezing gently to offer what reassurance he could. They stood there, the community center around them transformed from a place of trade and community to a hub of preparation and defense, fear pulsing in the air like a living thing.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Nate

In the midst of the chaos that had overtaken the community center, Nate found himself rooted to the spot, his arm around Mia, her eyes wide with fear. Around them, the tables laden with goods for the Barter Fair lay forgotten, the air filled with the urgent movements and voices of a community thrust suddenly into crisis.

Across the room, Nate watched as the other community leaders, their faces marked with concern and anger, surrounded the sheriff, their voices raised in a cacophony of questions and accusations.

“How could they get through? Where were the patrols?”

“What about the volunteers we sent?”

“How could you let this happen?”

Elara stepped forward, her presence commanding their attention. “Enough!” she called out, her voice cutting through the noise. “This isn’t the time for blame. We need to act now.”

The sheriff, his expression grim, nodded in agreement. Turning to Officer Mitchell, he issued a terse command. “Sound the alarm. Now.”

With a nod, Officer Mitchell disappeared through the door, and moments later, the sharp, piercing sound of the police siren from the police car parked out in front filled the air, a stark signal that the threat was real and imminent. As groups began to form, quickly arming themselves, Daniel appeared at Nate’s side, his expression taut.

“Nate, you need to get Mia to the emergency meeting point,” he said. “She knows where to go. They’ve practiced many times with June. Make sure all the kids are out of here before you leave. And take Bailey and Aria with you.”

“What about Sarah? Should we find her?”

“She knows Mia will head to the emergency meeting point. She’ll be heading out to fight the minute she hears that alarm. This is on you.”

“Yes, of course,” Nate said, nodding. “You can trust me.”

Daniel clapped him on the shoulder and then turned, weaving through the throng of people heading outside. As he met Mia’s gaze, a surge of protectiveness washed over him, more intense and primal than anything he’d felt before. She was of his blood, his bones, and in that moment, the reality of his role as her father crystallized with startling clarity. He saw not just the child she was, but the future she represented, a continuation of his own life in ways he’d only just begun to understand.

The urgency of Daniel’s words echoed in his mind, not only as an instruction from Mia’s grandfather, but also as a call to his deepest paternal instincts. Resolve solidified inside: he would protect Mia at all costs. The thought of any harm coming to her ignited a fire in his chest—he would stand between her and any threat, lay down his life if it meant keeping her safe.

With every beat of his heart, his newfound commitment pulsed through him, a vow made not in words but in the very marrow of his bones. He shifted his grip to Mia’s hand, a silent promise to shield her from the storm that was about to descend on them, while the siren thrummed in his ears like a war drum.

He glanced around at the faces of those preparing to defend their home—he was not alone in his determination—people hurried to step up and fight against the militia threat. But for Nate, the fight was not just for Asheville or the community that had welcomed him—it was for Mia, for the chance to be the father he’d never been, to rewrite the story of his life with courage.

He spotted Rosa walking toward him amid the flurry of activity, her red hair a beacon in the chaos. She stopped in front of him and without a word, he enveloped her in a swift, tight embrace with his free arm, the urgency of the moment pulling them tighter together before he released her.

“I’ve got to get Mia and the other kids to safety,” he said.

Rosa nodded, her green eyes meeting his, the connection between them deeper than ever. “I’ll stay and help here,” she replied, her voice steady despite everything going on around them. She glanced briefly at Mia, a flicker of emotion crossing her face, before she turned and disappeared into the crowd, joining the ranks of those preparing to defend their home.

Nate scanned the rapidly emptying community center. Three boys, one with sandy hair and a smudge of dirt on his cheek, another taller, his eyes wide with confusion, and the youngest clutching a worn toy truck stood in the far corner around a table laden with dried fruit. Two girls stood a short distance away, one with braids hanging loosely around her shoulders, the other clutching a notebook to her chest, their bright blond hair and identically freckled noses marking them as sisters.

“We need to get those kids, Mia,” he said.

She set the bag of rolls and the bouquet of fall leaves on one of the tables. “Then we need to hurry to Jenny Peabody’s house. That’s where all the kids meet if we hear the alarm.”

Nate glanced down at her, catching her eye and holding it, pride surging through him. His little girl was just as brave as he’d hoped she’d be. “Let’s do this. We stick together, okay?”

“Okay,” she replied, standing a little taller.

They hurried to the other kids. “Come with me,” Nate said, his voice calm but authoritative as he herded them together. “This is just like the drills you practiced. Stay close to me. There are a lot of people outside and I don’t want anyone to get lost.”

Mia gripped his hand tighter and together, they led the small procession out the back door where Aria and Bailey waited, their senses alert to the tension in the air, the police siren louder outside, its wail making the skin tighten at the back of Nate’s neck. In the silent moments between the alarm, distant sporadic gunfire reached him.

“Stay together, everyone,” Nate urged, glancing back at the group of children behind him.

The littlest girl, her blond braids falling over her shoulders, began to sniffle, and Nate slowed and took her hand in his free hand, then continued around the community center. The scene outside the center was chaotic. Members of the community, some he recognized from the Barter Fair, were armed with hunting rifles and pistols, and the sound of gunfire was more frequent, no longer distant but uncomfortably close.

Elara and her group were just ahead, moving with a purpose that was both inspiring and terrifying. They were well-armed, their movements coordinated and efficient, and Nate watched them for a beat, before glancing around. The streets were littered with goods from the fair, abandoned in the rush to prepare for the attack. He spotted a length of rope coiled on the ground and quickly grabbed it.

“Okay, kids,” he said, unfurling the rope. “I want you all to hold on to the rope and don’t let go. No matter what, okay?”

The children nodded and lined up behind him, the biggest boy taking up the last position on the rope. Nate led them through the groups mobilizing for defense, while the dogs stayed close, sensing the tension, their ears perked and alert to any danger. As they moved, a mixture of shouted commands and the thudding of running feet filled the beats between siren wails. Nate kept his focus on Mia and the children, the weight of their safety pressing heavily on him.

A sharp cry reached Nate, stopping him in his tracks. He turned around to see the youngest girl on the ground, her eyes brimming with tears, cradling a skinned knee. Without a second thought, Nate scooped her up into the crook of his arm, offering comforting words as he assessed the injury—a minor scrape, but a mountain of hurt for someone so small in such a frightening situation.

“Hey, it’s alright,” he said. “You’re going to be just fine.”

He glanced back at the rest of the children, who looked at him with concern. “We’re doing great, everyone. Just a little stumble, but we’re all okay.”

Mia’s eyes met his, her expression one of quiet strength. The nod she offered was subtle, but grounded Nate. With the little girl still sitting securely in his arm, Nate bent down to pick up the rope once more.

“Alright, let’s keep moving,” he said.

As they moved away from the chaos erupting around the community center, Mia’s voice, clear and confident, directed them toward Jenny Peabody’s house. The distant sounds of conflict, the sharp bark of rifles, and the deeper booms of larger arms continued, a constant reminder of the violence they were trying to escape.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Nate

As they approached Jenny Peabody’s house, the designated meeting spot for the children in the event of an attack or other emergency, Nate let out a deep breath. The little girl was still sitting in his arms, while the other children, clutching the rope, formed a silent procession behind him.

Jenny Peabody stood at the door with a rifle over her shoulder, her expression suspicious as she watched Nate and the children approaching. The house itself was fortified, windows boarded up like all the others on the street, and her gaze lingered on Nate as he reached her overgrown front yard, then softened as she greeted the children, bending down to pat Aria and Bailey on the tops of their heads.

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” Nate said over the sound of gunshots in the distance, his voice carrying a respectful tone. “We’re here to follow the emergency plan.”

A group of armed volunteers jogged past the house, their movements swift and determined against the backdrop of the overcast sky. Several of the men and women glanced sideways at Nate and the kids on Jenny’s lawn, but none of them slowed, eyes quickly snapping back to face forward, their singular focus on reaching the conflict.

Jenny’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she stepped aside, allowing them to enter. “Well, come on in then,” she said, her voice gruff but not unkind. “You’re the last ones here. The other kids are inside already.”

Nate nodded his thanks, turning to Bailey and Aria. “Stay here, watch the front,” he instructed, his tone firm. The dogs seemed to understand, settling down on the porch with watchful eyes on the street.

As they entered Jenny’s home, a brief wave of relief washed over Nate. The interior was cozy, the living room filled with around fifteen kids of varying ages, their faces lit by lantern light. Jenny may have taken a dislike to Nate, but he could see the kindness in her actions: the way she hugged the smaller children and greeted each of them by name, including Mia. He spotted Harry’s twin boys and waved to them before setting the little girl on the ground. He touched Mia’s shoulder, a brief connection, before crossing the room to Jenny and speaking in a low voice.

“Thank you for letting me in,” he said, sincerity in his voice. “I know we haven’t gotten off on the right foot, but I just want to make sure the kids are safe. If you’ll allow me to help you, I’d be grateful. I’m a good shot if you’ve got a spare rifle.”

Jenny’s expression softened, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Let’s just focus on keeping these kids safe,” she replied. “I don’t like what you did to dear Sarah, but I’ll put my judgments aside for now. And yes, I’ve got a spare gun. I’ll get it for you once we get the kids settled.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that Mrs. Peabody.”

Jenny gave a brief nod and then clapped her hands together, drawing the attention of the room. “Alright, everyone, let’s make sure we’re all here. Number off like we practiced,” she instructed, her voice carrying the authority of someone used to being in charge of a group of kids. Nate suspected she’d been a teacher or a librarian before the world unraveled around them.

One by one, the kids called out their assigned numbers, a chorus of small voices filling the room. Nate watched as Mia held the hand of one of the little girls, her presence a calming influence as she spoke for both of them. Harry’s twins had also each paired up with a smaller child, as well as a couple of younger teens, their youthful faces set with a determination that belied their years.

Once the counting finished, Jenny nodded, satisfied. “Well done, everyone. Looks like we’re all accounted for.”

But the brief moment of order was shattered by the sound of distant gunfire, the reality of their situation crashing back into focus. A knot formed in Nate’s stomach, the sounds of battle a reminder of the danger that was tightening like a noose around the settlement.

“Can we speak for a moment in private?” Nate said.

“If you think it’s necessary.” Jenny motioned for Nate to follow her into the kitchen, where a camping stove stood on top of the electric stove in the corner and the boarded windows let in only meager light.

“What’s the plan if things get worse?” Nate asked, his voice low, mindful of the children’s listening ears.

Jenny’s gaze met his, her eyes sharp. “We stay put unless we get the signal to evacuate. Then we head to the safe house outside the barricade,” she explained, her tone matter-of-fact.

Nate frowned, the strategy fraught with risk. “And if the militia breach the defenses before anyone gets the chance to give us the signal?” he pressed, unable to keep the concern from his voice.

Jenny’s annoyance was palpable, her lips pressing into a thin line. “We’ll just have to hope it doesn’t come to that,” she said tersely, offering no further reassurance.

Nate’s chest tightened. The plan, such as it was, seemed like a thin thread of hope, reliant on too many ifs and things out of his control. He took a few steps out of the kitchen and peered into the living room at the gathered children, Mia catching his eye. He would do whatever it took to keep Mia and the others safe, signal or no signal.

Nate’s voice held an edge of urgency as he turned back to Jenny. “Have you ever faced an attack by a group as large and organized as this militia?” he asked.

Jenny shook her head, her expression grave. “No, nothing like this. We’ve had skirmishes, sure, but nothing on this scale.”

Nate’s frown deepened at her confirmation. “Then maybe we should prepare some emergency bags. Food, water, first aid—just in case we need to move out quickly.”

Jenny hesitated, her instinct to follow her previous instructions warring with the logic of Nate’s suggestion. The sudden rattle of gunfire, closer this time, cut through her indecision. She gave a terse nod, the lines of her face drawn tight with worry. “Alright, do what you think is best,” she conceded, the sounds of battle lending weight to Nate’s caution.

“First, I need to take care of my little friend’s knee,” he said, walking back into the living room and motioning for Mia to join him. He called out to Jenny, “Could you get some first aid supplies please?”

Jenny found a small first aid box and gave it to Nate. With Mia by his side, he gently cleaned the girl’s grazed knee, his movements careful and reassuring. Mia watched intently, handing him supplies as needed, her role as his assistant taken with a seriousness that warmed his heart.

Once the wound was treated and a small bandage applied, Nate looked around at the group of children. “I need you guys to help me,” he said, his gaze settling on Mia, Harry’s boys, and one of the younger teenagers. “I want each of you to take a corner of the house. Just watch and let me know if you see or hear anything unusual, okay?”

The children nodded, accepting the responsibility with a mix of nervousness and pride. Mia and the others turned and headed to their assigned posts, and Nate watched them for a moment—they were all so brave, facing the situation with courage he wasn’t sure he’d possessed at their age. He turned back to Jenny, ready to tackle the task of preparing the emergency bags.

Jenny rummaged through a closet and pulled out a few sturdy backpacks. Together, they filled them with bottled water, canned food, the first aid kit with some additional bandages made from strips of an old sheet, a flashlight, and a small supply of warm clothing and blankets. With the emergency bags packed and lined up by the door, Jenny took a second rifle from the cupboard in her bedroom and passed it wordlessly to Nate, along with a box of ammo.

Nate and Jenny returned to the living room, both shouldering their rifles, where the atmosphere was thick with silent tension as distant gunfire continued to pepper the air. The children huddled together, their wide eyes reflecting the lamplight.

Nate cleared his throat, breaking the heavy silence. “Jenny, do you have any children’s books? Something to take their minds off... everything?”

Jenny nodded and retrieved a stack of books from a shelf, the titles collected by June for the community’s school. Nate selected a middle-grade novel, the cover worn from many readings, and positioned himself where Mia and the boys could see and hear him clearly. Jenny, with a pile of picture books in hand, settled in the opposite corner, gathering the younger children around her.

As Nate began to read, his voice steady and clear, the children’s anxious expressions faded a little. Jenny’s gentle tone as she turned pages of the picture books provided a comforting counterpoint, the simple stories offering an escape from the violent reality unfolding outside, the rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire continuing unabated.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Sarah

Sarah and Tex sat in the living room, the laughter of Harry’s twins a muted backdrop from upstairs. They’d just been discussing Nate’s sudden return and the impact on Mia, and a sense of melancholy lingered in the air. Their hands found each other, both offering and seeking comfort, the bond between them strengthening with each passing day.

Tex broke the silence first, his voice low. “I really hope for Mia’s sake that Nate means what he says. You’re lucky to have your dad. Daniel is a great guy. Every child deserves that.”

Sarah nodded, trying not to think about her mother, and how they’d never have the chance to resolve all the issues between them. Linda’s spacious brownstone in Manhattan had been filled with pretty, shiny things, but it had been empty of everything that mattered.

“Were you close to your dad?” Reluctance swirled through her words—Tex’s parents had died in the aftermath of the banking collapse, but he had never wanted to talk about them.

“I was always closer to my dad than my mom,” he said, his words tinged with a mix of fondness and sorrow. “My dad was my best friend. But Elara, she was the star in my mom’s eyes. Always outshining everyone else, always... more.”

Sarah listened, her own worries momentarily set aside as she shifted closer, leaning against him, giving him support if he needed it.

“Elara’s achievements were legendary in our family,” he continued, his gaze shifting to the boarded-up window, unable to mask his underlying strain. “Rising rapidly through the army, then she became a private contractor working for Mom’s brother, our Uncle James... she was unstoppable.” Tex paused and sniffed. “I still miss them, you know. It all happened so quickly.”

Sarah reached up and touched his dark hair, brushing it back off his face, taking in the vulnerability rippling through his expression. She waited in silence for him to continue.

“They were caught in the riots. Mom was already weak, fighting cancer in the hospital. She was there for chemo treatments, and Dad was with her. He was always by her side.” Tex’s voice faltered, the pain of the loss still fresh, still raw. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I can do this right now.”

“I’m here whenever you want to talk about it.”

Tex took a moment to compose himself, straightening his posture, his shoulders pulled back. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly, before running his fingers through his hair, tucking it behind his ears before opening his eyes again. His gaze was distant and pained, but he forced a smile.

“And your uncle?” Sarah said, gently changing the subject. “He still lives in Leicester, right?”

Tex’s expression hardened, a storm brewing in his gaze. “That’s right. He’s in Leicester. Elara is the one that’s closest to him. She always had this bond with him, something I could never really understand. He’s Mom’s brother. A hard man and we never saw eye-to-eye. He used to say I was too much like my dad and he didn’t mean it as a compliment.” Tex laughed bitterly.

“We all have people like that in our lives,” Sarah said.

Before Tex could reply, the wail of a police siren pierced the fragile calm of the living room. They both froze, a cold knot forming in Sarah’s stomach, her mind instantly flying to Mia. Despite the fear that clawed at her heart, the urgent need to find her daughter and make sure she was okay, her priority was to defend their home, to keep the settlement safe for Mia and everyone else.

“We’ve got to go,” Sarah said, her voice firm despite her conflicted thoughts. She stood, pulling Tex with her, their movements synchronized in the urgency of the moment. They called for Harry’s twins, who appeared at the top of the stairs with their jackets and boots already on a moment later.

“Come on, boys. It’s time to put our drills into action,” Sarah said with a forced smile, attempting to give the kids a sense of normalcy in a very abnormal situation.

Tex and Sarah quickly armed themselves, taking their rifles as the kids waited by the door, then Sarah turned to Sparky.

“You’re in charge, Sparky. Look after Rusty,” she said, giving Sparky and Rusty both a reassuring pat, their tails wagging in an uncertain response. Rusty’s wound was healing nicely, but the dog still needed plenty of rest and a conflict was no place for him. With a quick shared look with Tex, it was time to go.

“Hey, you two,” Sarah said to Harry’s twins as they stepped into the crisp midday air, the urgency around them palpable as the siren’s wail grew louder. “You’re both faster than those video game characters you’re always talking about, right?”

The boys, caught off guard by Sarah’s comment, exchanged glances before a tentative smile broke through on Luke’s face. “Yeah, we’re way faster,” he replied, a hint of pride in his voice.

“Good, because I need you to sprint like the wind to Miss Jenny’s place,” she said, her voice light but her eyes scanning the surroundings for any immediate threats. “No stopping to pet any dogs on the way, okay? Or pick up any frogs and lizards you find.”

Matthew, his hand gripping his brother’s, nodded solemnly. “We can do that. But what about you and Mr Tex?” he asked, his voice betraying the fear he was trying so hard to mask.

Sarah leaned down to their level, her gaze softening. “Tex and I have some important grown-up stuff to handle, but we’ll be right behind you. Your job is to get to Miss Jenny’s safe and sound. Can you do that for me? Mia will be there, too. You guys need to watch out for the little kids and help Miss Jenny make sure everyone made it.”

They both nodded and Sarah gave them each a quick, fierce hug, whispering, “Be safe, and listen to Miss Jenny, alright?”

As they parted ways, Sarah’s gaze lingered on the twins’ retreating backs, their small forms swallowed by others who were racing toward the fight. She turned to Tex, her expression hardening with resolve.

“Let’s go,” she said, the weight of her rifle in her hand grounding her. “We’ve got a barricade to hold.”

Together, they made their way down the street, the sounds of hurried preparations and fearful conversations mingling in the air. The distant gunfire grew louder, a stark reminder of the battle that lay ahead, and Sarah shivered, their jog to the community center a blur of motion and emotion, the community rallying in response to the threat.

Every step they took was a step away from safety, a step toward uncertainty and violence, but Sarah’s resolve never wavered. She was both a mother and a defender of their shared home, and in order to keep her daughter safe, she had to defend the settlement first and foremost. They soon reached the community center, where the sheriff, his face set in grim determination, was already barking orders, his gaze sweeping over the groups in front of him with an intensity that left no room for doubt or hesitation.

“There are multiple points of attack,” he said as Sarah approached, looking for instructions, his voice cutting through the cacophony. “We need to spread out, cover as much ground as we can.”

“Is it the militia?” Sarah sucked in a breath, time freezing for a brief moment.

The sheriff held her gaze, his blue eyes betraying his fear. He nodded, time speeding back up with an intensity that left Sarah with a sense of whiplash, everything changed in an instant. He handed them both a box of ammo and pointed at Tex, directing him to the western barricade, then turned to Sarah.

“Sarah, I need you on the east side. A group is already there. It’s critical we hold them back.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Sarah nodded, her mind already shifting into battle mode. She spared a quick, poignant glance at Tex before turning and sprinting in the direction of the eastern barricade, her rifle gripped tightly in her hands. Elara and a group were visible in the distance, heading in a different direction entirely, and the scale of the attack started to become clear.

Sarah put her head down and forced her legs to move faster, the sound of gunfire growing louder. She soon reached the barricade and ducked behind an SUV with slashed tires, her breath coming in sharp bursts as she assessed the situation. The scene at the barricade was one of chaos: volunteers from the surrounding communities and residents alike were lined up, their faces masks of concentration and fear as they fired at the group on the other side of the barricade.

The barricade itself, a haphazard line of cars and trucks, was all that stood between the militia and the heart of the settlement. The attackers were taking cover in the buildings across the street, their figures darting between windows and doorways, every so often releasing a volley of gunfire aimed at Asheville. She checked her rifle, readied it, then peeked over the hood of the SUV to take aim. The crack of her rifle joined the thunder, each shot aimed with the desperate hope of protecting her home.

“Keep your heads down!” she shouted to a group of volunteers taking cover a short distance away behind a pickup truck positioned just behind the barricade, her voice barely carrying over the noise of the firefight.

The group nodded, their expressions set in grim determination. Together, they formed a ragged line of defense, each person fighting with everything they had as the militia continued to attack. But then a young man in the group, no more than twenty, glanced her way, and his eyes went wide with terror.

“We can hold them!” Sarah called out, trying to infuse her voice with a confidence she was far from feeling, but all he did was raise a hand and point.

Sarah’s head whipped around just as the sound of an approaching vehicle reached her. A makeshift armored truck was barreling down the street toward the barricade, the militia seemingly determined to break through by any means necessary. Scrap metal covered the windows and the windscreen, with narrow slits cut through the metal for the driver to see.

Sarah’s heart raced as the truck hurtled forward, and a horrible realization hit her: if it breached the barricade, the settlement would be open to the militia. She took a deep breath, steadied her aim, and focused on the approaching truck. The next few moments could decide the fate of the community—the security of their homes, the lives of everyone she cared about, were on the line.

CHAPTER FORTY

Sarah

In the span of a heartbeat, Sarah’s world narrowed to the sight of the armored truck, and she tuned out the sounds of the battle around her. Time seemed to stretch, each second filled with the weight of everything at stake, and the rumble of the armored truck grew louder, its engine growling as it bore down on the barricade, the driver showing no signs of slowing despite the bullets pinging off its metal shell.

Sarah’s fingers tightened around her rifle and she stood taller, lining up the truck in her sights. She fired round after round at the oncoming vehicle, but the makeshift armor deflected her bullets with chilling indifference. The truck continued right for the barricade, its driver obscured behind the metal sheets, the hail of gunfire doing nothing to stop it.

As the truck collided with the barricade, the sound was thunderous, a crash that sent shockwaves through the air and ground. The vehicles forming the barricade shuddered and groaned under the impact, metal twisting and glass shattering as the force of the truck pushed its way through, creating a breach.

In the aftermath of the collision, the air was filled with dust and debris, obscuring Sarah’s vision, and she exchanged a worried glance with the young man beside her before turning her attention back to the barricade. Through the haze, figures emerged from the truck, their movements swift and lethal as they dove for cover amid the ruined remains of the barricade. They wore all black, their faces hidden behind bandanas and balaclavas, a faceless, impersonal enemy.

The militia wasted no time, their weapons mowing down those closest to them before Sarah could line any of them up in her sights. As they advanced through the gap in the barricade, darting from cover to cover, Sarah watched in horror as a handful of people she knew were cut down in the merciless barrage, while the screams of the wounded and the dying pierced the air.

A paralyzing sense of helplessness washed over her. Her nurse’s instincts to help the injured warred with the reality of their situation, the overwhelming odds they faced, and the stark reality that she’d be killed herself if she ran out there. But then a fierce determination took hold, defiance filling the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t let the barricade fall, not without a fight.

She shifted her position, seeking a better angle. As she found her new vantage point, Sarah took a deep breath, steadying herself, before she fired repeatedly as she covered the retreat of those nearby, urging them on with desperate shouts.

“Run! Get to cover!”

Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frenetic drumbeat as she turned her attention to the militia, finally taking one of them out. But as she continued to fire, the realization that they were outflanked and outgunned settled in. The militia continued to advance through the barricade, their numbers swelling as more poured into the settlement—ten, fifteen, maybe twenty in all, each darting from cover to cover, pushing deeper inside.

She caught the eye of the young man closest to her. “Get out of here,” she called. “Go, now!”

He nodded and turned, calling to those farther down the line to fall back. With a final glance at the overrun barricade, Sarah turned and sprinted toward the nearest house, her lungs burning with effort. She dove through the front door, the sound of her own heavy breathing loud in the relative quiet, before she pushed herself up and headed into the living room where a pair of broken windows overlooked the street.

From her position behind the shattered window, she peered out to see her friends and neighbors vanishing into houses, their forms shadowy and desperate. The militia, about twenty strong and dressed in black, moved with terrifying efficiency, securing the area around the breach.

Sarah’s view was clear enough to see the unfolding horror. The militia checked each home and she watched, pinned in place by horror, heart pounding, as two militia members dragged a man from his hiding spot beneath a porch. His wretched pleas reached her ears just before one of the militiamen placed his gun on the man’s temple and pulled the trigger. The man slumped forward, forever silenced.

For a fleeting moment, her finger hovered over the rifle’s trigger, a part of her screaming to intervene, to avenge the fallen and protect whoever remained. But the brutal efficiency of the attackers, their cold detachment, held her back. Any attempt to engage would only draw their attention to her position and then they’d come for her.

Each report of gunfire, each shout and command, tightened the knot of fear inside her. She was watching not just an attack, but an attempt to destroy her community, and as she crouched there, rifle in hand but made powerless by the circumstances, she understood the grim truth: there was nothing she could do.

So she remained still, a silent witness to the carnage, while the militia moved from house to house, their advance marked by sporadic bursts of gunfire that shattered the eerie stillness that had settled over their section of the settlement. Her thoughts went to Mia, who was the very heart of her world. She had to survive for the simple reason that she had to see her daughter’s face once more.

With the militia drawing nearer, Sarah cast a quick glance around the room, her eyes landing on a gloomy hallway. She pivoted and padded quietly away from the front room, finding a bedroom with a queen sized bed adorned in pink sheets, the bed somehow inexplicably still made up. She glanced at the cupboards and then bent down and looked under the bed just as footsteps reached the front of the house.

She moved quickly, her actions driven by a primal instinct to survive. Sliding beneath the bed, she wriggled her way to the middle of the mattress, her rifle clutched close. The space was cramped and dust motes danced in the slivers of light that reached her, but Sarah focused on the sounds outside, trying to gauge the movements of the militia through the chaos, her heartbeat loud against the muffled sounds of gunfire and distant shouts.

As she lay there, hidden yet painfully vulnerable, Sarah’s mind raced with thoughts of Mia, of their life together, and of all the moments they still had to share. Each memory was a beacon guiding her through the darkness of her fear. She thought of Nate and wondered where they were. Maybe the two of them were together, and for the first time in her life, Sarah hoped that was true, that someone was with Mia who would keep her safe.

Footsteps and voices indicated the men were in the living room, and her body tensed, coiled for action even as she forced herself to remain still. Sparse gunfire outside punctuated the tense silence and someone screamed in pain or anguish. The sound of boots on the wooden floor in the hallway was measured and confident, betraying no hint of the urgency or chaos that had taken over the streets. Voices reached her, communicating in clipped sentences.

“Clear so far,” one voice said, low and detached. It was clear what was going on was just another day’s work for them.

“Check the back rooms and let’s get out of here,” another replied, his tone equally emotionless.

Footsteps grew louder and Sarah’s breath caught in her throat as boots paused near the bed, the shadow of their owner visible from her hiding place. The dirt and wear on the soles of the boots were visible in clear detail as the man took several steps around the bed, no doubt scanning the room. The sound of the cupboard door being opened reached her.

“Anything?” The first voice again, so close she could almost feel the vibration of his words in the air.

“Nothing. It’s empty,” the second man responded, a hint of frustration in his voice. No doubt the lack of resistance or discovery of someone hiding was somehow a disappointment.

Sarah forced herself to remain perfectly still, not even breathing, the boots still visible through the gap beneath the bed, her heart thundering in her ears. The gunfire outside grew closer, more intense, as if the battle was converging on her location, and she squeezed her eyes shut, sending out a silent prayer for the safety of her friends, her daughter, and for the courage to face whatever was coming next.

Finally, the man moved, the boots heading back out of the bedroom and down the hallway. As the moment stretched on, the men’s conversation faded, their footsteps receding. Sarah remained motionless, not daring to breathe too loudly, until the house quieted. Only then did she allow herself a deep, trembling breath—the threat might have passed for the moment, but the reprieve was as thin as the air she dared to draw into her lungs.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Sarah

Sarah lay there for a moment longer under the bed, every muscle tense with fear, the street outside silent but the echoes of gunfire and screams still ringing in her ears, the image of the truck plowing through the barricade replaying in her mind. With a deep breath, she started counting slowly to one hundred to calm her nerves and make sure the militia had actually moved on.

The space under the bed was dark, but a thin beam of light filtered through from the door, illuminating the dust particles floating in the air as she counted. She got to fifty, the bed slats above her like a cage closing in around her, her heart still pounding so hard in her chest, she could feel it through her entire body.

She reached one hundred, and the house remained silent, with no voices or footfalls coming from outside, nothing except the distant, muffled sounds of ongoing conflict elsewhere in the settlement. Tentatively, she eased herself from under the bed, her limbs stiff and her heart still racing from the close encounter. The room felt larger, emptier, and she moved cautiously down the hallway, her rifle readied.

She reached the living room without incident and a wave of despair hit her. The militia had breached the barricade. They were inside her home, on a rampage, killing and hurting people without a second thought. Curling up in a ball in a dark corner sounded immensely appealing, but giving up wasn’t an option, not while her community, her daughter, were still at risk.

Approaching the front door, she paused, looking out at the streetscape beyond, the gloomy sky overhead obscuring the sun. The once familiar streets of Asheville had been transformed by the violence and terror of the invasion, and her gaze skimmed the signs of the earlier struggle, taking in the bodies lying in the street, the bullet-riddled buildings and vehicles behind them.

Sarah stepped out onto the porch, her senses heightened, still scanning the area for any sign of the enemy, but the militia was nowhere to be seen. The realization that she was alone, at least for the moment, did little to ease the tight knot of anxiety in her chest. Her steps were measured as she ventured onto the street, the grip on her rifle unyielding, her eyes darting to every shadow, every movement that might signal a threat. But the street was eerily silent, the aftermath of the battle laid bare all around.

She approached the man she’d seen dragged from the porch earlier, her heart heavy, her nurse’s instincts driving her to help. But one look was enough to confirm her worst fears; his lifeless eyes stared at nothing, his body still. She quickly retrieved the pistol from his side, tucking it into her waistband with grim determination, before closing his eyes and saying a brief, silent prayer. There was no time for sorrow, no space for mourning—not yet.

As she made her way to the battered barricade, the devastation grew more pronounced. Those who’d been stationed on watch, her friends, and neighbors, lay where they’d fallen, their bodies riddled with bullet wounds. Each familiar face was a blow, a sharp pain that she forced into the recesses of her mind, a grief to be faced at another time.

Her gaze lingered on the barricade, which was ruined, the vehicles that had once formed a protective wall nothing but twisted metal and shattered glass, the gaps where the militia had broken through stark, open wounds. Sarah swallowed hard and continued to move among the fallen, her movements automatic as she checked for survivors, for any sign of life amid the carnage. But there was none to be found.

With every step, with every lifeless face she turned away from, Sarah knew for certain that there was no turning back, no surrender. The militia would pay for what they’d done. The flicker of movement caught Sarah’s eye, and she instinctively raised her rifle, her heart pounding again. But the figures emerging from the houses across the street weren’t enemies, they were survivors, their faces drawn with shock and grief as they took in the aftermath of the attack.

“Anyone hurt?” Sarah called out. “I can help!”

A few stumbled toward her, their injuries ranging from superficial cuts to more serious gunshot wounds. Sarah quickly assessed them.

“I need clean fabric, anything we can use to dress these wounds,” she instructed, her gaze scanning the group for someone who could move quickly. “There are sheets in the house I was in.” She pointed to the house where she’d been sheltering when the militia searched the street. “Can someone fetch them?”

The young man who’d been beside her when the militia broke through the barricade, his face smeared with dirt and blood but looking mostly unharmed, nodded and dashed off to the house Sarah had pointed out. Within moments, he was back, clutching a bundle of pink sheets he’d stripped off the bed she’d hidden beneath. Sarah took them with a nod of thanks and, using her pocket knife, began tearing them into strips.

“Apply pressure here,” she directed one of the bystanders, guiding their hands to a bleeding wound on a young woman’s arm.

She moved from one injured person to the next, using the makeshift bandages to wrap cuts and stem bleeding, her movements efficient even without her usual supplies. As she worked, each bandage tied, each word of reassurance offered, was a small defiance against the violence that had overtaken their lives. Once the most critical injuries were stabilized, Sarah stood, surveying the small group that had formed around her. They were battered and bruised, but alive, and that was a victory in itself.

The afternoon sun cast long shadows over the street, a reminder of the passing time and the urgency of their situation, and Sarah identified a group of five uninjured survivors. “We need to go after them,” she said, her voice firm as she addressed them. “Grab what weapons you can. The rest of you should hide in case the militia comes back. Look after one another and help everyone inside.”

Weapons were retrieved from the dead, and then Sarah plus the five others headed off down the street with the singular purpose of doing what they could to repel the militia. As they ran down the street, the sound of gunfire growing louder with each step, a fresh surge of adrenaline pulsed through Sarah, and she just hoped they weren’t too late.

As they rounded a corner, a figure stepped out from the shadows, and Sarah’s finger tensed on the trigger of her rifle. But in the split second before she could fire, recognition stopped her from making a terrible mistake. It was Rosa, Nate’s girlfriend, her face pale and scared but with a determined set to her jaw, her red hair unmistakable.

Rosa raised her hands in a gesture of peace, her voice steady despite her obvious fear. “I got separated from the group I was with when a militia group came through. They’re inside the settlement!”

“We know,” replied Sarah.

“I want to help, if you’ll have me,” Rosa said, meeting Sarah’s gaze squarely.

Sarah’s mind briefly flickered to Nate, to Mia, and to the complexities of their situation, but those thoughts were quickly pushed aside. Survival and protecting what was left of their community was the most important thing. All the emotions that had felt so raw just the previous day suddenly paled in significance.

“You know how to use a gun?” Sarah asked, her tone no-nonsense as she assessed Rosa.

Rosa nodded, her resolve firming. “Yes, I can shoot.”

Without another word, Sarah handed her the pistol she’d taken off the dead man earlier. “Stay close and keep your eyes open. We’re going after them.”

Rosa took the weapon and checked it over like she knew what she was doing, then fell into step with the group. The unlikely band of neighbors turned soldiers moved forward, united by a common cause, while the sound of gunfire served as a grim guide, leading them toward the heart of the conflict, each step bringing them closer to an uncertain confrontation.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Daniel

The constant crack of rifles and the acrid smell of gunpowder filled the air, mixing with the dust motes dancing in the slanting afternoon sunlight that came in through the shattered windows. Daniel’s grip on his rifle was steady, despite the fatigue that clawed at his muscles, each shot aimed with calm precision.

“Cover the left side!” Daniel called out, his voice cutting through the din of battle.

The young man beside him, a volunteer from a neighboring settlement, nodded and shifted his position, his rifle braced against the window frame. There were several others in the house overlooking the street on the other side of the barricade, two that Daniel knew from Asheville and a third woman from Elara’s group.

The camaraderie among them was a thin yet unbreakable thread, spun from the shared understanding that their survival depended on working together. They communicated in short, clipped sentences, pushing through their fatigue as they did their best to hold the line against the militia, who continued their barrage against the barricade.

A lull in the gunfire allowed Daniel a moment to assess their situation, and he glanced sideways down the street. The barricade, a haphazard construction of vehicles, debris, and anything else that the community had been able to find stretched across what used to be a quiet street. Others from Asheville had taken up positions along the perimeter and around the barricade.

On the opposite side of the road, a group of fifteen or twenty militiamen had settled in, holding their position while making brief attempts to get through the perimeter, which had so far been unsuccessful. Daniel swallowed, his mouth dry, and he glanced at the faces of his makeshift squad, each one drawn and tired, exhaustion setting in.

A fresh volley of gunfire snapped Daniel out of his thoughts, the bullets thudding into the barricade and the house’s walls, one whistling through the shattered window beside him and thudding against the rear wall. He returned fire, his shots measured and aimed with the precision of someone who knew that each bullet had to count.

The sudden appearance of the sheriff at Daniel’s side sent a jolt of surprise through him, mingled with an undercurrent of tension that had nothing to do with the battle at hand. Daniel couldn’t help the flicker of resentment he felt toward the sheriff, and he noticed the other Asheville residents’ cool reception of the man, his authority within the settlement the subject of not-so-quiet dissent.

But as the sheriff settled beside him, Daniel held his gaze and nodded, their mutual goal of protecting the settlement overshadowing the rift between them. The sheriff’s face was set in a mask of determination, the lines around his eyes speaking of the burden he carried, the constant pressure to prove himself worthy of his role, and Daniel softened toward the man. It can’t have been easy being thrust into a situation like he had, in charge of keeping the community safe from a multitude of threats while the world crumbled around them.

“Any news from the other barricades?” Daniel asked.

The sheriff shook his head. “We lost contact with the barricade on the east. I can only hope they’re too busy holding their position. We’re still holding the line at the other barricades, but things are looking grim. We need to get rid of these guys and consolidate and provide some back up for the others.”

“Easier said than done,” Daniel replied grimly, refocusing on the street.

The rhythm of their gunfire became a fierce symphony as Daniel and the sheriff took aim and fired whenever they spotted movement, their shots echoing off the looted and abandoned homes opposite. But then Daniel noticed a discrepancy.

“They’re thinning out on the right,” Daniel said. He glanced at the sheriff, seeking confirmation or a plan.

The sheriff reloaded his weapon with practiced hands and spared a long glance across the debris-strewn road. “They could be moving,” he replied, the implication hanging heavily between them.

Daniel’s heart rate spiked with the realization. “Flanking us? Or heading to another location?” he asked, voice low, as he peered through the window.

“Hard to know. They could even be in retreat. All we can do is hold this line. We’ve got no other choice.”

Daniel nodded and the unspoken agreement between them solidified; personal grievances were trivial compared to the threat looming over their community, and they continued firing every time one of the militia came into view for several more moments until a sudden, eerie silence enveloped them, the militia on the other side going quiet. A tense pause followed that felt like the world holding its breath.

“What’s going on?” the woman from Elara’s community said.

Before anyone could reply, the abrupt crack of a rifle from behind shattered the calm, and Daniel spun around, adrenaline and fear surging through him as the room erupted into chaos. Four or five militia fighters, their faces obscured, surged into the living room like a flood breaching a dam.

Daniel’s reflexes kicked in and he lunged for the nearest piece of furniture—a battered dining table—and with a heave filled with desperation, he flipped it on its side, creating a makeshift piece of cover between him and the men. The sheriff hit the ground beside him a moment later, then pushed himself into a crouch, exchanging a brief glance with Daniel. Bullets whizzed past, embedding themselves in the wall behind them and the table in front with deadly thuds, the ragged breaths of the sheriff sounding strangely loud. Then a cry of pain cut through the din.

Daniel glanced sideways and saw the woman from Elara’s community crumple to the ground. She was bleeding out but still alive, and for a moment their gazes caught and held. But there was nothing he could do except watch as the puddle of blood around her grew, as her life slowly ebbed away, and anger flared inside, white-hot and blinding. He popped up from behind the table and took aim at one of the intruders, squeezing the trigger.

The bullet struck the man in the center of his chest. His body convulsed as he let out a guttural cry before collapsing onto the ground. Blood seeped from the wound, staining his clothes and the ground beneath him, but there was no time for relief, and Daniel ducked low, bullets thudding into the other side of the table, the sound deafening, the wood shuddering with each impact.

As the gunfight continued, the sheriff braced himself, his eyes steely with determination. He raised himself to take a shot, but in that exposed moment, a single shot rang out with chilling finality, striking the sheriff squarely in the side of the head. The impact of the bullet was a sickening thud, like a dull punch to a slab of meat, and time seemed to slow: a crunching sound then the wet spatter of blood and tissue. Daniel watched in horror as the sheriff remained kneeling for a few seconds longer, one hand going to his head, before he fell back with a heavy groan, his chest heaving in ragged, shallow breaths.

The bullet had hit the sheriff’s right temple, leaving behind a gaping, bloody hole. Pieces of shattered bone and brain matter had been sprayed on the wall behind them, and blood trickled down the side of his face, staining his silver hair and matting into his stubble. One eye had been crushed and mutilated, and a piece of his skull was missing, a jagged hole exposing raw, pink tissue beneath.

Something primal took over. A roar tore from Daniel’s throat, a sound of grief and rage intertwined as he rose to his full height. Time seemed to dilate around him, each movement, each breath, filled with a clarity that bordered on surreal. The remaining militiamen, taken aback by the ferocity of his response, hesitated.

Daniel’s rifle barked in his hands, a deadly extension of his will. The first man barely had time to swing his weapon around before he was struck, the impact sending him sprawling backward, his weapon clattering to the ground. The second and final man still standing, attempting to take cover, was taken care of just as quickly.

Silence descended once more, the echoes of gunfire fading into a heavy stillness. Daniel remained standing, his chest heaving, the acrid smell of gunpowder hanging in the air. His hands, slick with sweat, gripped the rifle with a tremor of both exertion and emotion, the quiet filling the space punctuated only by the sounds of the ongoing battle on the street and the sheriff’s labored breathing.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Daniel

Outside, sporadic gunfire continued to be exchanged, those defending the perimeter firing at the militia on the other side of the street, unaware of what had taken place inside the house, and for the moment, all of that receded. The world narrowed to the dying man at Daniel’s feet, and he dropped down beside the sheriff and took his hand, while the two surviving men from Daniel’s group came closer, watching solemnly.

The sheriff lay on his back, his head tilted askew at an unnatural angle. Blood flowed from the ragged hole in the side of his head, staining his hair and clothing, while his ruined eye oozed a thick red substance. A portion of his skull had been blown away, exposing the twisted mass of brain tissue underneath, and Daniel couldn’t drag his eyes away.

The sheriff’s breathing grew more labored as he struggled to speak, his eyes weakly tracking Daniel’s movements. “Don’t let— them get through.”

Daniel squeezed his hand gently. “Save your strength, Sheriff.”

The sheriff’s hand trembled. “It’s too late— for me. But maybe it’s not— too late for this town.”

His uninjured eye searched Daniel’s and a cold chill settled over the room as he seemed to find the answers to his final, unspoken questions. His head twitched, a weak nod, and he continued to hold Daniel’s gaze, seeing right through him, deep into his core as though exposing all of his vulnerabilities and failures. Daniel bowed his head, overcome with emotion. When he looked up, the sheriff’s remaining eye was glazing over, the light fading from it.

“You did great, Sheriff,” Daniel said in a hoarse voice. “The town wouldn’t have made it this far without you.”

The sheriff gave a brief, twitching nod once more and sucked in a breath, before his eye closed. The gloomy light outside seemed to grow darker and his body spasmed: with a final, shallow breath, the sheriff went still. A moment later, his features relaxed, as if a great weight had been lifted, the lines of pain and worry etched on his face softening, a serene expression taking over.

Daniel carefully laid the sheriff’s hand on his chest and took in the faint smile playing at the corners of his lips—he had found peace in his final moments, despite the injuries that had taken his life. Daniel swallowed hard before standing and turning to the two surviving men, his expression grave.

“Are the others...?” His voice trailed off, unable to finish the question, but he didn’t have to—the sheriff lying at their feet was all the confirmation they needed of his meaning.

The men nodded, their faces etched with grief and fatigue, the loss of their comrades casting a long shadow over their small group. As Daniel’s gaze swept the gloomy room, doubt gnawed at the edges of his resolve. He was scared they might not withstand the militia’s onslaught, that Asheville would fall to Commander Lorne and his group, but he pushed those thoughts aside, blowing out a deep breath.

“We need to gather what we can. Weapons, ammo, anything useful from our fallen friends and those militia.”

“On it,” replied one of the men, who looked grateful for something to do.

Daniel moved to the woman from Elara’s camp, her lifeless form an awful reminder of the cost of their defense. Gently, he closed her eyes before retrieving her rifle and the rounds of ammunition from her jacket pocket. They regrouped a short time later, the sounds of the ongoing battle outside a constant reminder that the danger was far from over.

Daniel cleared his throat and addressed the men. “We can’t let their sacrifice be in vain. We hold the line, we push them back.”

The men nodded, their determination reignited by Daniel’s words, and Daniel studied them for a few seconds. The two men stood shoulder to shoulder, one in his fifties, the other no older than twenty-five, their faces grim, clothes blood-stained. But despite the chaos and danger surrounding them, they stood tall, ready to do whatever was necessary to protect their home.

Daniel motioned with his head, sparing a final glance at the sheriff, then he and his small band moved cautiously through the house, stepping over the slain militiamen and out onto the street, the sounds of battle growing louder as they drew closer to the barricade. Gunfire cracked through the air, bullets pinging off walls and pavement, while men and women shouted to one another, the cries of the wounded adding to the din.

Daniel signaled his group to hang back, taking cover behind an overturned truck to assess the situation. Asheville and their allies were outnumbered but fighting fiercely, using the barricade to halt the militia’s advance. But it was clear they were tiring, their ammunition dwindling—if the tide didn’t turn soon, they would be overrun.

Daniel turned to his men, resolve burning in his eyes. “We need to flank them from the side. Hit them hard while they’re focused on the barricade.”

His men nodded, gripping their weapons tightly, and Daniel said a silent prayer, hoping this wouldn’t be their last stand. They had to try, for his daughter and granddaughter, for June. And for Asheville.

With a shout, they ran one at a time, taking turns to cover each other as they sprinted down the side of a house a little way down the street. They moved swiftly but cautiously, the sound of gunfire and shouting growing louder as they reached a looted and abandoned house and jogged through to a dining room that overlooked the battle on the street. Peering around a windowsill, the barricade was visible ahead, everyone desperately trying to hold the line.

“Alright, are you both ready?”

“Ready as we’ll ever be,” replied the younger man, while the older man gave a nod.

Daniel’s heart hammered in his chest as he led the charge across the backyard. They vaulted over the fence and sprinted for a charred husk of a vehicle, stepping over detritus littering the street. With grim determination, Daniel signaled his men to pause behind the blackened car. He caught sight of a militiaman taking aim from behind a shattered doorway and lined the man up in his sights before squeezing the trigger. The man went down.

Beside him, the two men kept up a relentless barrage of fire, the militia’s advance faltering as they realized they were being attacked from multiple sides. Daniel kept firing—they couldn’t afford to let up, not even for a moment. The survival of the settlement hung in the balance, every second they could hold the militia at bay a victory, however small.

Daniel’s rifle barked again and again, but then he saw something that gave him pause. The militia had brought in a new wave of reinforcements, a truck rolling up to unload even more fighters. He watched, heart sinking, as men spilled out, their boots hitting the ground with a purpose that meant trouble for Daniel and his small team. The sound of the truck’s engine and the slamming of doors punctuated the air, the ten or so men that Daniel had been focused on previously doubling before his eyes. The odds had just tilted in the militia’s favor, but not trying to stop them wasn’t an option.

“Cover me!” Daniel barked, desperation edging his voice. “We need to get closer if we’re going to have a chance.”

The younger man nodded, his rifle raised as Daniel made a bold dash for the retaining wall twenty feet away, the distance short but feeling like miles, the shadows lengthening around him as the sun skimmed the horizon. The first few steps were fueled by adrenaline, Daniel’s focus narrowed to the haven of the wall. But then the sharp, unmistakable bite of a bullet tore through his calf, a searing pain that cut through all other thoughts.

He stumbled, a cry torn from his lips, his rifle clattering on the road as he tried to catch himself. But his leg buckled, refusing to bear his weight, and Daniel hit the ground hard. The rough asphalt scraped his palms and the side of his face as he fell, the taste of blood and dust filling his mouth. For a moment, the world spun, the sounds of the battle a distant roar in his ears.

Panic surged as he realized his vulnerable position, out in the open, an easy target. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Daniel attempted to drag himself to cover, his fingers clawing at the ground and using his uninjured leg to push himself onward, desperation lending him strength. All the while, the gunfire continued unabated, bullets whizzing past, each one the potential end.

As he pulled himself inch by agonizing inch toward the wall, Daniel’s mind raced. He thought of Mia, of Sarah, of June, and all that they still had left to do, all the promises he’d made. The thought of not making it back to them, of leaving them without even the chance to say goodbye and tell them how much he loved them, spurred him on, driving him forward despite the searing pain in his leg.

He reached the wall and his body sagged against it, the coolness of the stone a small relief against the heat of his wound. For a moment, he allowed himself to catch his breath, then with a grimace, Daniel pushed himself up, leaning heavily against the wall. He looked back at the two men crouched behind the burned out vehicle, both watching him with worried expressions.

“Fall back,” he shouted. “Get back behind the barricade.”

The two men hesitated, exchanging a look that spoke volumes in the briefest of moments. They understood the danger Daniel was in—on the wrong side of the road, injured—and it was clear from their expressions that leaving him behind was not an option they were willing to consider. With a determined nod to each other, they signaled to the few remaining at the barricade for covering fire.

As gunshots erupted from the barricade, providing a momentary distraction, the two men made their dash across the open ground to Daniel’s side. Without hesitating, each took one of Daniel’s arms, hoisting him up between them and half dragging him to the house behind. The retreat to the house was a blur of pain and adrenaline for Daniel, the world limited to the sensation of being half-dragged, half-carried to safety, pain spiking through his leg.

They crossed the threshold into the dim interior and settled into what had been a living room with a view of the street, propping him against the wall. The older man used his knife to cut open a cushion, passing a strip of cushion cover to Daniel to stem the bleeding in his leg. Through the broken window, they watched in dismay as those at the barricade fell back, overwhelmed by the militia’s assault.

Despite the throbbing pain in his leg, Daniel raised his rifle, aiming through the window at the militia pouring through the barricade under the fading light. But it was too late, the militia out of sight before he could pull the trigger, and the three men were left in a tense silence, the realization dawning that the militia was in their home.

“What do we do now?” the younger man asked.

“We hold here for the moment,” Daniel said. “Let me get bandaged up, then we go after them.”

He looked down at his leg, surprised to see how much blood covered his pants. He used his knife to cut open the fabric, only to see blood spurting from the wound in his leg. A wave of dizziness hit him as the other men nodded their agreement to protect what was theirs and the people they loved.

“Daniel, are you okay?” A face appeared in Daniel’s vision, the features blurring. “Hey, let me take that.”

Daniel was vaguely aware of someone pulling the fabric from his hands. He closed his eyes, suddenly wanting nothing more than to sleep.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

June

June’s muscles ached from the relentless hours spent crouched behind the battered vehicles that made up the barricade they were defending. Dusk had settled over the area, casting long shadows and turning the familiar streets into a war-torn landscape, the cold air thick with tension, punctuated by the sporadic crackle of gunfire and the weary words of her companions.

Beside her, Tex reloaded his rifle, his movements efficient despite the fatigue that shadowed his handsome features. Jeremy and Tony were a few feet away, passing ammo between themselves and reloading weapons using brief, wordless communications. Jeremy was holding up well, but the strain was wearing on him, the invisible patterns his fingers traced in the air increasing in urgency as the minutes ticked on.

Elara and some from her group held their position a little further along the barricade with an organized professionalism that June couldn’t help but admire. Despite their obvious exhaustion, there was a steadfast resolve in their eyes, and they listened to Elara’s instructions and responded like a well-oiled machine. A handful of other Asheville residents stood at the far end of the barricade, all focused on the militia across the road.

The militia, a group of twenty or so, were positioned in the houses opposite the barricade, and a jolt of tension rushed through June as they launched another assault. Elara and her group responded immediately, each shot calculated to keep the attackers at bay, gunfire cracking the air. As the sound of Elara’s gunfire faded, June peered over the edge of the vehicle in front of her, her rifle at the ready. The weight of the weapon was familiar in her hands, a constant companion through the long hours of the siege, and she scanned the area, her gaze sharp, searching for any sign of weakness in the militia’s formation.

“This could go on all night,” she called out to Tony and the others, her voice steady despite the weariness that tugged at her bones. “They’re not giving up easily. We need to stay sharp.”

The reply was a series of nods, a silent affirmation of their shared commitment. They were tired, but their resolve remained: even though Jeremy, Tony and Tex hadn’t lived in Asheville before the disaster, it was becoming their home, their community, and they would defend it with every ounce of strength they possessed.

Tex glanced at June, catching her eye. “You know, June,” he said, ducking as a bullet whizzed overhead, thudding into a fence twenty yards behind them, “I always did say I wanted a home with a view. Didn’t quite picture this, though.”

Tony managed a weary grin as he glanced at the two of them. “Be careful what you wish for, huh?”

June couldn’t help but smile at their banter, the momentary light-heartedness a welcome distraction from their grim reality. It was the small moments that kept them going, that reminded them they were fighting not just for survival, but for each other. Turning her attention back to the militia on the other side of the street, June reached for the radio, her fingers automatically adjusting the dial as she attempted to contact the sheriff or any of the groups defending the other barricades.

“Come in, this is June. Over.” She held it up to the side of her head, waiting for a response, but only static filled the airwaves. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

She waited a beat longer, but the radio remained silent. A surge of worry coursed through her, the absence of a response on the radio amplifying her concern for the safety of her friends and neighbors. The distant sound of gunfire was a constant presence, but it was hard to tell exactly where it was coming from, hard to tell the status of the various skirmishes taking place.

June clipped the radio back onto her belt. “Nothing from the others. I’m worried, but we need to focus on holding the line at our section of the perimeter,” she said, more to herself than to anyone in particular. “That’s all we can do right now.”

Tex and Tony nodded, their expressions hardening as they returned their focus to the militia, the brief moment of levity having passed. Jeremy, noticing June’s dwindling ammunition, slid a magazine across the ground to her.

“Good thing Lucas thought to leave you and Sarah all that extra ammo and weapons,” he said, trying to muster a smile despite the evident strain on his face. The weight of the situation was clear in his eyes, the battle’s toll in the lines of his face and the tight set of his jaw.

“Yeah, lucky for us,” June acknowledged, loading the fresh magazine into her rifle, trying not to think about Lucas and where he might be. She cast a concerned glance at Jeremy, but he’d already turned back to the militia.

“Hey, we’ve got this,” she said, aiming to bolster his spirits as well as her own. “We’re still here, still fighting. That’s got to count for something.”

Jeremy nodded, the ghost of a determined smile flickering across his face. “Yeah, it does,” he agreed, taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders as he peered over the hood of the old pickup truck.

The firefight intensified suddenly, a barrage of bullets raining down on their position, and June instinctively dropped to the ground. Jeremy let out a wail and pressed his hands to his ears, the sound of gunfire deafening as June crawled to where he was positioned. Reaching him, she took his hand briefly, a silent message of solidarity.

A heart-wrenching cry pierced through the noise, drawing their attention to one of Elara’s group: an older man who had fallen lifeless to the ground, a gunshot wound to the chest. A younger man kneeled beside him, grief rolling off him in waves. Despair grew thick and heavy, wafting in the air, and June glanced at the other bodies lying nearby who’d been shot by the militia earlier, one woman with glassy eyes still staring up at the darkening sky, no one taking the time to close her eyes yet.

Her expression a mask of controlled fury, Elara moved swiftly to June’s side, crouching low to avoid the hail of bullets. “We need to think about falling back,” she said, her voice barely audible over the sound of the gunfire, her dark eyes almost black in the fading light. “This is a massacre, and no one is coming to help. Where’s the sheriff?”

“He’s not answering the radio,” June replied, the hard asphalt pressing into her knees, an ache settling into her lower back.

Elara’s anger was palpable as a quiet settled over them following a lull in the shooting. “He let this happen,” she said bitterly, her gaze scanning the area behind them before returning her attention to June. “This is squarely on him. The sheriff is to blame for this entire debacle.”

Several of the Asheville volunteers overheard Elara’s accusation, their expressions darkening with a mix of fear and resentment as they nodded. The blame for the lives lost, and the blood spilled was being laid at the sheriff’s feet, and June couldn’t help feeling defensive of him, despite everything that had happened between them. At his core, he was a good man, and he didn’t deserve the blame for the militia attack—he’d done everything he was able to do to try to keep the settlement safe.

“The sheriff did the best he could in the circumstances,” June said, although she knew there was no time or point in arguing—Elara had made up her mind, and the sheriff could defend himself once it was all over. “But putting that aside, I think falling back is a big mistake.”

“It’s the only option. I’m not prepared to lose any more people.”

June considered Elara’s words, the reality of their situation settling heavily on her shoulders. Elara was right: they’d already lost too many people, and a strategic retreat seemed like the best option, but the thought of giving ground, of retreating in the face of the enemy, was a bitter pill to swallow.

“We can’t just give up,” June said, her voice strained with emotion. “There has to be another way.”

Elara met her gaze, her eyes reflecting the harsh truth of their predicament. “Sometimes, June, the bravest thing you can do is live to fight another day.”

June’s determination flared. “We can hold out a bit longer,” she insisted, her gaze fierce. “We can’t let them just walk in there and take what they want, especially when we don’t know the status of the others trying to defend the barricades.”

Elara shook her head, her expression grim. “So, what do you suggest? We just stay here all night so they can slaughter us in the dark? More of us should die for a lost cause?” Her voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a knife. “We need to be smart about this.”

June’s thoughts raced, searching for alternatives. “Then we fall back to the community center like the sheriff wanted,” she suggested, grasping at straws. “We regroup. There could be others.”

Elara’s frustration was clear in her taut expression. “That’s just delaying the inevitable. Accept it, June. It’s over.”

The other volunteers murmured their agreement, the fear and fatigue written on their faces pushing them toward Elara’s logic, and Elara turned to the group, her voice carrying the weight of command. “We’re evacuating. Now. We circle around and leave Asheville until the dust settles.”

June shook her head. “Then I’m staying,” she said, the words ringing with finality. “I can’t just walk away.”

To her surprise, Tex, Tony, and Jeremy nodded, their expressions set. “We’re with you, June,” Tex said, his voice steady.

Elara looked at Tex, her expression a mix of anger and sorrow. “You’re making a mistake, brother,” she said, her voice heavy with regret. “I know you’re blinded by your feelings for that woman right now, but if you end up dying alone in the dark, there’s nothing I’ll be able to do for you.”

“I’m staying,” Tex repeated.

Elara’s jaw flexed, but she gave a curt nod. “Fine then. Suit yourself.” For a moment she looked as though she had more to say, but she simply motioned to her group and the other volunteers from Asheville, and then the group retreated into the gathering dusk.

June turned to Tex, Tony, and Jeremy. “We can’t just sit here. They’ll kill us,” she said, urgency lacing her words as the footfalls of the others faded away, leaving them alone by the barricade. “We need to find cover.”

Without waiting for a response, she ducked low and led them along the barricade toward the nearest house, its door hanging ajar, debris covering the overgrown front yard. They darted from cover to cover and then slipped inside, before crouching beside the shattered front windows, listening as the militia’s gunfire hammered against the barricade, the sound of bullets pinging off metal and punching through detritus filling the air.

After a moment of no return fire, an eerie silence settled over the area, the militia no doubt advancing on the barricade. June looked through the broken window, her chest tightening as the militia swarmed into the settlement as the sun finally dipped below the horizon, twenty or so men moving in formation. Anger and helplessness churned within her, but direct confrontation was futile.

“We need to make sure the kids got out safely,” she whispered to Tony, her voice strained with barely contained anger and frustration.

He nodded, understanding flashing in his eyes. “And then we do what we can to stop them.”

They waited until the militia had moved deeper into the settlement, then quietly exited the house, moving with caution through backyards and alleyways, avoiding the main streets. Their destination was clear: Jenny Peabody’s house, where the children were supposed to gather in an emergency. June just hoped they’d find it empty, that someone had given the signal to evacuate and Jenny had gotten the children out of there.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Nate

The rhythmic sound of Nate’s voice as he continued to read, weaving tales of adventure and bravery against a backdrop of distant gunfire, was interrupted by the urgent barking of Aria and Bailey from the front of the house. The room fell into a tense silence, the children’s faces turning toward the sound, their eyes wide.

Mia sat in the front corner of the room, her gaze on the boarded-up windows, where the street outside was just visible, dusk shadows deepening. Her voice was barely above a whisper: “I see something moving outside,” she said, her gaze fixed on the street beyond, her hand gripping the windowsill as she leaned forward to peer between the boards. “I don’t know who it is.”

One of the younger boys, his voice tinged with fear, piped up. “Should we leave now? The evacuation plan... but we didn’t hear the signal.”

Nate held up a hand, motioning for quiet. “We’ll only leave if it’s absolutely necessary and safe,” he reassured them in a low voice, scanning the dimly lit room, the lanterns casting warm glows that seemed like beacons.

Cursing under his breath, Nate realized their mistake. The light from the lanterns was a clear sign to anyone outside that they were there. He moved swiftly, extinguishing the lanterns, plunging the room into near darkness, save for the faint dusk light filtering through the boarded windows.

He moved to where Mia crouched in the corner of the room and glanced through the gap in the boards, spotting several men in black wearing balaclavas darting into the house across the street. His mind raced, the implication of the militia’s presence inside the settlement chilling him to the bone; the barricades had been breached, the first line of defense had fallen. Those who had survived would be falling back to the community center, if they could. The thought punched through him, worry filling his mind, and not just for their immediate safety, but for everyone at the front lines, including Rosa and Sarah.

Nate ushered Mia away from the window, keeping his fears to himself, and turned to the group, his expression set in a grim line. “Stay quiet and stay down,” he instructed, his voice low but firm. “There are some people out there and we need to be smart about this.”

The children nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation without him having to spell it out, while Jenny readied her rifle, her age-spotted hands trembling slightly. Nate peered through the gap between the boards again, trying to gauge the threat level outside. The shadowy figures moved with purpose in both the upstairs and downstairs windows across the street, their attention no doubt on Jenny’s house but their intentions unknown.

Nate’s jaw flexed as he turned back and glanced at the faces staring at him, their features obscured in the gloom. He was responsible for more than just his daughter’s safety; he had to protect them all, to make the tough calls if it came down to it. The weight of the responsibility bore down on him, but he stood taller, steeling himself. He wouldn’t let Jenny and the kids down.

Nate motioned urgently to Jenny and the two of them stepped closer together, face to face beside the worn sofa against the back wall. “Jenny, get the kids into the back room, now,” he said, his voice a low command, no longer caring about whether the older woman liked him or not. “You need to keep them there and keep them quiet.”

Jenny simply nodded, herding the children away from the front of the house with a quiet efficiency, despite the panic that must have been churning inside her.

Nate moved to the front door, his heart hammering in his chest as he cracked it open. He let out a sharp whistle, calling for Aria and Bailey, scanning the street through the sliver of a window beside the door, catching the swift movement of figures positioning themselves across the street as though they were preparing for an assault.

A sudden burst of gunfire erupted, the sound shockingly loud in the tense silence of the house, the shots striking the wall beside the doorway, brick chips going flying. Aria and Bailey started barking and Nate shouted for the dogs, his voice laced with urgency. A beat later, the dogs darted toward him, and he widened the door and held it for them as they ran inside, before slamming it behind them, the heavy thud echoing through the house.

He dove to the ground just as bullets thudded into the wood where he’d been standing moments before. Lying flat on the floor, his breaths came fast and shallow, the metallic taste of fear on his tongue. The grim confirmation that they were the focus of the men outside washed over him—if they tried to leave through the front door, they’d be mown down. And with shooters in the second floor windows across the street, the back didn’t offer a much better route, not with more than a dozen kids in tow. But staying offered no better guarantee of safety.

Nate crawled away from the door, beckoning for the dogs to follow, his mind racing with options, strategies, anything that might offer them a sliver of hope. He had to make a decision, and fast. Once he was clear of the door, he got to his feet and hurried to the back of the house, where Jenny and the children huddled in the small dining room off the kitchen. He crouched down to eye level with the smallest, keeping his voice low and reassuring.

“The barricade’s been breached. I need to create a diversion to give you all a chance to get out the back without running into trouble,” he explained, his words measured despite the turmoil raging inside. “But I promise you I’m going to do everything to make it as safe as possible for you.”

Jenny met his gaze, her eyes reflecting the gravity of the situation. “What about you?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

For a moment, Nate considered just making a run for it with Jenny and the kids. The idea was too tempting, but it was also the most risky. The one thing he could do for his daughter was to give her and the others the best chance to escape.

“I’ll be right behind you. Just make sure you get the kids to the meeting place like you practiced,” Nate said, the plan forming in his mind feeling more like a desperate gamble than a strategy. “Don’t wait for me. And stay quiet. No lights, even when you get to the house outside the settlement. Lie low,” he added, the last instructions feeling like a lifeline he was throwing into the future, hoping it would be enough to keep them safe.

Jenny nodded, her expression stoic, accepting the harsh reality of their situation with a resilience that Nate couldn’t help but admire.

Standing, Nate turned to Mia, his heart aching at the thought of what he was about to do. “Mia, can I... can I hug you?” he asked, unable to hide the vulnerability in his voice.

Mia didn’t hesitate. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, her embrace tight and full of unspoken emotions. Nate closed his eyes and held her, memorizing the feel of her in his arms, the way her hair smelled, the warmth of her against him. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, a silent plea to whoever might be listening that it wouldn’t be the last time he held her, that he would see her again. Then, reluctantly, he let go, stepping back with a nod to Jenny.

“Take care of her,” he said, his voice thick. “Take care of all of them.”

Nate took a few breaths to steady himself, surprised by the depth of emotions roiling through him, then crouched down to the smallest children’s level once more. “You all need to be ready,” he said. “Bailey and Aria are going to go with you. They’ll help protect you.” He gestured to the dogs, who sat obediently, their senses alert to the tension in the air.

He looked each child in the eye, trying to impart the gravity of his next words. “When you hear three gunshots in a row, like this—” he paused to mimic the sound, “bang, bang, bang—one right after the other, that’s your signal from me. You leave out the back with Jenny. Don’t stop, don’t look back, just keep going until you’re safe.”

He turned to Jenny. “You and the bigger kids carry the backpacks. They have everything you might need.” Then, as an afterthought, he snatched a white kitchen towel from the counter and handed it to Jenny. “Wave this if you run into any militia. It’s a long shot, but... maybe they’ll see it as a sign of surrender.”

The words tasted bitter on his tongue; he knew the chances were slim that the gesture would make any difference, but he had to offer them every possible chance at safety, and hope the militia hadn’t completely lost their humanity.

“Stay together,” he urged, his gaze sweeping the faces staring back at him once more. “Hold on to the little ones. Make sure no one gets left behind.”

He looked over the group, his heart heavy with the knowledge that this might be the last time he saw any of them. The thought was a physical pain, but he pushed it aside, focusing on what lay ahead: there was no room for doubt, no space for second-guessing. He had a role to play, and he would do it with every ounce of strength he had.

With a final nod to Jenny and a deep, steadying breath, Nate readied his rifle and headed for the back door, ready to create the diversion that would hopefully give them all a chance to escape. He glanced over his shoulder, locking eyes with Mia, trying to let her know silently how much he already loved her. Then he turned to face forward, the resolve in his heart unyielding.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Nate

As Nate approached the door, Bailey, Daniel’s loyal Australian Shepherd, padded softly after him, her brown eyes fixed on Nate with an unwavering sense of duty. Nate paused, looking down at her, the urgency of the moment pressing in.

“Bailey, go back,” he whispered, trying to usher her back toward Jenny and the children. But Bailey refused to leave his side, her stance resolute and a stubborn set to her legs as he gave her a gentle nudge.

With a resigned sigh, Nate gave her a pat on the head—he didn’t have the luxury of time to insist. Glancing back, Aria caught his eye, the wolf-like husky mix settling down among the kids, her presence a comforting weight between them. It was as if the dogs had silently agreed to divide their responsibilities, understanding the importance of their duty to their people without a word spoken that humans would understand.

Nate ran his hand over Bailey’s head in a brief, affectionate stroke. “Alright, you’re with me. But you need to be quiet, okay?” he said, his voice low but firm. “Run when I say run. I don’t want you taking a bullet like Rusty. Daniel would never forgive me.”

Bailey’s tail gave a soft, understanding wag as she stayed close to his side, her movements silent. Together, they slipped through the back door, the dusk light enveloping them in its cool embrace. The yard was cast in deep shadows, the scant light from the setting sun and overcast sky barely enough to outline their path. Nate moved with caution, every sense heightened as a gust of icy wind blasted him, Bailey’s quiet presence at his side a small comfort in the face of the unknown dangers that lay ahead.

He whispered to her once more, “Stay close,” as they navigated the yard, darting from tree to tree on their way to create the diversion that would buy Jenny and the children the precious time they needed to escape.

As dusk wrapped the world in its darkened embrace, the days having grown shorter with the approach of winter, the chill of the evening seeped through his clothes, while the sun’s last light struggled to break through the heavy clouds, casting a somber hue over the scene. Nate moved across the backyard, running to the next piece of cover, when someone fired at him—he’d been spotted, someone on the street catching sight of him down the side of Jenny’s house. He dove behind the thick trunk of an ancient oak just as another round splintered the bark where his head had been seconds before.

“Stay down, Bailey girl,” he whispered, one hand gently pressing the dog’s head lower as he peered around the tree trunk, trying to spot the shooter across the street.

The upstairs window of the neighbor’s house was broken, the curtain fluttering slightly in the breeze, and a silhouette moved out of sight. Nate’s mind raced, calculating angles and trajectories—he couldn’t be sure that was the shooter, but he had to keep moving or risk getting pinned down.

With a deep breath, Nate darted from the oak to a row of hedges, the sharp retort of gunshot echoing behind him. He didn’t stop, didn’t look back, focused only on making it to the next bit of cover. Bailey followed close at his heels, a shadowy blur, loyal despite the risk that followed them across the yard.

They zigzagged across the lawn, adrenaline keeping Nate one step ahead of the unseen marksmen. As they neared the back fence, a bullet whizzed past his ear and buried itself in the cedar planking with a solid thunk. Nate threw himself to the ground and crawled the last few feet as two more rounds kicked up dirt where he had just been standing.

“Good girl,” he told Bailey as they huddled beside the weathered boards.

With a fast movement, Nate lifted Bailey over the fence into the neighbor’s backyard, a silent apology in his eyes for the risky situation he was putting her in. Then, with a grunt of effort, he hoisted himself over, landing on the other side before they both took off running once more, gunshots tracking them until they reached the rear of the house.

He waited for several long moments before they continued through the backyards, dodging gunfire and bypassing two houses before Nate stopped. As he entered through the back door, no doubt left ajar in the haste of its inhabitants’ departure, he couldn’t help but notice the small, personal touches scattered around the living room. A child’s drawing pinned to the wall, a crochet blanket draped over a worn sofa, and a small stack of books on the coffee table. Each detail was a poignant reminder of the lives disrupted even further by the militia’s attack.

He and Bailey stepped past the items he’d noticed and made their way to the front of the house, where Nate positioned himself by the boarded-up windows. He found a narrow gap between the planks, just wide enough to peer through and aim his rifle. His gaze fixed on the house down the street opposite Jenny’s, from where he’d been shot at moments before, its windows revealing the flickering shadows of the militia taking shelter inside.

Heart beating a rapid rhythm, he steadied his breath, preparing for the moment he would make his location known, while Bailey sat quietly by his side, her senses alert as Nate counted silently to ten. Then he lined up the house in his sights and squeezed the trigger three times in rapid succession, the shots ringing out into the dusk, echoing off the buildings: the signal for Jenny and the kids to make their escape.

Bailey laid her head on Nate’s leg, her presence grounding him in the tense silence that followed, and Nate let his hand rest on her head, drawing comfort from her. “It’s up to them now, girl,” he whispered. “We’re just going to keep those bad men focused on us.”

The brief respite was shattered as return fire hammered into the front of the house. Nate ducked instinctively, pressing himself closer to the floor, his heart pounding in his chest. He waited, counting the seconds, before daring to take another shot, aiming toward the shadows that moved with purposeful intent toward his position. But for every shadow he managed to bring down, it seemed two more took its place.

Nate kept ducking and firing, even though the odds were against him, the night working in the militia’s favor as their numbers seemed to swell in the darkness. He fired again, the rifle’s recoil sharp against his shoulder, but the advancing figures kept coming, closing the distance with terrifying speed as they moved from cover to cover, converging on his location. He turned to Bailey, her eyes reflecting the flashes of gunfire.

“I’m sorry girl,” he said. “You can go now. Run, go home.” But she remained steadfastly by his side. “Go!” He spoke more forcefully, but she simply whined and shuffled closer to him.

Nate swallowed hard, hating the thought of her being hurt, but the militia kept drawing nearer, and he was forced to turn back to them, firing at the shifting shadows. One darted onto the front yard, while another sprinted around the side of the house, their movements calculated and swift. He braced himself, his mind flashing through memories and faces he cherished, accepting the grim reality that he wasn’t going to make it out alive, the knowledge that his sacrifice was for a noble cause, to protect his daughter after everything he’d put her through, offering him peace.

But just as he steeled himself for the end, a new volley of gunfire erupted from the end of the street, not aimed at him, but at the militia closing in. Nate peered through the darkness, trying to identify the newcomers. The unexpected intervention threw the militia into disarray, their attention momentarily diverted from Nate’s position. Seizing the opportunity, Nate kept low and ran to the back of the house, aiming and taking out the man who had circled to the rear of the property, the figure letting out a cry before crumpling to the ground.

The battle at the street raged on, the sound of gunfire echoing through the night as the third party engaged the militia with a ferocity that matched its own. By the time Nate made it back to the front room, the tide of the fight seemed to have turned. He raised his rifle, taking shots where he could, while the militia, caught between Nate’s position and the unexpected assailants, began to falter.

Nate let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his body tense with adrenaline and relief. The fight wasn’t over, but the arrival of the third party had given him a fighting chance, a glimmer of hope in the overwhelming darkness. He glanced down at Bailey, offering her a weary smile.

“Looks like we’ve got some unexpected friends, girl,” he murmured, before bringing his attention back to the dark streetscape outside.

The street just beyond the boarded-up windows was lit up by muzzle flashes that illuminated the silhouettes of armed men running and crouching for cover. Blood stained the pavement and bodies littered the road, while the continuous sound of gunfire, punctuated by screams and shouts, filled the night air. The yells of orders and curses could be heard over the din, as well as the cries of pain from those wounded in the crossfire.

Gunshots continued to ring out like thunder, mixing with the shouts and cries of the fighters—there was an undercurrent of panic and fear in the yells of the militia members as they realized they were being outmatched. And then it was quiet. The sudden silence that followed the last shot was almost more jarring than the cacophony of gunfire that had filled the air moments before, and Nate held his breath for a long moment, wondering if it was really over.

He stood, cautious yet compelled by a need to know the outcome, and walked to the front door with Bailey by his side. He cracked open the door and waited a beat before stepping out into the open. The street, dimly lit by the pale glow of the moon behind a layer of clouds, revealed the aftermath of the skirmish: bodies scattered across the pavement, the stench of blood and violence lingering.

Nate’s gaze swept the area, taking in the grim scene until it landed on familiar faces. Relief flooded through him as he spotted Sarah, Rosa, and five other figures standing amid the destruction. Their expressions were etched with exhaustion and the toll of battle, but they were alive. Sarah’s eyes met his, a mix of relief and concern flashing across her features as he hurried closer to them.

“Nate, where’s Mia?” Sarah asked, her voice tense with worry.

Nate’s heart ached with the uncertainty of her fate, but he held onto hope. “I think they got away. We made a diversion,” he said, the words thick with emotion as he glanced down at Bailey. “Jenny planned to leave with the kids while I kept the militia engaged. They were headed for the safe house outside the settlement.”

Sarah stared at him for a long moment before giving him an approving nod. “We need to find Jenny and the children and make sure they’re safe.”

“Yes, of course.” He stepped closer to Rosa, pulling her into a brief hug and kissing the side of her head. “I’m so happy to see you’re okay,” he whispered.

But as they reloaded, the relative calm was shattered once more. Silhouetted against the fading light, a new contingent of militia materialized from the gathering shadows, moving with a quiet efficiency. Their approach was brutally fast, encircling Nate and the others before they had time to even think about an escape route, everything happening so quickly, Nate felt like he had whiplash.

Tension crackled in the air as the militia finalized their positions, effectively trapping Nate and the others, and the command to lower their weapons came sharp and clear, echoing in the quiet street. With heavy hearts and a shared glance that acknowledged they had no choice other than to comply, Nate and the others did what they were told, their weapons clattering to the ground.

A man in a balaclava stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over the group with a calculating coldness. “We’re looking for Victor Darrow. Commander Lorne has some unfinished business with him,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion.

Nate had no idea who Victor was, but Sarah, her face set in a defiant mask, stepped forward, her eyes ablaze. “Victor’s not here anymore. He hasn’t been for a while.

“Then you’ll lead us to the community center. Now.”

Nate leaned in slightly toward Sarah. “Don’t,” he murmured under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear. “They’ll kill us as soon as they have what they want. We need to stall them.”

Before Sarah could respond, another militia member stepped forward, his weapon trained directly at her. The threat was clear and immediate, the barrel of the gun focused on her chest. “We’re not asking,” he said.

The brief flicker of hope that had ignited with their small victory was snuffed out, the night closing in around them, heavy and darker than before. The reality was inescapable: they were trapped, with the militia’s guns pointing at them from all directions, and Nate could see no way out.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Lucas

The sun was high in the sky as Lucas and Victor watched the procession of militia from the broken window of the abandoned farmhouse, taking care to stay in the shadows and remain unseen. Teams of men, their black clothes blending with the shadows, had been marching past for hours in a grim parade, their rifles glinting in the light, bandanas and balaclavas obscuring their features.

A knot of dread tightened in Lucas’ stomach as the distant sound of gunfire reached him. Whatever the militia had planned, the sheer number of them presented a significant threat, and he knew all too well what their presence meant for Asheville. His thoughts immediately flew to Sarah and Mia, their faces clear in his mind. The idea of those men, armed and merciless, coming anywhere near them sparked a fierce protectiveness in him, a primal urge to shield them from harm.

And then there was June. She would stand her ground against the militia, put herself in harm’s way no matter the cost if it meant protecting her friends and neighbors, and the thought caused his heart to ache. June had known him better than anyone, had been a pillar of strength not just for him, but for many others in the community, and she’d be facing an unimaginable threat that she probably wouldn’t survive.

Lucas’ gaze remained fixed on the scene outside the window, but his mind was miles away, amid the familiar streets and faces of Asheville. The thought of his old friends in trouble made it hard to breathe, the memories of meals shared, hikes in the Blue Ridge Mountains, challenges faced together, haunting him. Even though they were no longer friends and probably never would be again, he still cared about them, and he’d love Sarah until the end of time. Nothing could ever change that.

“Lucas, we should just head south as soon as these men are gone,” Victor whispered, pulling Lucas from his thoughts, his voice carrying an edge of urgency. “There’s nothing you can do here that won’t end in disaster.”

Lucas kept his gaze on the movement outside, his jaw tightening as another group of militia passed by within sight of the old farmhouse. “I can’t just leave them to face this alone,” he replied, his voice low but firm. “Sarah or June could get killed. And what about little Mia?”

Victor let out a short, humorless laugh. “And what about them, Lucas? You’re going to swoop in and save the day? When have you ever managed to pull anything off without it blowing up in your face?”

The words stung, and Lucas swallowed hard. “Maybe I’ve never been a hero, but I can’t sit back and do nothing. Not this time.”

“You’ve failed at everything you’ve ever tried to do. I don’t know what makes you think this is going to be any different.”

“Shut up, Victor. I’m doing this and there’s nothing you can do to change my mind.”

Victor raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “So, the great Lucas decides to take a stand. What’s the plan, then? March into Asheville with a white flag and a stern look?”

Lucas glared at him. “Just be quiet, Victor. For once. I’m serious. I’m going in there.”

For a moment, Victor’s smirk widened, then he nodded, almost as if he were proud. “Alright, Lucas. If you’re set on this, I’m with you. But let’s be clear: if we die, I’m blaming you.”

Lucas shook his head, resisting the temptation to tell Victor it was already too late for him. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

As they turned their attention back to the window, Lucas glanced sideways at Victor, unable to shake the feeling that Victor had been goading him into action all along, pushing him toward the decision he knew Lucas needed to make. The thought steeled him, courage he didn’t know he had moving through his veins, bolstering him. In that moment, with the sun high in the overcast sky and the militia marching on, Lucas’ resolve solidified. For Sarah, for June, for Mia and for Asheville, he would do whatever it took, even if it meant facing his own fears and failures head-on.

The minutes ticked past and the flow of militia past the farmhouse seemed to dwindle, the once steady stream of men nothing more than a trickle. Lucas waited patiently, his gaze intense, until no one had walked past for at least half an hour. The distant sound of gunfire punctuated the afternoon air, a stark reminder of the urgency of their situation.

“We need to move,” Lucas said, his voice low but determined. “It’s time.”

Victor followed him as he walked through the farmhouse looking for the items he’d need. He pulled on a pair of black pants from his pack and then searched the looted house, finding an old black coat hanging in the closet of the master bedroom. It was a bit too large, but it would serve its purpose.

Victor leaned against the doorframe, his usual smirk in place. “Going for the mysterious stranger look?”

Lucas ignored the comment, focusing instead on his preparations. He took out his hunting knife and found an old T-shirt, cutting it into pieces before fashioning one into a makeshift bandana. Tying it around his mouth, he checked his reflection in the mirror, making sure his face was obscured, then he slung his rifle over his shoulder, its weight somewhat comforting. After gathering all his ammunition into his backpack and emptying it of everything else except a bottle of water, he tucked his pistol into his belt.

“Ready?” Victor asked, his tone lighter than before, but Lucas detected an undercurrent of genuine concern.

“As I’ll ever be,” Lucas responded, taking a deep breath.

They made their way back to the living room, Lucas leading the way. The decision to head into the fray was a weight lifted from his shoulders, despite the danger he’d be in, and Victor seemed to understand the importance of the moment, his usual teasing and banter replaced with quiet solidarity.

They reached the door and Lucas paused, taking one last look at the farmhouse that had been their refuge, before stepping outside. They walked side by side down to the road leading to Asheville when the sudden roar of an engine sliced through the quiet. He looked down the road, his eyes narrowing as he spotted a small truck barreling toward him. The vehicle was crudely armored, sheets of metal bolted over the windshield and windows, with slits cut out for the driver to see through.

“Hide!” Victor hissed, pulling back toward the shadows cast by a line of pines.

Lucas shook his head, his decision made in the blink of an eye. If he was going to make a difference, if he was going to help his friends, he needed to be bold and take risks. Stepping confidently into the middle of the road, he waved his arms, trying to catch the driver’s attention. The truck slowed, its engine growling like a caged beast as it approached.

“What do you want?” the driver shouted from behind the makeshift armor, his voice muffled.

“I need a lift!” Lucas called back, his voice firm, hoping his bravado would work and the driver would take him as one of the militiamen without asking for an explanation as to why he was by himself. He couldn’t show any hesitation, and he stood a little taller, praying his gamble would pay off.

The driver was silent for a beat, the only sound Lucas’ heart pounding in his ears and chest. Finally, the driver spoke: “Jump in then. You’re lucky Commander Lorne is already there. He’d tell you to walk the rest of the way.”

Lucas didn’t need to be told twice. He jogged toward the back of the truck, throwing a glance over his shoulder at Victor, who followed closely behind, both worry and respect in his eyes. As Lucas and Victor clambered into the back of the truck, Lucas quickly took stock of his surroundings, noting the ten militiamen already occupying the space. The men sat in silence, their armed presence a clear reminder of what he was about to step into. Each man held a rifle, their weapons upright between their legs, expressions unreadable behind the balaclavas that obscured their faces.

Lucas swallowed hard and stepped forward. Victor followed closely, his movements swift and silent, a shadow in Lucas’ wake as Lucas took a seat beside one of the men. Then the truck lurched forward, the engine’s roar filling the confined space as they continued their journey to Asheville. Lucas’ mind raced with thoughts of what lay ahead, Sarah, Mia, and June’s faces at the forefront in his mind.

The silent militiamen around him, the crates of ammunition and other weapons that jostled and rattled over the uneven road, only served to heighten the sense of urgency pulsing through Lucas. He was heading back to his hometown as a pariah, but he’d do whatever it took to help his friends against the faceless militia trying to breach the settlement’s perimeter.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Lucas

The truck’s uneven jostle over the debris strewn road had Lucas clinging to whatever handholds he could find, his gaze remaining fixed on the munitions stacked around him, trying not to meet the eyes of the men sitting opposite. Boxes of ammunition, more rifles than he could count, and crates of grenades were piled at the feet of the militia, clattering with each bump in the road.

The truck slowed and a gruff voice cut through the noise, authoritative and loud. “Be ready,” the man said. “We’re almost there.”

The other militiamen tensed, gripping their weapons tighter, and Lucas followed suit. A moment later, the truck came to an abrupt stop, the sudden silence outside pierced by the sound of gunshots close by, and Lucas stiffened. The man who had spoken earlier stood, striding to the back of the truck to throw open the doors. Muted sunlight flooded in, along with the sharp smell of smoke and the more distant echoes of battle.

One by one, the militiamen jumped out. Lucas took a moment inside the truck, his heart racing not just with fear but with the determination that had brought him that far. Victor gave him a meaningful look and nodded to one of the crates, and Lucas quickly reached inside the one closest to him, his fingers closing around two grenades. They were heavier than he was expecting, and Lucas shoved them in the deep pockets of his borrowed black coat.

Victor, who had been a silent shadow at his side during the short trip into Asheville, met Lucas’ gaze. “Good luck, buddy,” he said, his voice a low murmur. “I think you’re going to need it.”

With a brief nod, Lucas turned and jumped out of the truck, landing on the pavement, the air filled with the sounds of the settlement under siege. He paused, squinting against the overcast sky, letting his eyes adjust to the afternoon’s relative brightness. His mind raced with the possibilities of what lay ahead, before he turned his attention to the streetscape, scanning the tumultuous scene unfolding in front of him.

Across the barricade, Asheville residents were entrenched inside their own territory, their sporadic gunfire aimed at the militia, who’d taken up strategic positions inside the buildings on Lucas’ side of the street. Bullets pinged off the truck, the sound jolting Lucas, and he hurried behind it for cover.

His attention was drawn to movement down the street, where a figure darted out from behind a charred vehicle in the fading light. The man’s posture, the way he moved, looked familiar, and Lucas would have sworn it was Daniel, Sarah’s dad. His heart lurched as he watched a militiaman ten feet away take aim and fire, the gunshot loud, the bullet striking Daniel in the leg. Daniel’s figure crumpled, then, with a determination that Lucas remembered well, he began dragging himself across the road, hauling his injured leg behind him.

A surge of anger welled up in Lucas at the sight of the injured man. But he couldn’t let his emotions take over; he needed to stay focused, to blend in if he was going to make any difference. He kept his gaze on Daniel, not looking away until the other man reached a low retaining wall, out of sight and behind cover from the militia’s relentless assault.

“Lucas.”

Victor’s voice, low and urgent, brought his attention back to his immediate surroundings, and he turned, meeting Victor’s gaze, the unspoken agreement between them clear. They were in it together, for better or worse. The other militiamen around him had snapped to attention and Lucas straightened his posture, mimicking the stance of those around him, hoping to blend in.

A man stepped forward from the group, his authority unmistakable even before he spoke. “Press the advantage,” he said, his voice carrying over the din of gunfire. “We need to breach the barricade and secure the settlement. This has gone on long enough. They’re getting tired and we need to end this.”

The group began to stir, a low murmur of acknowledgement passing through the men as they prepared to make their move, but before they could go anywhere, another man stepped up beside the man in charge, addressing him with deference.

“Commander Lorne, the truck,” he said, nodding at the vehicle they’d just disembarked from.

Commander Lorne’s gaze swept over the assembled men, landing on Lucas and another militiaman. “You two, unload the supplies,” he ordered, pointing to the back of the truck. “The rest of you, move out.”

A jolt of surprise hit Lucas at being singled out, but he managed to keep his expression neutral as everyone glanced at him before readying their rifles. Clad in a mix of military surplus clothes, Commander Lorne’s face was partially obscured by a dark bandana, leaving only his cold, calculating eyes visible. He scanned the militia with what looked like a predator’s gaze, assessing, judging, ensuring his orders were met without delay. The way he carried himself, with an air of authority and callous indifference, spoke of a man accustomed to control, leaving no room for dissent or hesitation.

As the others formed up and began to advance toward the barricade, Lucas and the other man approached the truck, the weight of the grenades in Lucas’ pockets a constant reminder of what was at stake. Victor stayed close, his presence a silent support, while Lucas and the other man started to unload. As he moved the heavy crates, Lucas caught snippets of Commander Lorne’s conversation with one of the militiamen, and the name Victor Darrow cut through the noise, catching Lucas’ attention. The commander’s voice was laced with a bitterness that left no room for doubt—Victor was far from a friend in Lorne’s eyes.

Commander Lorne’s voice grew cold as he continued. “If you find Darrow, I want him unharmed. I’ll personally see to him.”

“Yes sir,” replied a man, his face obscured by a balaclava.

“But tell the men,” Commander Lorne continued, “to make sure there are no survivors. We don’t want any complications, especially if I decide to set up camp here for a week or two.”

The command to leave no survivors set Lucas’ nerves on edge, and he gritted his teeth. The stakes were high for everyone, but the absolute disregard for human life shook him to his core; he was right to have come back, he just needed to hurry and get the truck unloaded so he could help his friends.

With the last of the crates set down, Lucas turned to find Commander Lorne gesturing for a team of five from the remaining militia to follow him into the settlement—the rest of the men had already breached the barricade. His heart hammered in his chest as he fell in step with the group, Victor by his side, while others began to sort through the weapons, preparing to distribute them where necessary.

Crossing through the breached barricade was like stepping into another world, one on the brink of complete devastation, and a sense of foreboding gripped Lucas as he walked around a rusted pickup truck, cold dread settling deep in his bones. He cast a quick glance at the spot where he’d last seen Daniel, but there was no sign of him, no clue to his fate, and he just had to hope that Sarah’s father had gotten away somehow.

As Lucas walked deeper into Asheville, Commander Lorne leading the way, the distant sound of gunfire echoed through the empty streets. Each report of a rifle, each burst from a grenade, ramped up the tension in Lucas’ muscles, a physical manifestation of the worry churning inside. The once vibrant community, with its bustling trading tables and repaired homes, lay silent under the weight of the invading militia, while buildings stood mute, their fronts pockmarked by the violence that had swept through the streets.

Lucas’ mind raced as he struggled to formulate a plan, each step forward a journey into uncertainty. He couldn’t shake the image of Sarah, Mia and June, their faces a beacon in the growing darkness, a reminder of the reason he’d chosen to come back. The thought of anything happening to them, to any of the people who had become his chosen family, filled him with what he could only describe as rage, and he hoped he wasn’t too late.

Beside him, Victor’s voice broke through his thoughts. “You know, I never imagined we’d end up here,” he murmured, his words for Lucas alone. “But here we are, about to stir up a hornet’s nest, side by side.”

Lucas glanced at Victor, the man’s profile stoic in the dusky light, his words both dire and in an odd sort of way filled with camaraderie. The sound of gunfire grew louder, a clear indication that they were nearing the heart of the conflict, and Lucas’ grip on his rifle tightened.

He was just one man against a tide of darkness, ready to do whatever it took to protect those he cared about. But in that moment, with the sounds of battle drawing closer, it was clear that no matter what lay ahead, he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Lucas

Lucas walked in step with the militia, his chest tight as he passed through the looted and abandoned streets just inside the barricade, distant gunfire echoing in the cold, the night drawing closer as the light faded. Commander Lorne led the way, a man beside him constantly on the radio coordinating with other groups, urging them to converge on their position.

“Oh, look, another welcoming committee,” Victor said as a group of armed militiamen emerged from a side street to join them.

The newcomers quickly fell in line, and one of them approached Commander Lorne, speaking in hushed tones. “We captured some residents who told us the supplies are concentrated in the community center, but we’ve heard there might be a group holding out there. Apparently, their sheriff had instructed them to fall back to the center if their barricades were breached.”

“And the residents have been taken care of?”

“Of course,” the man replied.

Commander Lorne’s expression betrayed no emotion, and he nodded curtly. “Then the community center is where we’re headed. Prepare for resistance.”

Anxiety punched through Lucas at the mention of the community center. It was the heart of Asheville, and if Sarah and the others were still fighting, they’d probably fall back there and make their stand. The thought of the inevitable confrontation with any survivors weighed on him, and he tripped over a piece of debris in the middle of the road, stumbling before righting himself.

Victor leaned closer, his voice barely audible. “Don’t draw unnecessary attention to yourself. You need to pay more attention. Looks like we’re heading into the storm. Ready for a little thunder and lightning?”

Lucas didn’t respond, turning his attention back to the commander and the information coming over the radio in the hand of the man walking beside Commander Lorne.

“Come on,” Victor said, “that was a good one!”

“Just be quiet,” Lucas muttered.

The militiaman walking beside him looked up, eyes narrowed as he stared at Lucas for a long moment, but Lucas kept his eyes on the road in front of him until the man turned away.

As they continued their march, Commander Lorne’s voice reached Lucas. “And what about Victor Darrow? Any sign of him?”

The man beside him shook his head. “Not yet, sir. No sign of him.”

Up ahead, a group of people, none of whom Lucas recognized, were on their knees in the overgrown front yard of one of the looted houses. They were being watched over by three militia members, their rifles trained on the captives. A man in his forties kneeled beside a dark-haired woman with a pretty face and an older woman with graying hair, their hands bound behind their backs, expressions showing a mix of fear, sadness, and resignation to their fate. Lucas stared at their faces, unable to place them—they could be volunteers from surrounding communities, come to help but caught in the militia’s net.

Commander Lorne raised his hand, signaling to his men. “Execute them,” he ordered coldly.

The command was carried out with chilling efficiency, the militia members firing point-blank, bang-bang-bang, the man and women falling to the ground with a dull thud, blood pooling around them a moment later. The man’s face contorted in pain and shock, his eyes wide and mouth open as if still trying to cry out, before he fell still. The women lay nearby, their faces twisted in terror and agony even in death.

Lucas turned away, bile rising in his throat at the senseless brutality. Feeling utterly out of his depth and sickened by what he’d just seen, he struggled to maintain his composure, looking away into the darkened streetscape, his mind imposing Sarah’s face on that of the dark-haired woman. Was she already dead? Maybe he’d waited too long. His thoughts spiraled, scraping his insides, leaving them raw and aching.

Beside him, Victor’s voice cut through his shock. “Lucas, listen to me,” he said, his tone urgent yet strangely calm. “You can’t let this shake you. You’re here for a reason, remember? For Sarah and Mia, for June. This,” he gestured to the surrounding horror, “this is why you need to stay strong.”

“I can’t do this,” Lucas whispered.

“You’ve got more fight in you than you know,” Victor replied.

Lucas took a deep breath, Victor’s words grounding him in a strange kind of way, giving him the strength to push forward. With a backward glance at the executed trio, he followed the commander and the militia as they continued their march toward the community center. The number of militia continued to swell until there were around fifty men, each one armed and ready for the impending assault. Lucas kept close to Commander Lorne, while the man with the radio walked in step with the commander, his voice a constant murmur as he relayed messages to and from other groups.

“All barricades have fallen, sir,” he reported, a note of triumph in his voice that made Lucas’ skin crawl.

Gunfire erupted ahead of them as they neared the main street leading to the community center, the sound sharp and close, cutting through the low murmur of conversation between the militiamen. Every member of the group tensed and Commander Lorne halted, raising his hand for silence—the entire group stopped and seemed to hold their breath. He scanned the area ahead, his gaze calculating as more gunfire rang out. Then, with a decisive nod, he gave the signal.

“Form up. Move out in formation. We take care of whoever is up ahead, then we move on the community center.”

The militia moved quickly, breaking into smaller groups that fanned out with military precision. Lucas stepped closer to the commander, joining a small group who seemed to be acting as guards. He positioned himself just behind Commander Lorne, adopting the stance of a guard on protective detail, his heart pounding as they followed the advance groups down the street.

The gunfire suddenly stopped, filling the air with tense anticipation, and Lucas’ grip on his rifle tightened. As they rounded a corner, the scene that unfolded in front of him sent a jolt of shock through him. There, surrounded by militia, was Sarah, alongside a small group of people, some of whom Lucas recognized from the settlement. Among them was a man who bore a striking resemblance to Mia standing beside Daniel’s dog, Bailey, and for a beat he just stared at the man, until his attention snapped to Sarah, who had just stepped forward, her eyes ablaze.

“Victor’s not here anymore,” Sarah said, her defiance unmistakable. “He hasn’t been for a while.”

“Then you’ll lead us to the community center. Now,” replied one of the militiamen.

The man who looked like Mia said something in a low voice that Lucas couldn’t hear, and then another militia member stepped forward, his weapon trained directly at Sarah, the barrel of the gun aimed right at her chest.

“We’re not asking,” the militiaman said.

Sarah didn’t back down, but her eyes closed slowly, as if bracing herself for the inevitable. The sight ignited a fierce protectiveness in Lucas, a desperate need to intervene coursing through him. But what could he do? His feet were rooted to the spot, his hands slick with sweat.

“Lucas, do something!” Victor’s urgent shout broke through his paralysis. “Now! Before they kill her.”

In a blur of motion and without conscious thought, Lucas aimed his rifle and leveled it at the man with his weapon on Sarah. Time seemed to slow as he squeezed the trigger, the sound deafening in the otherwise quiet night. The bullet struck the man in the side of the head and he jerked backward before crumpling to the ground, his lifeless body collapsing on impact.

Pandemonium erupted. Militia members spun around, looking for the source of the shot, some firing wildly into the darkness while Sarah and her group dove for the ground, crawling for cover. Lucas grabbed the two grenades from his pocket, priming them with shaking hands before lobbing them at the nearest groups of militiamen. He watched for a beat as the grenades sailed through the air before landing in their midst.

Twin explosions rocked the night, sending bodies and debris flying. The screams of the injured and dying pierced the air, but Lucas had no time to process. He had to act fast. He spun around, firing his rifle in controlled bursts, dropping militia members before they even realized what was happening. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sarah and her group scramble to their feet behind a vehicle on the street and join the fight a moment later. And they weren’t alone: another group was firing on the militia from down the road.

Lucas risked one last glance over his shoulder at the carnage in the street. Bodies and debris were strewn everywhere, small fires burning in spots where the grenades had landed. It was a scene of utter devastation, and he smiled. He turned his attention to Commander Lorne barking orders to his remaining men, trying desperately to mount some kind of defense, and Lucas raised his rifle. His finger tightened on the trigger, and he squeezed, the shot striking Commander Lorne in the chest. The man’s eyes went wide with shock, before he fell to his knees, and then to his side, before blood pooled on the road beneath him.

Suddenly, a burst of gunfire erupted to Lucas’ left, and searing pain shot through his shoulder and leg simultaneously. Lucas cried out and dropped to the ground, his rifle falling from his hands and clattering on the asphalt. He looked down, unable to see the blood wetting his skin through his black clothes. He looked up to see two militiamen approaching, their rifles trained on him, and he groped for his fallen rifle, but he’d never reach it in time.

The militiamen towered over Lucas, their grim faces illuminated by the flames of the nearby fires. The barrel of one man’s rifle was pointed directly at Lucas’s chest, and he seemed to smile as he fired. Lucas’ body convulsed with agony as he fell onto his back, his hands clutching at his chest where the bullet had struck him. Warm blood soaked into his borrowed black jacket, making the fabric of his T-shirt underneath stick to his skin, the rough road beneath him scraping against his back as he struggled to stay conscious.

Someone in the distance screamed, “No!” and the two men who’d been standing over Lucas each took a bullet to the side of their heads.

Lucas tried to lift himself up to see who had fired the shot, to see who was upset to see him injured, but he was paralyzed by the agony radiating from the bullet wound in his chest. He lay back, his head resting on the road. Maybe it was June or Sarah who’d cried out, the thought warming his chest despite the cold creeping up his limbs.

Victor kneeled by his side. “Hey, easy now. Just lie still. It’s going to be okay. And nice work, by the way. Lucas, you did good. I’m proud of you. You should be proud of yourself, too.”

Lucas’ chest constricted as his lungs struggled for breath and, for a brief moment, his fingers clawed at the road beneath him. A wet, gurgling sound filled the air, and it took Lucas a moment to realize it was coming from him.

“You know, death hurts a whole lot less than this,” Victor said sympathetically. “Don’t be scared. I’ll be here with you. The others are okay. You did it. You saved them.”

Lucas grimaced in pain, his vision beginning to blur as he looked up at the overcast sky, the moon hazy behind the clouds. His strength was rapidly fading and darkness crept into the edges of his vision, the sounds of gunfire slowly fading away.

Lucas’ eyes fluttered closed, the last image that filled his mind Sarah’s face. She was so beautiful, and she finally reached out, embracing him, her touch exquisite. A serene sense of peace settled over him as the darkness moved in, his body growing cold and his senses dulling until he could feel nothing at all.

CHAPTER FIFTY

June

June led the way, her senses on high alert as darkness enveloped the settlement. A cold wind howled through the abandoned streets, rustling debris and fallen leaves and creating an eerie symphony to their desperate mission. With each step, the familiar roads seemed increasingly alien, cloaked in the deep shadows of the night, the horror of their situation swirling between them.

Jeremy’s distress was obvious, his quick, shallow breaths cutting through the silence, hands fluttering by his side. Tex fell back, his hand resting gently on Jeremy’s shoulder, offering words of comfort in a calm, steady voice. “It’s going to be okay, Jeremy. We’re together, and we’re going to do what we can to make sure everyone is safe.”

Jeremy swallowed. “I think it’s too late for that.”

“It’s never too late,” Tex replied, but Jeremy didn’t look convinced, and June understood his fear.

The quiet of the streets was unnerving. She had expected to encounter signs of other residents or the militia, but there was nothing—only the hollow echo of their footsteps against the pavement and what sounded like distant voices, which could well have been the wind disturbing the looted and abandoned buildings. It was too quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos that had taken over just hours before.

“We’ll find the sheriff and everyone else,” June said to the others, though her own mind was filled with uncertainty. “They knew the plan. They’ll have fallen back to the community center and are probably already celebrating their victory.”

Despite her reassurances, the knot of worry in her stomach tightened with each step they took toward Jenny Peabody’s house. The absence of any sign of life, friend or foe, made the journey feel surreal, like a ghostly procession through a world suspended in time, especially when they knew for a fact that the militia they’d been fighting earlier had already entered the settlement.

June tried not to think about what that meant—no signs of resistance couldn’t possibly be a good thing, but they had no choice other than to keep going. They moved cautiously, sticking to the shadows and avoiding the main roads where the militia could easily spot them. Every rustle of wind, every creak of a settling house made June’s heart skip, but they pressed on, driven by the need to ensure the safety of the children and any other survivors, and to take a stand against the invading militia.

As they moved through the shadowed streets, three gunshots rang out, the sound ominous, the quiet that followed even worse, and they all paused for a long moment, but there were no other sounds.

“Come on,” June said, and they continued walking.

Tony nudged Tex, his mustache twitching as he managed a smile. “You think if we make it out of this, they’ll throw us a parade?”

Tex chuckled, casting a sideway glance at Tony. “Sure, they’ll call it the Festival of the Unlikely Heroes. I can see it now, banners with our faces plastered on them.”

June frowned at them. “Make sure my banner has good lighting. I’d hate to look washed out in my moment of glory.”

“I’ll personally supervise the portrait session, June,” Tony replied. “Only the best for our fearless leader.”

“Hear that?” Tex’s voice cut through the banter, a sharp note of concern underlying his words.

Tony, who’d been about to say something else, fell silent, his expression turning serious as they all listened. Three more gunshots, this time in rapid succession, one after the other, followed by a brief pause before fierce fighting broke out.

“Gunshots,” he confirmed, his voice low.

June’s stomach tightened. “It’s close. We need to move, but keep quiet.”

The levity that had buoyed their spirits moments before evaporated, replaced by an all-too-familiar cloak of vigilance as they navigated the darkened streets with renewed caution.

“Could be the militia... or ours,” Tex whispered, his gaze darting between shadowed alleyways and the skeletal remains of abandoned vehicles.

“Let’s hope it’s ours,” Tony murmured back.

June led the way, her senses heightened as the gunfire stopped abruptly, an oppressive silence following.

“We’re almost at Jenny’s place,” June said, more to herself than her companions. “Ready your weapons.”

The streets seemed to hold their breath, the night falling into a tense quiet as they rounded the corner, where the sight that greeted them made June’s blood run cold. Militiamen, their dark silhouettes ominous and unmistakable, were positioned around the street leading to Jenny’s house. June’s fear for the children, for Jenny, and for all those who might be caught in the crossfire, surged.

“Stay down,” she murmured, her voice barely audible as she crouched beside a garden wall behind the militia, her heart pounding in her chest. Tony and Tex followed suit, their earlier banter forgotten in the face of the imminent threat, while Jeremy lingered at the rear, keeping watch so they weren’t taken by surprise.

Peering through her scope, June’s gaze fixed on a figure in the middle of the darkened street: Sarah, unmistakable even from a distance, stood exposed with a militiaman’s gun trained on her. June’s breath hitched, her finger tensing on the rifle’s trigger, ready to take the shot that might save her friend.

But before she could squeeze, a gunshot rang out and the man threatening Sarah jerked from the impact, before crumpling to the ground, a victim of an unexpected sniper. The night erupted into chaos, militiamen scrambling, their shouts filling the air as they returned fire into the shadows.

“What the heck is going on?” Tony whispered urgently, his confusion mirroring June’s own.

Before she could answer, the night was shattered by the deafening roar of explosions, bright flashes of light momentarily illuminating the street like grotesque daylight. Two separate groups of militiamen were caught in the blasts, their figures briefly silhouetted against the sudden infernos that consumed them. Shrapnel, body parts, and debris flew, the shockwaves reverberating through the air.

Even though she had no idea what was going on, June’s instincts kicked in and she steadied her rifle, the familiar weight of it grounding her as she took aim. Beside her, Tex and Tony followed her lead, and their shots rang out, each one aimed to take down the surviving militiamen. Sarah and the handful of others with her seized the opportunity and hit the ground before crawling for cover, moving with a desperation that rolled off them in waves. June’s eyes flicked between her targets and her friends, trying to make sure each shot provided the cover they needed to reach safety.

The explosions, though unexpected, had tipped the scales, if only for a moment, and in the confusion that followed, the night was filled with gunshots from June and the others taking full advantage of the situation. Relief flooded June as she saw Sarah and the group find safety behind a wrecked vehicle, their forms low as they joined the fight.

June scanned the darkened streetscape, where her attention snapped to a figure on the ground—Lucas, caught in the open, looking wounded as he kneeled on the street, his rifle out of reach. Her heart lurched as two militiamen approached him, one leveling his rifle at Lucas. A gunshot split the air, and June’s scream, “No!” tore from her throat, raw and filled with anguish.

Without a second thought, she adjusted her aim and fired, taking down the two men before they could further harm Lucas. But she was too late and the damage had been done; Lucas lay still, a solitary figure in the middle of the road.

June’s chest ached with a raw pain as she watched Lucas through her scope. He lay on the ground, a figure so familiar yet so distant after everything they’d been through recently. Memories flooded her—Lucas, with his gentle personality and quiet strength, his sensitivity making it almost impossible for him to live in the harsh world they currently inhabited. He had been one of her closest friends, a man whose musical talents were often overshadowed by his own self-doubt, a soul too pure for the brutality that surrounded them.

As Lucas sucked in a last labored breath, June’s throat tightened. Even from a distance, she could see him mouthing words meant for ears that would never hear them, a silent goodbye to the life he had lived. And she could only watch, powerless, as the light faded from his eyes, her heart breaking for the loss of her oldest friend. He had always been so much more than he believed, and in that fleeting moment, June wished that she could have told him one last time: she loved him. She believed in him.

June’s vision blurred, her chest tight with grief as she watched, helpless, unable to reach him, the final skirmishes of the battle playing out around them. He’d made mistakes, some terrible ones, but he’d come back to help, to fight for those he cared about, and after everything, he lay alone on the cold, unforgiving street of the town he had once called home.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

June

Darkness had well and truly settled over Asheville as gunshots continued to rent the air. Tearing her gaze away from Lucas, a part of June remained anchored to the spot where he lay, but she forced herself to focus on Tex’s voice beside her.

“We need to push forward, June. They’re on the ropes and it’s almost over.”

The remaining militia members were in disarray from the unexpected attack from Lucas, June and the others, their movements frantic and disorganized as they sought cover from the relentless barrage of bullets. Tex was right—they needed to press their advantage.

On June’s signal, they moved forward, weaving through front yards and the shadowed forms of abandoned cars on the side of the street, their rifles raised, scanning for any sign of the remaining militia. The air was thick with the smell of smoke from the fires that still burned, but they pushed on, driven by a need to end the threat once and for all.

Tony spotted a pair of militiamen trying to regroup behind an SUV. “There!” he said in a low voice, pointing them out to June and Tex.

Without hesitation, June lined up her shot, the echo of her rifle breaking the tense silence as one of the men fell. Tex followed suit, his shots taking down the other before he could even raise his weapon in defense. They moved again, their footsteps quiet against the damp, overgrown lawns. Another militiaman, desperate and wild-eyed, leaped from the shadow of a doorway, his rifle swinging in their direction. Jeremy acted with surprising quickness, dropping the assailant before he could fire, and Tony took a moment to fist bump the younger man.

Tex stepped forward, moving like a shadow ahead of June and the others, his own rifle readied in his arms as he darted between the skeletal frames of abandoned vehicles and the front porches of reclaimed family homes. His shots rang out in quick succession, while Tony and Jeremy covered their flanks. The street became a chessboard of strategic advances, June and the others steadily heading in the direction of Sarah’s group at the opposite end of the street.

The remaining militia soon fell, and silence descended once more. They stood among the remains of the battle, spot fires still burning on the street around them, the sickening smell of charred flesh lingering in the air, bodies—both allies and enemies—lying everywhere. June reached for Jeremy’s hand and squeezed it, the immediate threat dissolved, leaving behind only their victory and the heavy cost at which it had come.

Jeremy’s face was pale and drawn in the moonlight, and he turned to June, his voice barely above a whisper. “Is it... is it over?”

June nodded, the weight of exhaustion and grief making the simple act feel monumental. “Yes, Jeremy. It’s over,” she replied.

Sarah and her group hurried toward June, soon converging in the center of the street, everyone looking shell-shocked. Tex embraced Sarah, while June’s gaze immediately found Lucas, his body lying alone on the cold road. Her steps quickened as she hurried to him, a sliver of hope that he might still be alive urging her forward. But as she kneeled beside him, the truth was undeniable: Lucas was gone, his eyes closed, a finality in his stillness that pierced June’s heart.

Sarah joined her, hands finding each other in their shared loss and sorrow. They sat there for a moment on the road, side by side next to Lucas’ body, the sounds of the night enveloping them, their grief a pulsating thing between them. June’s mind drifted, the sharp sting of loss all too familiar. She thought of Mike, of the pain that had once consumed her after he died in the fires—while the intensity of their pain would dull with time, Lucas’ absence would leave a lasting mark.

“It’s never easy, is it?” Sarah whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “Losing someone you love.”

June shook her head, the words lodged in her throat. They both knew the cost of survival in this new world, the price they paid every day just to see another sunrise.

After a moment, Sarah let go of June’s hand and stood. “I’m sorry to leave you, June, but I need to find Mia and the others. Make sure they’re safe.”

Sarah’s words didn’t come as any surprise to June. “Of course.”

Nate had been standing a respectful distance away, and he stepped forward. “I’ll go with you,” he offered tentatively, a shy look crossing his features as he stared at Sarah.

Sarah considered his offer for a few long moments, then nodded her agreement. It was a small gesture, but in it was the beginning of healing, the first step toward building something new between them. Tex and the others seemed to sense it was better to let Nate and Sarah go alone, and no one else offered to accompany them.

As the unlikely pair set off to find the children, June remained seated beside Lucas a moment longer, her mind replaying their shared past as she tried not to think about the future they would never see. Then she whispered a final goodbye to her friend, a promise to remember him always, before standing to join the others.

“We need to regroup, find any other survivors, and help the wounded,” she said, her hand palming her hips, and the others nodded. “I’m going to look for the sheriff and Daniel. They were working together at the same barricade.”

“I’ll come with you,” Tony said, already stepping forward.

“Me too,” added Tex, dragging a hand through his dark hair as he pushed it off his face, but June shook her head.

“I can handle this alone,” she insisted, the firmness in her voice allowing no argument. “You guys help round up any other survivors, check the barricades, make sure no one’s left behind. We need to bring the injured back to the community center so Sarah can attend to them when she gets back.”

Reluctantly, Tony and Tex agreed, and they turned to the small group, splitting them into two teams to start their recovery mission. As June prepared to leave, she noticed Bailey sitting on the road, scanning the darkness as though she were looking for something. June whistled softly, and Bailey trotted over.

“Come on, girl, let’s go and find your master.”

With Bailey by her side, June set off in the direction of the barricade where Daniel and the sheriff had been fighting, her steps steady despite the uncertainty that lay ahead. She clung to hope—hope that the two men were alive and well—a fragile thing in the aftermath of the battle, but necessary all the same. She was worried about everyone who’d gone to fight the militia, but her concern for Daniel in particular was undeniable. He had to be alive.

As they left Lucas and the aftermath of the battle behind, June and Bailey walked past a man and two women who lay motionless on an overgrown front lawn, their bodies telling a grim tale of execution where they’d kneeled on the damp grass. As she continued past the horrifying scene, a part of her was relieved that the militia who had caused such suffering were all dead, and she couldn’t help but wonder when her heart had grown so cold, so accustomed to the stark realities of their existence.

They soon reached the barricade, and it was a scene of devastation. Bodies of Asheville residents, as well as volunteers from the other communities, lay scattered around the road, and June checked them one by one, but there were no survivors, and no sign of Daniel or the sheriff. Bailey, with a low whine, guided June to the house lying in the shadow of the battered barricade. The door hung off its hinges, the front of the house bearing the scars of looting and abandonment, its contents ransacked, scattered across the front yard in disarray.

As June stepped over the threshold, her boots crunching on broken glass and debris, the dim moonlight filtering through the shattered windows cast elongated shadows across the room. Bailey led her onward, and at the back of the house, in the somber half-light, lay the sheriff and several others, their still forms lying alongside those of the militiamen who had stormed the house.

June sucked in a ragged breath. The air was thick with the stale odor of blood, and her gaze lingered on the faces of the fallen, her heart in her throat as her relief that none of them were Daniel was quickly replaced by grief at their deaths. Their expressions were serene, as if they had finally found a peace denied to them in life, and a pang of sorrow and respect tightened June’s chest as she took them in one by one.

She finally kneeled beside the sheriff, her hand trembling as she reached out to clasp his cold hand, the words she spoke a mixture of gratitude and sorrow. “You did your best,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “You stood for us, fought for us. We won’t forget that.”

A deep weariness settled over June. The continuous cycle of loss and violence had taken its toll, each death chipping away at her resolve, leaving her feeling increasingly numb. Yet, even as despair threatened to take hold, she knew she had to push on, to continue searching for Daniel and any others who might have survived.

Rising to her feet, June cast one last glance at the sheriff, a silent vow to honor his sacrifice. With Bailey by her side, she stepped back into the night.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

June

June’s heart raced as worry for Daniel surged through her once more, her voice carrying into the night as she called out for him, trying not to picture the sheriff’s face, his steel-blue eyes closed forever. She paused at the barricade, leaning against an old pickup, her rifle low and ready in her hands as she surveyed the shadowed streetscape beyond. The makeshift armored truck parked just behind the house directly opposite the barricade caught her attention, but it was empty, just like the wooden crates stacked in a pile beside it.

“Daniel,” she called again, every sense alert for movement. The silence that followed was broken by a faint response, a voice that seemed to come from the other side of the barricade. Bailey’s ears pricked, and the dog stepped around the vehicles making up the barricade and onto the street on the other side, glancing at June before leading the way, her steps sure even in the dim light.

June hurried to follow Bailey, a charred vehicle in the middle of the street pulling her attention, her heart pounding with a mix of hope and dread. As she continued after Bailey, a man emerged from the shadowed doorway of the house directly across from her, stepping onto the porch. Instinctively, June raised her rifle, her finger tensed on the trigger, prepared for another threat.

“Miss June!” the man called out, his voice breaking through the tension. “It’s me!”

June took in his gray hair, pronounced nose and drawn features, and recognition dawned—she’d seen him before, and June’s grip on her rifle relaxed slightly as she lowered the weapon. “Have you seen Daniel?” she asked. “He was here fighting with the sheriff, but I haven’t been able to find him.” Hadn’t been able to find his body.

The older man gave a nod. “He’s inside. Hurry.”

June headed to the house with Bailey at her side, dark patches of dried blood on the asphalt catching her gaze, before she followed the man inside, her eyes quickly adjusted to the dim interior. The man stood in a doorway to her left and motioned for her to keep following, and a moment later, June stepped into a living room that had been stripped of anything useful, the glass in the windows overlooking the street shattered, a cold wind gusting through the room.

And then she saw Daniel lying still on the floor, a tourniquet tied around his calf, his eyes closed and his body still except for the slight rise and fall of his chest. The numbness that had shielded her from the full weight of the day’s losses shattered in an instant, replaced by a cold, gripping fear that Daniel, too, might be beyond help.

As she kneeled beside him, her hand trembling as it brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, June was struck by the fragility of life. Daniel had been a rock for her, a friend she didn’t know she needed, and he lay vulnerable and pale, stripped of all the vitality and strength that made him Daniel. Her heart ached as she took in his shallow breaths, the expansion and contraction of his ribs the only indication he was still holding on.

In that quiet room, with the wind howling through the broken windows and Bailey’s soft whine breaking the silence, June’s thoughts spiraled. Love was a dangerous thing in a world where death was always lurking, waiting to snatch away those she cared about. She thought of Mike, her first love, taken by the fires. The sheriff lay cold in the house on the other side of the street. And Lucas, her oldest friend, whose life had been taken too soon on the very streets they had once walked together.

The pattern was clear, and the conclusion was a piercing one: everyone she loved ended up dead. The thought of adding Daniel to that list was unbearable, and in the dim light of the ruined living room, June made a silent promise to herself. If Daniel pulled through, if he was spared by some grace, she would abandon any thoughts of a relationship with him. The risk was too great, the potential for loss too big.

She had harbored doubts, of course: there was no time for a relationship when they were fighting for their lives, but now the decision seemed clear as day. Better to remain alone, to shield her heart from the inevitable pain that seemed to follow when she allowed someone in. The cost was too high, the scars left by each loss too deep.

June leaned down over Daniel, her hands steady as she peeled back the bandages to reveal the bullet wound in his calf. The older man, who had called her into the house, hovered anxiously nearby, while the younger man crouched by Daniel’s side, watching silently, Bailey lying beside him with her head on Daniel’s arm.

“How long has he been like this?” June’s voice was calm, hiding the turmoil inside as she assessed the injury and Daniel’s unconscious state. His breathing was shallow but regular, his face pale and hands cold.

“An hour or so now,” the older man replied, his voice tinged with worry. “We dragged him back here, but he passed out shortly after. We tried to stop the bleeding, but he had already lost a lot of blood. We wanted to go for help, but we didn’t know what happened after the militia breached the barricade… if there was even any help to find.”

June nodded. “You did the right thing lying low. But the militia are dealt with now, so we can focus on helping Daniel, okay?”

The men nodded, and her mind raced as she considered her options. “You’ve done a good job stemming the bleeding,” she said, reaching for a clean cloth to apply pressure to the wound. “But we need to think about how we can move him to a safer place.”

The younger man held her gaze, a hint of hope in his eyes. “Is he going to be okay?”

June met his gaze squarely, her expression firm. “I’ll do everything I can. Right now, we need to get him to the community center, so when Sarah comes back, she can help him.”

June glanced at Bailey’s vigilant figure and the realization hit her that moving Daniel without causing further injury would require more than just their hands. “We need to make a stretcher,” she said, her voice cutting through the tension in the room.

She turned to the younger man as she got to her feet. “Help me find something we can use. Look for long, sturdy items and something we can use to lay him on. We need to move him carefully.”

They split up, scouring the house. June found a pair of wooden curtain rods in the master bedroom and guest bedroom, their length and sturdiness ideal for their needs, and she removed the curtains, keeping the rings. In the linen closet, she discovered a thick, durable blanket, perfect for supporting Daniel’s weight.

The younger man returned with two broom handles and a tarpaulin. Together, they laid out their findings, improvising with what they had. They placed the curtain rods parallel to each other on the floor and spread the blanket and tarp over them, creating a makeshift bed. June used a knife to cut holes in the tarp, then they fed the curtain rings through the holes and attached them to the curtain rods.

June directed the younger man to tie the corners of the blanket and tarp securely to the rods using strips torn from an old sheet they’d found. The knots needed to be tight and strong, to bear Daniel’s weight without giving way, and she also asked him to reinforce some of the curtain rings, just to be sure.

Once the stretcher was assembled, they tested its sturdiness, lifting it gently off the ground with Bailey acting as the patient. Satisfied it would hold, June nodded in approval. “This will work,” she said. “Let’s go!”

Returning to Daniel, they carefully lifted him onto the stretcher, ensuring his injured leg was properly supported and immobilized to prevent any further damage, June watching his unconscious form carefully. Once he was settled, June and the younger man, who introduced himself as Mark, prepared to transport Daniel. The older man, Mr. Squires, took the lead, opening doors and ensuring their path was clear of debris and any potential hazards, then June took a deep breath, steadying herself as she grabbed one end of the curtain rods.

“Okay, on three,” she instructed. “One, two, three.”

Together, they lifted the stretcher and started moving through the house. Bailey, ever vigilant, moved ahead of the group, her keen senses alert to any danger as they crossed the barricade and navigated the once-familiar streets transformed by the day’s events. The night was eerily silent, the occasional gust of wind the only sound accompanying their careful footsteps. Mark and June, each holding one end of the stretcher, moved in unison.

Mr. Squires, though older and visibly weary, kept a watchful eye on their surroundings, his rifle at the ready. Every so often, he would pause, listening intently before signaling for them to continue. As they walked, June’s thoughts were a whirlwind, but her focus remained on making sure Daniel made it safely to the community center where he could get the medical attention he desperately needed.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

Sarah

Sarah and Nate left the scene of the battle outside Jenny Peabody’s house behind, moving through the streets of the settlement with the tang of smoke still clinging to the night air. Darkness enveloped them, the overcast sky hiding the stars and muting the moonlight, and they both carried their weapons at the ready as they walked through the shadowy streets—just in case.

Sarah found herself acutely aware of Nate’s presence beside her, a strangeness tinged with familiarity. She didn’t remember the last time she’d been alone with him, time and distance stretching the gap between them until she barely knew the man walking beside her, and she couldn’t help but notice the changes in him. He was still the man she’d once known in many ways: handsome, rugged and capable, but there was a new ease about him, a contentment that she hadn’t seen before.

“I wanted to say thank you,” Sarah said, breaking the silence, her voice soft in the darkness. “For what you did, making sure the kids had a chance to get away.”

Nate glanced sideways at her, a half smile revealing the dimple she’d once loved. “I just hope they’re all okay,” he replied with genuine concern in his voice.

The streets were eerily quiet as they continued down the debris-strewn roads, and Sarah glanced at Nate from the corner of her eye. He definitely seemed more at peace, more settled in himself than she remembered. It was a change that spoke of growth, of experiences lived and lessons learned. And in that moment, she felt a flicker of something that felt a lot less like hatred, something that might even be pride for the man he had become, for the father he was striving to be for their daughter.

Without warning, Nate’s hand shot up, signaling for silence. With one arm, he guided Sarah off the road, using a skeletal oak tree for cover as he pointed out the bodies in the middle of the road. They crept forward until it was clear the four militiamen sprawled across the pavement were completely lifeless. The sight was grim, but Sarah felt no sympathy for them, only a hard-edged relief that they could no longer harm her friends and family.

As they bent to collect the weapons and ammunition from the fallen men, a voice shattered the silence. “Hello?”

Sarah and Nate spun around to face the voice, weapons raised.

“Don’t shoot. It’s okay! It’s just me, Jasper Hill,” the voice called out, and a moment later, Jasper himself stepped out from the shadows of a nearby house, his expression weary but relieved to see familiar faces.

Behind Jasper, a group of about fifteen emerged, a mix of his own community members and a handful of faces from Asheville, all looking equally battered by the night’s events.

“Is it over? What happened?”

“We heard fighting.”

“The militia breached the perimeter, but they’ve been dealt with,” Sarah replied to the group crowding around her. “We lost a lot of people, and there could still be some militia members lingering around, so be careful.”

Jasper shook his head. “We had to fall back from our position in the barricade,” he explained, his voice tinged with regret. “I had to keep my people safe and there were just too many of them. I’m sorry.”

Sarah nodded, understanding the difficult choices that they’d all had to make. “It’s over now,” she said firmly. “But we need to get to the children and make sure they’re okay. Can you and your group search for any other survivors, then regroup at the community center?”

“Yes, of course. We’d be happy to,” Jasper replied.

As they spoke, two mothers and a father from Asheville, their faces etched with worry, stepped forward. “We’re coming with you to find the children,” one of the mothers said, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes.

“Of course,” Sarah replied, exchanging a surprisingly meaningful look with Nate. Any parent’s first worry was going to be for their children…. even Nate seemed to get that.

Jasper headed off in the other direction with his group and a few people from Asheville, while Sarah’s gaze lingered on the militiamen’s bodies. She took a moment to bend over each of them in turn and gently closed their eyes, a final act of respect for the dead, even those who had come to destroy her home.

With a deep breath, Sarah stood, and together they continued in the direction of the safe house outside the perimeter, where she prayed they’d find Jenny and the children, although she couldn’t stop the worry licking at her insides, working its way up her throat. The journey through the darkened streets was surreal, small talk with the other parents revealing harrowing tales of the night’s events, each word a reminder of the cost of their survival.

“We saw so many casualties,” the father said, his expression tight with sorrow as the barricade came into view, “from all over, not just Asheville.”

They approached the unmanned barricade, the silence broken by faint groans of pain. They checked over the bodies scattered around the street and found an injured man and woman among the dead, both in need of medical attention. In the dim light, Sarah’s eyes caught on a familiar face among the fallen. It was Harry, the twins’ father, lying still and lifeless on the cold pavement.

A wave of nausea washed over her, her heart aching for the young boys who had lost their father and didn’t even know. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to push the grief to the back of her mind. It was not the time to break down: there were others who needed her help, and she needed to find Mia and the other children, had to stay strong for them.

Despite her burning need to find her daughter and make sure she was okay, Sarah’s nursing instincts kicked in, her hands moving with practiced efficiency as she quickly assessed the injured. She bandaged their wounds as best she could under the circumstances, using her knife to cut strips of material from a piece of shirt Nate cut off one of the militiamen, trying not to think about how she’d tell the twins their father didn’t make it.

“Hang in there,” she murmured as she finished bandaging the woman’s arm.

“Thank you,” the woman replied, her dark hair lank against her head. “I really thought we were going to die out here.”

“No one else is going to die today, not if we can help it,” Sarah replied.

Nate darted into a nearby house, emerging moments later with a couple of blankets. “This should help keep them warm,” he said, draping the blankets over the man and woman with the help of the other parents.

“We’ll be back for you soon,” Sarah promised, her voice firm despite the fatigue and worry that edged every word. “Just hold on a little longer.”

With the injured as comfortable as they could make them, Sarah and the others continued on, crossing the barricade into the no-man’s-land beyond. It wasn’t long before they found another couple of survivors, a young man and an older woman holed up in a house across the road—a mother and son from Asheville. They were shaken but alive, their relief palpable as they emerged from their hiding spot.

“Go back to the barricade,” Sarah said after checking they were unhurt. “There are injured people there. Wait with them. We’ll find the children and we’ll all head back to the community center together. We’ll need everyone’s help to get those who are injured back.”

The mother and son duo nodded, gratitude in their tired eyes as they made their way back to the barricade, rifles bouncing on their shoulders, and Sarah watched them go, a silent prayer in her heart for their safety and the safety of the children they had yet to find. A moment later, she and the others pivoted and continued walking, the streets seeming to stretch on endlessly. The chill in the air bit through her jacket, and she pulled it tighter around herself, trying to ward off the cold. Nate glanced her way with a look of concern, the sparse moonlight catching the gray in his eyes.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low in the quiet. “Do you need my coat?”

“I’m fine,” Sarah replied, though she was far from fine—thoughts of Mia and the other children whirled in her head, twin storms of fear and hope both battling for dominance.

Finally, they reached the safe house, the familiar outline of its pitched roof catching the dim light. Sarah stepped forward ahead of the other parents, her voice cutting through the silence.

“Jenny! It’s Sarah. We’re here. Everything’s okay. You can come out.”

The pause that followed stretched on, each second a lifetime as Sarah’s heart threatened to beat out of her chest. Her worries for Mia, for all the children, spun into a dizzying spiral of fear until, at last, the front door creaked open. Jenny stood in the doorway, her rifle raised, Aria by her side, a loyal guardian. She scanned the emptiness around Sarah, Nate and the other parents, and seeing no militia, her stance relaxed, the rifle lowering as recognition dawned.

Then, to Sarah’s astonishment, Jenny’s gaze fixed on Nate, and with an almost disbelieving shake of her head, she hurried off the porch, stepping over pieces of clothing and broken furniture scattered on the lawn, and jogged to him, enveloping him in a hug. Nate returned the embrace, a look of surprised warmth softening his features.

“It’s all over,” Sarah said, stepping closer as Jenny released him and placed an age-spotted hand over her heart. “Are the kids okay?”

Jenny nodded vigorously, the tension in her shoulders easing. “Yes, they’re all safe. Inside and asleep.”

Relief flooded Sarah, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes as the weight of her fears lifted. “Thank you, Jenny. Thank you for keeping them safe,” she managed, her voice thick with emotion.

Jenny offered a small, weary smile. “It’s the least I could do.”

As they approached the house, Sarah paused to pat Aria, her hand brushing the husky-mix’s thick fur. “Thank you, girl,” she whispered, her voice filled with gratitude for the dog’s role in keeping the kids safe.

She stepped inside, Nate and the other parents following close behind, and paused a moment to let her eyes adjust, before continuing to the living room, where a tangle of sleeping bodies lay huddled together for warmth. Sarah quickly found Mia among them, her daughter’s peaceful face a sight that eased the last of her fears. Gently, so as not to wake the others, Sarah leaned down and kissed Mia’s forehead. The light touch stirred Mia, and her eyes fluttered open, a small smile spreading across her face as she recognized her mother.

“Mom?” she whispered, her voice barely audible as she stood up to embrace Sarah in a quiet hug.

Then, sensing another presence, Mia’s gaze shifted past Sarah to Nate. With an understanding nod, Sarah stepped aside, giving space for father and daughter. Mia took a couple of tentative steps toward Nate, and then they hugged, the sight stirring complex emotions inside Sarah as Nate tightened his grip around Mia, holding her close, the side of her head pressed against his chest.

His eyes—a mirror of Mia’s own—locked onto Sarah’s and were filled with an emotion that looked a lot like remorse. He had abandoned them, leaving Sarah to raise Mia alone. Yet, seeing him tenderly holding Mia like she was the most important thing in the world to him, ignited something she thought long dead: hope.

Hope that Mia would have the father she deserved. Hope that Nate had changed. The road ahead would be difficult, trust would need to be rebuilt. But the disaster, everything they’d been through, had a way of resetting priorities. Family mattered most, and if Nate meant what he said about really being there for Mia this time, then Sarah had to give him that chance.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Sarah

Sarah stood with Jenny, Nate, and the other parents on the street outside, the sky above still dark, their collective gaze lingering on the silhouette of the safe house. Inside, Mia had fallen back asleep with the other children, momentarily shielded from the harsh realities of the losses the community had suffered that awaited them at sunrise.

“It’s best they rest,” Jenny said. “The morning will bring enough sorrow for those who’ve lost loved ones.”

The group fell into a somber silence, each lost in their thoughts about the deaths to grieve and the daunting task of rebuilding that lay ahead. Harry’s too-still face flashed in Sarah’s mind, and she swallowed hard several times before glancing at her watch—it would be dawn in a couple of hours. The wounded needed her, but the thought of leaving Mia, even with the militia taken care of, clawed at her heart.

“I can stay,” Nate said, breaking the silence.

They’d already discussed the fact she needed to get back to the community center, and his voice was steady as he made his offer, although there was an underlying plea for her trust. She hesitated, her gaze flicking from Nate to the safe house and back again. The decision weighed on her, competing forces making her rely on someone else, and not just anyone… Nate, of all people. She had the feeling of the ground shifting under her feet, the world spinning disorientingly around her.

“Okay,” she finally said, unable to hide her reluctance. “But be careful. Don’t get distracted even for a minute.”

“Of course not,” Nate replied, shooting her a grateful look. “I’ll guard all of them with my life.”

“With our lives,” Jenny added, smiling at Nate.

“Thank you,” Sarah replied, reaching out to squeeze Jenny’s hand.

Jenny, Nate, and one of the mothers of a young girl decided to stay behind with Aria, armed and vigilant, though they all agreed that another attack seemed unlikely after the night’s events. The militia had been taken care of, and the chances of another group coming through the already looted streets seemed unlikely. They’d chosen the safe-house carefully, picking a building that had been obviously looted and stripped of anything useful.

A short time later, Sarah, along with the other two parents, set off back to the community center. As they walked, Sarah glanced over her shoulder, her gaze seeking Nate’s. Their eyes locked for a fleeting moment, and she offered him a small, tentative smile—a silent acknowledgment of the fragile bridge they were beginning to rebuild for Mia’s sake, of the huge amount of trust she was giving him, and which she hoped he’d continue to earn. He dipped his head, nodding.

Reaching the barricade where they’d left the injured man and woman wrapped up in blankets, Sarah found the other two survivors already prepared with two wheelbarrows. Together, they carefully loaded the injured, mindful of their groans of pain, their faces tight with discomfort despite their attempts to mask it. Sarah took a moment to tuck extra blankets around them, then they headed off, two to a wheelbarrow with the young man leading the way, his rifle low and ready.

They passed a search party on the walk back to the community center, Sarah pausing briefly to let them know the kids were safe, before they continued on, the wheelbarrows bumping along the roads. Lights were beginning to go on in some of the houses along the street, a small sign of a community coming back to life, although some houses would remain dark in the days to come, their occupants never to return. As they neared the community center, she glanced up, the hint of dawn tinging the very edge of the horizon with a narrow slip of orange.

The community center itself, with its solar-powered lights spilling out into the dark, stood as a beacon in the predawn morning, a symbol of safety and hope, and Sarah’s chest tightened at the sight. But as they drew closer, the small comfort it offered was shattered by June’s familiar figure running onto the street, her urgent words reaching Sarah.

“Sarah! Come quick!”

Leaving the wheelbarrows in the care of the others, Sarah broke into a run, her heart pounding, a million fears racing through her mind. What had happened this time? As she neared, June’s figure became clearer, her expression tense, her body language making it obvious something bad had happened. Sarah braced herself for June’s news, her mind racing with possibilities, each more worrying than the last.

Her steps slowed as she reached the community center and June pushed the doors open to reveal the interior bathed in yellow light, stepping in ahead of Sarah and beckoning her to hurry. Inside, tables from the Barter Fair still laden with goods, which seemed a distant memory, were arranged haphazardly around the room.

One end of the community center had been cleared of tables to make space for the injured, twenty or so people lying along one wall on blankets, their injuries varying in severity. On the opposite side, another ten individuals, less seriously hurt, sat in chairs, their faces drawn with pain and exhaustion while volunteers tended to them. Officer Mitchell caught her eye from where he sat with his arm secured in a makeshift sling, his face grim but relieved to see her.

June stopped and waited in the middle of the room, and Sarah paused beside her. “Are the kids okay?” June’s expression was fraught with concern.

“Yes, they’re safe,” Sarah replied, before June quickly informed her of the four urgent cases that needed Sarah’s attention.

“One of them is Daniel,” June said, her hand trembling slightly, the sight ratcheting up Sarah’s worry. “He’s been unconscious since we found him, and it looks like he lost a lot of blood.”

“Show me.”

Sarah followed June to the corner of the room where the four severely injured individuals lay on blankets on the ground, her heart tight as she took in her father’s pale face and shallow breathing, Bailey lying by his side staring at him mournfully. He’d been shot in the calf and likely a major vein or artery had been nicked, causing the blood loss. She placed a tender hand on him to check his pulse, which was thready and weak, but there was another man in even worse shape, and she forced herself to turn away from her father.

Compartmentalizing her overwhelming worry for Daniel, Sarah steeled herself to focus on the man with more critical injuries, adhering to her triage training. She couldn’t help but think of her mother as she worked—Linda had died with so much left unsaid between them, and the thought of losing her dad as well clawed at her heart.

The first patient was in dire condition, his breathing shallow and labored as he lay unconscious on a gray woolen blanket. A deep gash ran along his thigh, the wound still oozing blood despite the efforts to stem the flow, and his head was bandaged, a dark stain seeping through the white cloth.

With a steady hand, Sarah opened the first aid kit they’d retrieved from one of Eddie’s stashes. She set to work, all the while a part of her remaining anchored to her father, silently willing him to hang on. First she cleaned the thigh wound with antiseptic, her movements precise and gentle, before applying pressure to stop the bleeding. Once the bleeding was under control, she sutured the wound and then bandaged it tightly, ensuring it was secure, but not so tight as to cut off circulation.

Next, she turned her attention to his head injury, carefully unwrapping the soiled bandage to assess the damage. A nasty laceration cut across his scalp and over one eye, deep and still bleeding. She cleaned the wound, wincing sympathetically at the man’s groans of pain, before suturing it up to his eyebrow. He would lose his eye, but she didn’t have the experience necessary to remove it and had no choice other than to re-bandage it with fresh gauze. Nate’s girlfriend Rosa was hovering nearby and she gave Sarah a tentative smile.

“Can you help?” Sarah asked.

Rosa smiled briefly, her cheeks pinking. “Yes, please. I’ll do anything you need.”

“I need you to start giving him some of these rehydration fluids,” Sarah said. She handed Rosa a bottle filled with the carefully mixed solution. “Use a teaspoon and start with just a drop or two at the corner of his mouth. We need to be careful he doesn’t choke.”

Rosa nodded, taking the bottle and spoon from Sarah. “Like this?” she asked, demonstrating by opening the man’s mouth and dripping a small amount of fluids into his mouth.

“Exactly,” Sarah said. “Now, you can gently tap or stroke his throat. It might help stimulate his swallowing reflex.”

Rosa followed her instructions, her fingers delicately stroking the man’s throat, her eyes fixed on his face for any sign of response.

“Keep an eye on his breathing, and his face for any distress,” Sarah said, her gaze flicking between Rosa and the man. “If he shows any sign of difficulty, we stop immediately.”

Rosa gave a small nod, her focus unwavering as she administered another small drop, watching the man intently for any reaction.

“We’ll have to keep doing this, reassessing as we go,” Sarah said. “If he can’t take the fluids this way, we might need to think about other options. But for now, let’s hope this works.”

Rosa met Sarah’s gaze, determination mirrored in her own eyes. “I’ll take good care of him, Sarah. I promise.”

Sarah watched for a beat longer, impressed despite herself by Rosa’s focus and willingness to jump in and help, before turning away. She made a mental note that they’d need to find a solution for the man’s eye once he was stabilized, then turned her attention to her father, her hands moving with practiced efficiency as she checked his vitals. The pallor and temperature of his skin confirmed her fears—he had lost a significant amount of blood and was struggling. She caught June’s eye.

“June, we need to make some more rehydration fluids. He needs to be spoon-fed like the first patient because I don’t have the equipment to give him an IV. We need to keep him hydrated while I work on his leg.”

June nodded, understanding the urgency. “I’ll get right on it,” she replied, moving to gather the necessary supplies.

Sarah focused on her father’s leg, the bullet wound in his calf stark against his skin. Carefully, she cleaned around the ragged hole. The bullet had passed through, leaving a clean exit wound, but the blood loss was significant. She irrigated the wound with sterile water, then applied a pressure bandage, her movements methodical, each step a battle against time.

Meanwhile, June had returned with the rehydration fluids, and she began the delicate task of spoon-feeding Daniel, her movements infused with a tenderness that tugged at Sarah’s heart. Bailey continued her bedside vigil, staring at Daniel as though she could will him back into consciousness by her presence alone.

“As we can’t do a blood transfusion, keeping these critical patients hydrated is crucial,” Sarah explained, her voice professional despite the concern that tore at her insides. “It’ll help stabilize them until they can recover some of their strength.”

Together, they worked in silence, united in their efforts to help Daniel. Sarah never wavered as she tended to his leg, while June kept up a steady presence at his side, gently coaxing him to swallow. Sarah looked up briefly, dragging her weary eyes around the room. It was filled with the sounds and sights of those returning with more injured patients, and with the knowledge she needed to hurry, she put her head back down, concentrating on bringing her father back from the brink.

With the suturing done and a clean bandage securely in place, June diligently managing Daniel’s rehydration, Sarah had the faintest glimmer of hope. The steady rhythm of their work, the sound of June’s encouragement mixed with the soft clink of the spoon, became a calming backdrop. Despite Daniel’s unconsciousness, the rise and fall of his chest and the steadying of his pulse told her that they were making progress, that he was still fighting.

“He’s going to be okay,” she said firmly, hoping her father could hear her.

“Daniel’s not one to just give up.” June offered a tired smile. “A bit like his daughter. You should rest before you attend to the next patient. Just for a little while, at least.”

Sarah met June’s concerned gaze and shook her head, weariness tugging at her entire body. “I can’t, not yet,” she said, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand. “There are too many people who need help.”

With her father stable for the moment, Sarah rose to her feet, her muscles protesting the sudden movement. She scanned the room, taking in the faces of the injured and the volunteers who had come to help, then squared her shoulders, drawing on a well of strength honed from years working in the emergency department.

With a smile aimed at June, she moved on to the next patient, her resolve unwavering. There would be time to rest later. For the moment, there was work to do.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

Nate

The morning sun was rising, the light pushing away some of the darkness that had draped itself over the streets of the settlement. Nate led the group of children back into town, the events of the previous night still fresh in his mind, Jenny leading the way with her rifle readied, the other mother taking up the rear.

Aria padded alongside him, a vigilant guardian to the small procession. Nate was giving a piggyback ride to one of the younger boys, who rested his head sleepily on Nate’s shoulder, while Mia’s hand was firmly clasped in his own. Every so often, he glanced over at Harry’s twin boys, their expressions tired and somber, and he couldn’t shake off the heavy weight of guilt that settled in his chest as he thought about their father.

The twins still hadn’t been told the news, and while Nate hadn’t known the man well, he knew enough to understand that Harry had stepped up as a single father to his sons after their mother had left. The injustice of it all gnawed at him—how a good man like Harry could lose his life while someone like Nate, who had made so many mistakes, was given a second chance.

He squeezed Mia’s hand a little tighter, a silent promise to her and to himself. He’d been given another opportunity to make things right, to be the father Mia deserved, and he wouldn’t waste it. The road ahead would be challenging, filled with moments of doubt and missteps, but he was ready to face it head-on, for Mia’s sake and for the memory of those who hadn’t made it through the night.

As they walked, the sound of the children’s voices chatting between themselves filled the air. Some of them would have parents waiting for them at the community center—others, like the twins, wouldn’t be so lucky. The days ahead would be filled with healing and rebuilding, not just for the town, but for everyone affected by the losses the settlement and surrounding communities had suffered. He glanced down at Mia and smiled, determined to be a part of that, to contribute to the community that had kept his daughter safe and to be a steady presence in her life.

Nate had already filled in Jenny about what happened the previous night, the gruesome scene they had left behind after Lucas had set off the grenades and the remaining militia were shot, and she led the children on a detour, intentionally avoiding the streets around her own house. They wanted to spare the children—and themselves—the grim reminders of the night before.

As they approached the community center, the atmosphere shifted from somber reflection to cautious anticipation. The sight of parents emerging from the community center, their faces etched with a mix of hope and anxiety as they scanned the faces of the kids, hit Nate like a gut punch, emotions rolling through him. Reunions unfolded in front of him, relief palpable as parents embraced their children.

Nate let go of Mia’s hand and carefully lowered the little boy from his back, setting him gently on his feet before the boy’s father scooped him up. The man’s eyes were red as he held his son close, murmuring words of comfort as he rubbed the boy’s back. It had been close last night for the kids—too close.

“Nate! Mia!”

June, flanked by Tex and Jeremy, made her way through the crowd toward him. Her face was drawn, the toll of the night evident in the deep circles around her eyes. She paused to pat Aria and pulled Mia into a tight hug, kissing the girl on the top of her head.

“Sarah’s still inside, working on the injured,” she said to Nate as she straightened, her voice steady despite the fatigue that clung to her words. She glanced at Mia and lowered her voice. “Daniel’s in a bad way, unconscious, but Sarah thinks he’s going to be okay. Rosa’s with Sarah, helping out where she can.”

Nate nodded, taking Mia’s hand again and giving it a squeeze.

“Not everyone made it back. And some… some are still missing,” June said, her gaze flicking to Mia again as she tried to speak in general terms about the parents of the children. Nate nodded his understanding as she held his gaze with a solemn intensity.

A moment later, June gestured to the twins and two other children, who were standing a little apart from the rest with no sign of their parents. “Matthew, Luke, Leah and Emily, come with me, please,” she called out gently, her voice filled with uncharacteristic warmth and patience, her gruff exterior gone.

The children approached hesitantly, their expressions a mixture of confusion and lingering fear, as though they already knew what June was about to tell them. Nate caught the mournful look in June’s eyes as she prepared to lead them away, likely to a quiet corner where she could break the news of their parents.

He felt sorry for June, tasked with delivering such heart-wrenching news. It wasn’t a burden anyone should have to bear, yet she did so with grace and strength that Nate admired. Turning his attention back to Mia, who was watching the scene unfold with wide, solemn eyes, Nate kneeled down to her level.

“Let’s go get some food and wait for your mom,” he said, offering a reassuring smile. He glanced up at Jeremy and Tex. “These guys might like to come with us. And I bet Aria is hungry, too.”

“I wish we could go out for breakfast,” Mia said. “Mommy and I used to go to the corner cafe for pancakes sometimes. I’d give anything for a chocolate milkshake and a yummy breakfast.”

“Imagine, pancakes with syrup, and maybe some bacon?” Jeremy said, his expression pained. “I’d have a banana split, too. A proper one with ice cream and a cherry on top.”

Tex chuckled, playing along. “I’d settle for a decent cup of coffee and maybe some waffles with fresh strawberries and cream. Anything that’s not canned or dried, really.”

They continued to describe their dream breakfasts as movement on the street caught Nate’s eye. It was Elara, her stride purposeful, her group walking behind in tight formation. A few moments later, Elara and her group reached the community center and stopped in front of the doors, facing them all.

Elara raised her voice, standing a little taller. “I know some of you may not have heard yet, but we lost the sheriff last night,” she announced.

A murmur of shock and sorrow rippled through the crowd, and Mia reached for Nate’s hand again, squeezing it.

Elara spoke over the murmurs, the crowd gradually going quiet as her gaze swept over the faces in front of her. “In light of recent events, I’ll be stepping in to lead. Our first priority is to repair the barricades and establish a watch rotation.”

A voice from the crowd, strained with fatigue and grief, called back, “We still haven’t buried our dead, or even finished searching for survivors.”

Elara’s response was sharp, her resolve clear as she palmed her hips. “That kind of complacency is exactly what led to last night’s disaster. We need to secure our perimeter first, or there won’t be a community left to mourn in.”

The crowd stood in shocked silence, their expressions a mix of sorrow, exhaustion, and disbelief, while Elara’s words hung in the air. The reality of their losses was still too fresh, the wounds too raw, and Elara’s call to action, though necessary, was like salt in those wounds. People exchanged glances, their grief momentarily overshadowed by the weight of the task ahead, and maybe even the realization that their struggle for survival was far from over.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

Nate

Elara stood resolute in front of the community center, the early light casting long shadows behind her and the group of armed followers who flanked her, her dark hair pulled back in a neat bun, the woman looking far too put-together given everything they’d been through the day before. The morning had already been a long one, filled with the hard work of tending to the wounded and the heartache of counting the lost, and no one was ready for what she had to say.

As the community stood around Elara, staring at her, the air was charged with tense anticipation, a collective understanding that the events of the past night had changed everything, and the path forward would be filled with new challenges, but they were challenges to be dealt with another day. Elara seemed unbothered by the silence, and reiterated her call for volunteers to repair the barricades and stand watch, her eyes hard.

“If I don’t see hands raised, I’ll start assigning duties myself.”

Nate exchanged a look with Jeremy and Tex. Even though he didn’t agree with her delivery, it was true: the community was on the brink, and it would take every willing hand to pull it back from the edge. But Nate hesitated, his instincts warning him against jumping to follow Elara’s orders. As much as securing the perimeter was crucial for their survival, the grief and exhaustion weighing down the crowd was just as real.

The silence that followed Elara’s words grew thicker, no one stepping forward to volunteer. Nate watched everything closely, the moment stretching uncomfortably long, while Elara’s gaze continued to sweep over the crowd, each person looking away to avoid her eyes, the weight of the previous night’s events too fresh, their energy sapped by loss and fear.

Elara’s expression hardened, her eyes narrowing, and the uneasy stirrings of dissent could be heard in whispers running through the gathered crowd. Nate was sure he didn’t imagine the people flanking Elara tightening their hold on their rifles, and discomfort punched through him. As a newcomer, he wasn’t sure if it was his place to speak on anyone’s behalf, but he’d always hated bullies, and it was clear Elara was used to bullying her way into getting whatever the heck she wanted.

When no one else spoke, he cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Some of you may not know me, but I’m Mia’s dad and originally from Asheville. I arrived just before everything kicked off yesterday, but my history here means this place already feels like home. Elara’s right, we need to protect ourselves, even though the militia has been defeated. But I can see that you also need time to mourn and heal. I’ll lead a small team to start repairs, while anyone who needs to can take care of laying their people to rest.”

Nate met Elara’s hard stare evenly. “They all lost someone last night. Let them look after their own first. I’ll take the bare minimum with me and start working on the barricades and get some on watch as soon as we can.”

Murmurs of agreement rose from the crowd, and a few nodded approvingly. There was a flicker of anger in Elara’s eyes before she composed herself.

“Very well,” she said briskly. “Gather your team and get started. The rest of you, please assist however you can.” Her tone made it clear the matter wasn’t up for further debate, and she turned to confer with those from her community.

Nate turned to Tex. “I want you with me if you’re free. We’ll do a quick assessment and start prioritizing repairs.”

“No worries, mate,” Tex replied, giving him a grin that made Nate instantly like the man.

He switched his attention to Jeremy. “Will you take Mia inside so she can wait for Sarah and maybe see how Daniel is? Take Aria with you, too.”

Jeremy nodded and reached out a hand to Mia. “Let’s go inside and see if we can find something tasty to eat while we wait for your mom,” he said with a gentle smile. “There are still some baked goods in there. I reckon no one is going to mind if we have a little something.”

Mia glanced at Nate, who gave her an encouraging nod. “Go ahead sweetie, I’ll come find you as soon as I’m done out here.”

After watching Jeremy lead Mia and Aria into the community center, Nate turned to Tex. “Alright, let’s go assess the damage. We need to shore things up before your sister starts delegating tasks to people who aren’t ready.”

Tex laughed and slapped him on the back. “You’re not nearly as bad as Sarah made out, you know?”

Nate raised an eyebrow before a smile split his face. “It’s nice to be underestimated, then it’s hard to disappoint.”

“Just watch your back, though. You’re playing with fire when it comes to my sister. She’s not used to people challenging her.”

Nate nodded, his gaze flicking to Elara at the precise moment she glanced at him. Her eyes narrowed and her jaw flexed, an expression on her face that let Nate know precisely how little she thought of him.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Nate replied. “Come on, let’s get to work.”

The two men headed through the solemn crowds. Parents comforted their children, speaking in hushed voices laced with relief, while others cried quietly or stared blankly ahead, still processing their losses. Nate made eye contact with those that seemed in good shape mentally and physically, motioning for them to join if they were able.

As they walked, collecting a small number of volunteers, Nate considered the simmering tension with Elara. He understood her desire to protect the community that wasn’t really hers, but forcing people back to work so soon after tragedy would only breed resentment. They had to strike a balance between security and humanity.

As Nate and Tex continued to gather volunteers, a familiar figure stepped forward from the crowd: Jasper Hill, flanked by about ten of his people. Jasper was wiry, his body always seeming to be in motion even when he was standing still, but his eyes held a kindness that was hard to miss. The people surrounding him seemed worn out, their faces and bodies fatigued, but their expressions wearing the same kindness as Jasper.

“We’re here to help,” Jasper announced, his gaze sweeping over the small group Nate and Tex had assembled. “We might not have much left in the tank, but we’ve got enough to make a difference.”

Nate stepped forward, extending his hand. “Thank you, Jasper. We appreciate it,” he said, a surge of gratitude pulsing through him for the support. “Thanks to all of you.” He glanced at the people from Jasper’s community, nodding his appreciation.

Jasper shook his hand firmly, then Tex’s, before glancing across the crowd at Elara with a wry smile. “Your sister’s got a way about her, doesn’t she? Not much in the way of people skills, but I’ll be damned if she doesn’t know how to get things done.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Tex replied dryly.

Jasper nodded, his expression sobering as he looked around at the volunteers, no doubt taking in their exhaustion. “Let’s get to work, then. There’s no time to waste.”

With Jasper and his group’s addition, they divided the tasks, some focusing on assessing the damage, while others began gathering materials for repairs or heading out on watch—a skeleton crew but better than nothing. As they set off to repair the barricades, Nate wondered what the coming days would bring and how the community would navigate the challenges ahead.

He couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that Elara’s approach, while effective in the short term, might lead to deeper problems, and her readiness to impose her will, maybe even by force, hinted at potential conflicts ahead. No one had challenged her apparent grab at leadership, but when the fog of the fight wore off, it could be a different story, and that thought made him nervous, especially given it wasn’t just himself he was responsible for anymore. He’d be there for Mia, Sarah, and Rosa in any way, shape or form they needed. And glancing at Tex, he had the sense his circle would continue to expand.

There was no doubt the community needed to unite, not just in repairing their physical defenses but also in mending the emotional scars the night’s events had left. And the path to recovery would be filled with challenges. But Elara at the helm? Nate wasn’t so sure. Given what he’d just witnessed, Elara herself might be one of the problems that they would need to deal with in the days to come.

He let out a sigh and got to work alongside the others at the barricade, repairing the damage and fortifying the perimeter against future threats. As he worked, he thought about the journey that had led him back to Asheville. The road had been long, marked by mistakes and missed opportunities, but standing there amid the beginnings of reconstruction, he had a profound sense of belonging, like he was home again.

The place, with all its challenges and imperfections, was a part of him. And despite the uncertainty that lay ahead and the tensions that simmered just below the surface, he was grateful to be back. Most of all, though, he couldn’t believe the opportunity he’d been given. He’d finally gotten what he’d been yearning for: the chance to be the father Mia deserved, to be present in her life, to guide her and protect her in their reshaped world.

As Nate fitted another piece of sheet metal into place, he realized that no matter what challenges lay ahead, he had a purpose and a place in Asheville. And he was ready to face whatever came next, with his daughter by his side and a community to stand with.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

Elara

The late afternoon sun illuminated the sparsely furnished room Elara considered her temporary headquarters in Asheville. Standing in the doorway, she scanned the quiet street outside, her eyes sharp and assessing. The previous day’s chaos had settled into an uneasy calm, but she knew better than to take the silence at face value.

“Martin,” she called over her shoulder, her voice carrying the weight of command. “Take watch during the meeting. I don’t want any surprises.”

The man nodded, moving to a vantage point by the window, his silhouette blending with the dim interior. Elara gave him a satisfied nod and headed for the dining table they’d dragged into the middle of the living room. The looted and abandoned house had been cleaned up by the sheriff’s people before Elara arrived for the Barter Fair. It had been very hospitable of him—he was a decent man, although she wasn’t surprised he’d died. He didn’t have the backbone necessary to make it in their new world.

She gestured to her close confidants, a tight-knit group that had worked with her from her days as a private contractor under Uncle James, and they all gathered around the table. The room bore the scars of its past, stripped of anything valuable and only filled with the bare necessities, but it was merely an irrelevant backdrop for the work that needed to be done. As they assembled, Elara looked at each of them in turn, taking in their worn expressions and the unspoken questions in their eyes. She understood their concerns, their fears even, but there was no room for hesitation.

“We need to secure the settlement,” she said once they were all seated. “The barricades are a start, but we need a comprehensive plan. Surveillance, patrols, the works. And only people we trust.”

Elara’s longest-standing acquaintance, and possibly the only person she’d consider a friend, Billy, leaned forward, his gaze intense. “What’s the long game, Elara?” he asked, his voice rough. “What are we doing with Asheville?”

Billy’s presence was always imposing, with broad shoulders and a weathered face, ash-colored hair graying at the sides. His military background had honed him into a weapon, but the wars he’d fought both in uniform and out had left deep scars, some visible and some below the surface. There was a hardness to him, a ruthlessness that had served them well in their operations, but which was balanced by a loyalty to Elara that bordered on devotion.

She met his gaze squarely and was reminded again of the depth of feelings he had for her. He’d never spoken the words aloud, but a woman knew when a man was in love with her, could sense it in his complete and utter loyalty, the way he stared at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. But she always maintained a careful distance—their bond was too important to be complicated by emotions. She relied on his advice, his strength, and his unwavering support, even when his methods were cruel.

As she continued to hold his gaze, the flicker of ambition in her gut was unmistakable, and her lips curled into a smile. “We’re not abandoning our own community, but we can’t ignore the opportunities here. Asheville has resources, strategic positioning. The people here... they’re leaderless, vulnerable. Uncle James always says to leverage every advantage.”

She paused, letting her words sink in among her team. “We can’t afford to sit back. If we don’t take control, someone else will—Jasper Hill, maybe, or one of the others—and that puts everything we’ve built at risk. Asheville could be much more than just a resource boost. It could secure our future.”

The room fell silent as the others absorbed her words, and Elara’s resolve solidified. She was ready to do whatever it took to ensure their survival, even if it meant taking over a community that had just faced its darkest hour.

Derek, a pragmatic man with a keen eye for strategy, shook his head. “Asheville’s a hot mess. We might be better off letting them self-combust, then step in to pick up the pieces. Safer, cleaner.”

Elara pursed her lips, her expression firm. “Waiting for them to fall apart isn’t a strategy, it’s a gamble. By then, another group could move in, or Asheville could become too entrenched in its own chaos to be of any use to us.”

Lena leaned back in her chair, her close-cropped blond hair still wet after she’d washed the dried blood—not her own—from her hands and face. “There’s merit in getting this place back to stability as soon as possible. If we help them rebuild, we’re saviors. That gives us a different kind of leverage.”

Elara nodded at Lena’s input, then turned back to the group. “Uncle James taught me to be decisive when it counts most. Asheville is more than just resources and manpower: it’s an opportunity to expand our influence, to secure a future where we are doing more than just surviving. Land grabs will be taking place all over the country by now. Let’s not be the ones who look back and wish we’d acted sooner.”

The group exchanged glances, weighing the risks and rewards. They all knew at the end of the day, whatever Elara wanted she’d get, but the consideration between them, the throwing back and forth of ideas, identifying and managing risks, was all part of the process.

As the discussion around her continued, Elara’s mind began to wander, drifting to thoughts of Tex. His recent entanglement with Sarah, the dark-haired nurse, was a complication she hadn’t expected. A flicker of annoyance crossed her mind—Tex had a way of finding trouble, or maybe it was trouble that found him. She hoped his personal affairs wouldn’t interfere with her plans.

Picturing Sarah, or whatever her name was, bustling around the community center dealing with the injured sent a sudden pang of sadness washing over Elara, unasked for and sharp. Memories of her mother surfaced. She’d been under the care of a kind nurse in the months before the disaster, a woman with soft hands who had hugged Elara the time she’d broken down in the hallway of the hospital, out of sight of the rest of her family. It might have been the last time someone held her, and Elara could still remember the weight of the woman’s arm across her back.

She missed her mother more than she would ever admit out loud. Her mother had been her rock, always believing in her, telling her she was capable of achieving anything she set her mind to. Her mother would have supported her plans for Asheville, seeing the strategic value and the chance to secure a better future.

Shaking off the momentary distraction, Elara refocused on the conversation going on around her. Her mother’s belief in her may have shaped her into the woman she had become—confident, shrewd, and not afraid to make the hard decisions, but she couldn’t afford sentimentality, not when decisive action was needed.

She raised her hand, cutting off the debate happening around the table. “Enough discussion for now. We make our intentions clear to Asheville at first light. Squash any resistance before it has time to properly take root.”

Her words sliced through the room with finality, and the others looked at her, expressions ranging from resigned to enthused. They knew better than to question her once she had made up her mind.

Elara gave a decisive nod. Asheville was not just another mission. It was a stepping stone to something greater, and she was resolved to have it, to do whatever it took to make sure she was in control of what was left of the town, come what may.

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Eve of Extinction Book 6

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