Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
WELCOME CAMPERS
LYLA
The camp’s silent.
Edith and Earl slump in their chairs, heads at broken angles. Clair’s sprawled in the dirt, arm outstretched toward the truck bed, where Poppy’s small hand hangs limp.
Footsteps. Slow. Measured.
Da Vinci steps into the firelight, face dripping red. Behind him, Jacob kneels, da Vinci’s fist in his hair, blade catching the glow.
“Missed you, Lyla,” he purrs. “Thought I’d save you a front row seat.”
The knife slices. Blood sprays. My scream tears loose—
—and I spring up in the SUV, chest heaving, knife clenched in my hand.
The images cling, Jacob’s body collapsing, blood pooling around the people I swore to protect. My pulse hammers. My grip tightens on the blade.
I won’t let that happen.
Joanie’s snoring, a faint, rhythmic sound, drags me back to reality as my breathing evens out.
I look over the dim interior of Lucy, shadows stretching long across Joanie’s sprawled-out form.
She’s draped over her makeshift bed like a crime scene chalk outline, mouth slightly open, one arm flopped over my stomach.
Typical.
Her brow furrows for a second, like she’s dreaming something bad, and her fingers twitch against my stomach before relaxing again.
It’s fleeting, but strange enough that my eyes linger on her face a beat longer than usual.
Then she mutters something low, too soft to catch, and flops onto her side, still snoring with the same determined energy.
I sigh, dragging a hand down my face. There’s no point in trying for another round.
Carefully, I shift upright. My muscles protest, stiff and sore from pushing too hard for too long, but I grit my teeth and move anyway.
I need to walk this nightmare off.
With practiced ease, I slip on my boots, crack my neck, and tuck Sweetness into my belt before quietly crawling to the driver’s seat.
The door creaks as I push it open, muggy morning air rushing against my face. I step onto the dirt, stretching until my spine pops, shaking off the stiffness.
The sun is just cresting the treetops, spilling golden light through the branches, chasing away the last shreds of night. The air is damp, thick with the lingering kiss of morning dew, the scent of pine and earth mixing into something almost clean. Almost peaceful.
Leaning against Lucy’s trunk, I rub a hand over my face before scanning the camp.
Earl leans against his truck, a huge stack of paper maps spread across the hood, muttering to himself as he traces routes with a calloused finger.
People still have those?
Near the van, Clair sits with Poppy, carefully brushing through the little girl’s tangled curls while Poppy scribbles in a small notebook, her tongue poking out in concentration.
Clair’s dark-circled gaze keeps glancing over to Leon, who is crouched by a pile of gear, sharpening a knife with slow, methodical strokes.
Sunlight glints off his weapons, bow, arrows, hatchet, handgun, all strapped into place.
Now where is he going?
I grab my gun from Lucy’s driver’s seat, slipping it into the chest holster. My fingers double-check Sweetness at my waist before I head toward Leon.
“Where ya headed, friend?” I ask, aiming for casual.
Leon doesn’t even glance up. Just keeps adjusting the strap on his quiver.
I cross my arms, arching a brow. “You know, I get the whole strong, silent routine. Which, for you, is just called existing. But a little acknowledgment wouldn’t kill you.”
Finally, he looks up. No smirk, no twitch of amusement. Nothing.
Tough crowd.
“Listen,” I say, voice quieter now. “I’ve got all this energy and nowhere to put it. Can I help with whatever you’re doing? I’ll go nuts if I don’t have something to do.”
His grip on the strap loosens, his sharp gaze assessing me in a way that feels less guarded.
He nods once, then jerks his chin for me to follow.
We weave through a small cluster of trees, slipping between thick trunks until we reach Jacob’s camper. Leon raps his knuckles on the door twice, short and sharp.
A beat later, it swings open, revealing Jacob with a sawback machete strapped to his back, Lars’s shotgun resting easy in his hands. So that’s where that went.
His brows lift when he spots me lingering behind Leon.
They start signing to each other, fast, fluid movements of their hands, an unspoken language I don’t understand.
And I hate that.
Being left out of a conversation is one thing. Knowing it’s about me? That’s a whole other level of annoying.
I clear my throat, tilting my head. “You know, I’m getting real sick of these private chats about me right in front of my face.”
Jacob’s gaze slides to me, one brow lifting in amusement. “How do you know we’re talking about you?”
“Oh, please.” I roll my eyes, arms crossing tight over my chest. “You both keep looking at me like I’m some lost puppy.
” I level him with a pointed look. “Newsflash, I’m bored.
So unless you want to find me climbing the damn trees, I need something to do.
So,” I gesture at the both of them, “what are we up to? Because I’m tagging along. ”
Plus, if we’re moving through new ground, I can use the time to lay some tracks. A scratch here, a subtle mark there—nothing too obvious, just enough for the right eyes to follow. Da Vinci’s eyes. He’ll think he’s hunting me, but really, I’ll be setting the path. Drawing him closer.
Jacob steps out of the camper, closing the door with a firm click. He exchanges another quick set of signs with Leon before turning back to me.
“We’re hunting. Lead the way, Trouble.”
Stepping past them, I toss a smug grin over my shoulder and call back, “Let’s go find us some wabbits, boys.”
The campfire crackles in the dusk, its warmth a sharp contrast to the creeping night chill. Smoke curls into the sky, mixing with the mouthwatering aroma of roasting venison.
The deer we downed earlier sizzles on a spit, juices dripping onto the coals in small bursts of steam. The scent stirs something primal in me, an honest hunger I haven’t felt in ages.
Earl and Edith handle the meal with skill, dried spices, a pinch of salt, and whatever canned vegetables they dug up.
When Edith ladles portions into mismatched bowls, quiet appreciation ripples through the group. People lean in, inhaling the smoky fragrance, shoulders loosening.
The murmurs, the laughter, the way they settle into each other’s company, it tugs at something I refuse to name. It’d be too easy to lean into this, to pretend it’s safe to belong. I know better. The second you get comfortable, the world takes it away.
Not everyone’s at ease though.
Jessica sits beside Jacob, posture stiff, eyes darting. Possessiveness rolls off her in subtle waves—in the way her fingers tighten around her bowl when he speaks, in the way she watches him like she’s waiting for confirmation.
Jesus.
I exhale, tongue pressed to the roof of my mouth to keep my eyes from rolling so hard they get stuck.
Because really?
After everything we’ve survived, after the blood, the loss, the constant fight to stay alive, this is what she’s focused on?
Jacob, for his part, doesn’t seem to notice.
He can’t be that oblivious, can he?
Earl clears his throat, eyes twinkling. “All right, let’s liven things up with a quick round of questions.” He rubs his hands together, leaning forward like he’s about to reveal some great mystery. “What’s the food you miss the most from the old world?”
Trish doesn’t hesitate. “Movie theater popcorn,” she sighs, glowing at the memory. “With the fake butter oil that’d clog your arteries.”
Barbara chuckles. “Mine’s mint chocolate chip ice cream.”
Jacob leans back, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Only the green kind, right?”
Barbara grins wider, pointing at him. “That’s right.”
Poppy’s voice is a timid whisper. “S’mores.”
Clair, beside her, murmurs, “Frosted brown sugar cinnamon Pop-Tarts.”
Trish grins. “Oh, this is going to get interesting.” She nudges Leon. “He swears by frosted strawberry Pop-Tarts. Best flavor. Would die on that hill.”
Leon’s jaw tightens.
Clair’s gaze flicks to him, curiosity sparking, the smallest of smiles playing at her lips.
Joanie, ever the little savior, jumps in. “Buttermilk pancakes.”
All eyes turn to me.
This should be good.
“Cinnamon gummy hearts.”
The reaction is instantaneous.
Groans erupt from the group, a unified sound of horror and betrayal. Even Poppy, sweet, innocent Poppy, gasps like I’ve personally ruined her childhood.
“Cinnamon gummy hearts?” she squeaks, her tiny nose scrunching up like I just suggested we eat dirt.
Joanie takes it further, clutching her chest like she’s been mortally wounded. “Of all the treats left in the ashes of civilization, that’s what you miss? Not chocolate? Not donuts? Not pizza-flavored anything?” She fake-gags for emphasis.
Poppy giggles, sudden, bright, and completely unexpected.
Clair startles, her wary eyes flicking between Poppy and Joanie, as if waiting for the moment to vanish. But then, as if it’s contagious, she starts to laugh too, soft at first, then growing.
I glance at Leon. His lips are curved in a rare grin as he watches them, like he’s seeing something worth remembering.
Well, well, well.
I shrug. “What can I say? I like a little bite.”
Joanie groans, shoving my shoulder. “You’re so lame.”
“I like what I like, and I won’t apologize.”
Across the fire, Jacob’s gaze locks on to mine, amusement shimmering in the dim light. “Oh, I bet you don’t apologize for much, Trouble.”
The low, teasing tone sends a thrill down my spine. My pulse kicks up, heat prickling my skin.
I clear my throat. “All right, hot shot. What do you miss?”
“Pulled-pork nachos.”
I bark a laugh. “Pulled-pork nachos? You couldn’t pick something more apocalypse-friendly? At least mine comes prewrapped and lasts forever.”
Jessica chimes in. “I also would choose pulled-pork nachos.”
Of course you would.