Epilogue - Finding A Point
LYLA
Three weeks later . . .
I wake to the weight and warmth of Jacob’s arm draped over my waist. His breathing is deep, his face unguarded in sleep. No furrow in his brow, no tension in his jaw. Just peace. Rare. I sink into the moment, the quiet of existing together without a fight waiting outside.
Sunlight slips through the curtain. Time to move.
I nudge Jacob. He grumbles, grip tightening. Dark eyes blink open, still heavy with sleep, lips curling into that crooked grin.
“Mornin’, Trouble,” he murmurs, voice gravelly. He brushes a kiss to my forehead, lips warm against my skin.
I smile, even with the weight of our situation pressing in. Fuel’s low. We need to reach the next town, but what’s waiting there, or if we’ll make it, is a question I can’t shake.
Jacob props himself on one elbow, watching me like he knows what’s in my head. His fingers run through my tangled hair. “Next stop’s gotta be a truck stop, gas station. Maybe a farm with a generator. We’ll figure it out.”
I press my face to his shoulder, stealing one more second of warmth before the day takes it.
His arm tightens. His voice stays low, teasing. “You only wake me so you can crawl all over me.”
I snort. “You’re the cuddler here.”
He smirks, and in one smooth motion, I’m beneath him, pinned. His weight settles over me, hands braced on either side of my head.
“I can’t help you’re so damn comfy to squeeze.”
I arch a brow. “Which parts are your favorite?”
His mouth hovers over mine—
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
“Wakey, wakey, assholes,” Joanie calls from outside, smug. “Time to move before we’re brunch for the flesh-eating trolls.”
“Language, smart-ass!” I yell, voice muffled by Jacob’s chest.
He groans, forehead dropping to mine. “Next date night, I’m parking us so far off-grid they’ll need smoke signals to find us.”
I laugh against his lips. “And waste gas? No chance.” One last kiss before I shove at his chest. “Come on. Time to drive and kill some undead.”
We dress quickly, moving around each other in practiced rhythm. Boots hit the floor. Zippers zip. Fingers brush, shoulders bump.
Outside, the air bites with late fall. A constant reminder that we’re running out of time. The sun spills gold across camp. Shadows stretch long—proof we survived another night.
The others are already up. Weapons checked. Supplies packed. Tension threads through it—tight, silent. Fuel’s low, and we can’t stay still.
Edith sits near the fire pit, right arm and leg propped in scavenged casts. Bruises fade, but burns still stand out against pale skin. She still smiles.
“Look at you two. Always late.”
Jacob frowns dramatically. “Scold her. She can’t keep her hands off me.”
I elbow him.
Edith chuckles, shifting with a wince. Pain dances across her face, but she nods through it, determined to hide it from us.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, keeping my voice soft.
“Better than last week. Casts still itch like the devil though.”
I give her shoulder a light pat, careful of the bruises beneath the bandages. “Hang in there, E.”
She nods, that same unshakable grit in her eyes, tired but burning. Even now, wrapped in casts and painkillers, she’s tougher than half the people I knew before the world fell apart.
We’ve slowed our pace for her, and for us. Time to breathe. To recover. The physical stuff heals. The rest, we just carry.
Now it’s time to push for Montana, if we can find fuel.
A few yards away, Jacob, Leon, Trish, and Earl huddle around Earl’s new truck—a beat-up green monster Joanie and I named Jude. Leon’s ride finally got a name too: Prudence. He doesn’t know it yet, but we’re pretty proud of ourselves.
They lean over Earl’s map, marked with circles, notes, and guesses. Jacob’s hand covers one corner, hiding something.
Weird.
I step up beside him. “Morning.”
His arm slides around my waist. Leon signs, Trish translates. Earl taps a spot on the map. “Head north, skirt the edge of this town, maybe hit a salvage yard or truck stop. If roads are clear, we could be near Chicago in two days.”
Leon taps a red circle. Jacob translates. “More options in Chicago. Risky, but our best shot at fuel.”
Trish crosses her arms. “You want to go into a city? Are you insane? More undead. More people ready to shoot. More chances for us to die.”
“We’ve already lost too much time,” Jacob says, fingers drumming against the hood. “If we don’t make a big haul soon, we’ll be crawling through snowdrifts before we even hit the Montana border. This could be our only shot to make it out before winter traps us.”
No one speaks. The weight of the choice presses down like the cold already settling in the air.
Chicago isn’t just another stop.
It could be the last.
Before Trish can argue, Leon’s posture shifts—alert.
Clair approaches with Poppy at her side, walking taller than before. Clair meets my eyes. “Lyla, will you teach me to defend myself? Maybe Poppy too?”
Joanie lifts a hand. “Hell yes. I’m in.”
Leon signs. Jacob nods. “He can teach survival skills too.”
I ask, “Why now?”
Clair glances at Poppy. “We waited for everyone to heal. Poppy asked. She hated feeling useless last time.”
I nod. “I’ll tailor lessons for size and strength. Enough to hold your own.”
Relief blooms across her face.
Joanie pumps a fist. “Let’s get dangerous.”
Trish mutters, “You just want to stab stuff.”
“Everyone needs a hobby,” Joanie says.
I watch as Clair and Poppy head off toward their car. Pride sparkles in my chest.
When I look up, Leon’s watching Clair. Expression soft. The rest of us catch it instantly.
Earl grins. “Well, I’ll be damned. Leon’s got a crush.”
Leon snaps his head up, caught.
Jacob laughs. “Oh, Earl. You have no idea.”
A flush creeps up Leon’s neck.
I press a hand to my chest, feigning a swoon. “A man who blushes? Be still my heart.”
Joanie elbows him. “Hey, no judgment, big guy. Clair’s cute. Are you thinking of making a move? If so, I got some killer one-liners you could use.”
Leon signs fast like he’s trying to put out a fire. His expression is caught somewhere between leave me alone and oh God, abort mission.
Jacob snorts, barely holding in a laugh as he translates, “He says no. Also, we should all shut up.”
Earl claps a hand on Leon’s shoulder with a grin that could only mean trouble. “Don’t worry, son. You just let us know when you’re ready for dating advice.”
Leon yanks his cap lower over his face, and I swear for a second he actually considers walking into the woods and letting the nearest undead finish him off.
Trish snickers. Jacob smirks. Even Earl’s looking proud of himself.
Leon throws up his hands in a halfhearted protest before turning on his heel and stalking toward the camper. He moves with dramatic purpose, suddenly very invested in checking supplies. He’s all business now—except for the red creeping up his neck.
Jacob leans in. “We’re gonna tease him, right?”
Trish crosses her arms, grinning like she’s already drafting the first ten jokes. “Mercilessly.”
Joanie pumps her fists. “Fuck yes. New group activity.”
Without missing a beat, we deadpan, “Language.”
Joanie scoffs, rolling her eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t pop right out of her skull.
“You people and your double standards,” she mutters, stomping off toward Lucy, still grumbling.
“I hear Jacob swearing all the damn time, but noooo, when I do it, it’s all ‘Joanie, watch your language.’ Hypocrites. ”
I yell to her, “Love you!”
She flips me the bird. “Fuck off!”
Yeah, she loves me.
The group scatters, drifting toward their vehicles. Everyone falls into the rhythm—checking, rechecking, securing supplies. The hum of pressure lingers.
As I head toward the camper, I hear Earl behind me. “Jacob, what is that?”
Jacob plays innocent. “What’s what?”
“That! That coffee ring under your hand. Did you do that?”
I keep walking, letting Earl unleash whatever wrath he’s about to dish out. Serves Jacob right for that handsy comment to Edith earlier. Karma, hot and immediate.
I haul a crate of canned goods into the camper and start securing it, probably with more force than necessary. The straps bite into my palms as I tighten them, but it helps. Kind of.
The closer we get to empty, the more real the city idea becomes and I hate that.
Cities are death traps—outbreak survival 101, according to Earl. Populated areas mean more of everything: barricades, wrecked cars, desperate people, and too many of the infected.
But Leon might be right. It could be our best shot at finding what we need to get to Montana before we are stranded for the whole winter season.
I tug the strap tighter. Too tight.
The crate creaks in protest.
Jacob steps up behind me, solid and steady. His hand settles on my shoulder, then pulls me into his arms. He smells like pine, smoke, and the road.
“So,” I murmur as his lips brush my temple, “how much trouble are you in?”
“He says I’m not allowed to look, borrow, or even breathe on his precious maps,” he pouts.
“Aww, poor baby.”
Jacob scoffs, but he lifts his hand and smooths the line between my brows with his thumb, his favorite thing to do when I’m stressed.
His eyes lock on mine, unworried. “We’ll find gas,” he says quietly. “We’ll make it work, Lyla.”
I breathe out slowly, the pressure inside me easing by degrees. “One day at a time, right?”
He nods, arms tightening around me like he could hold the world back if I asked.
The morning light spills golden across his face, catching in the messy short strands of his hair. For a man usually covered in dirt, blood, and sweat, he looks almost angelic. But it’s more than that. It’s the way he’s looking at me—like there’s no version of this story where we don’t make it.
Around us, camp life stirs—boots thudding, gear shifting, engines coughing awake—but it all fades. Right now, it’s just us.
Jacob reaches up, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His hand nestles at the base of my neck, his thumb caressing my jaw, causing something soft to bloom in my chest.
His voice drops, barely a whisper. “I promise, once we reach Montana, we’ll make a real home.”
A real home.
It still feels impossibly far off, but when Jacob says it, I believe him. I believe in us.
My fingers tighten in the fabric of his shirt as I rise onto my toes, closing the space between us.
“I believe you, Gorgeous.”
His lips meet mine—warm, steady, familiar in all the ways that matter. There’s nothing rushed, nothing desperate. And for one perfect beat, the rest of it disappears.
No undead. No fuel shortages. No impending snow doom. No what-ifs.
Just this.
His arms around me. His mouth on mine, exploring every delicious space, marking me as his.
Like I’m something worth fighting for.
Whatever’s out there, we’ll face it together.
“Quit making out and help us pack, dipshits.”
Together with Joanie, of course.