Chapter 26
Word spread fast in Rosewood, faster than it should have in a place with no working radios.
An overturned ambulance convoy had been spotted on the old highway a few miles north, wrecked during the pulse and left to rot.
A scavenger who had gone searching for wire claimed he saw the Red Cross symbol still visible on one of the vehicles.
The story reached Mary Anne before breakfast.
She knew what it meant the instant she heard it. Medicine. She sat on the clinic steps, elbows on her knees, the sun just rising. The light stretched long across the square, soft and gold.
Hale stood a few feet away, adjusting the strap of his rifle. “You’re thinking about going,” he said.
“I don’t have a choice,” she said. “We’re down to scraps. No antibiotics or clean IVs, and barely any gauze. If those ambulances still have anything inside, we can save lives.”
“Or die trying.”
“Dying’s been part of the job for a while.”
He nodded. “Take Freddie. No more than one other. You’ll move faster.”
“I wasn’t asking for permission,” she said.
“I know, but take Freddie anyway.”
Freddie was waiting near the well, sharpening the edge of a knife with a piece of stone. His eyes lifted when he saw her. “Ambulances?” he asked.
“Three of them,” she said. “Maybe four. About five miles out.”
“When do we leave?”
“Now.”
They packed canteens of water, rope, a blanket rolled tight, and her worn bag of medical tools.
Freddie slung a rifle across his back and handed her a pistol, its weight small but cold in her hand.
They left before the sun fully cleared the ridge.
The desert stretched out in front of them, colorless and silent.
Every gust of wind carried dust that bit at their faces.
The sky was vast and pale; the horizon wavered with heat.
They walked in silence. By midmorning, the air shimmered. The road was a cracked scar through the landscape, half-buried in sand. Here and there, broken signs jutted from the ground. One leaned so far it nearly touched the earth, the paint peeling until the letters were unreadable.
Freddie pointed toward a ridge of low dunes ahead. “That’s where the highway turns north. If the convoy followed the old route, we’ll see them soon.”
“You sure it’s not a mirage?”
“Only one way to find out.”
They climbed the slope together. From the top, the wrecks came into view.
Three ambulances lay scattered across the highway.
One had rolled completely, resting on its side with its roof torn open.
Another sat nose-down in the sand, the windshield shattered.
The third still stood upright but was half-buried, its tires flat, doors hanging open.
A fourth vehicle farther down the road looked more like a van or supply truck, rusted nearly to the frame.
Even half destroyed, the ambulances still bore Red Cross symbols on their sides, and the sight made her throat ache.
They approached slowly, scanning for movement.
The only sound was the wind sliding through the empty frames.
Freddie went first, rifle ready. Mary Anne followed, eyes darting from shadow to shadow.
When they reached the first vehicle, she climbed onto its side and peered through the broken window.
The inside was a ruin. The stretchers were overturned, the cabinets open, and shattered glass covered the floor.
“Empty.”
“Try the next one,” Freddie said.
The second ambulance had fared better. Its rear doors were half-buried, but the locks had held.
Freddie dug at the sand with his boots until they could pull them open.
A rush of hot air spilled out, thick with the smell of rubber and decay.
The interior was cramped, filled with overturned boxes and tangled tubing.
She kneeled and started sorting through what remained.
“Anything?” Freddie called.
“Some gauze. Mostly ruined,” she said. “Wait… Here.”
She held up a sealed case. Inside, glass bottles of IV fluid gleamed in the light.
The seals were intact. Behind the seat, she found a small metal box stamped with faded letters.
Inside were antibiotics: ampicillin, doxycycline, and a few vials of morphine.
They spent the next hour combing through the wrecks.
Most of what they found was spoiled, but enough remained to make the trip worth it.
Freddie loaded the supplies into a canvas sack. “That’s as much as we can carry.”
“You hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“Nothing,” she said. “The wind stopped.”
“Down,” he said softly.
They crouched behind the overturned truck.
The sound grew clearer. More than one person.
Mary Anne’s heart pounded, and she gripped the edge of the door.
Figures appeared between the wrecks. Thin men, their clothes ragged, skin burned by the sun.
One carried a length of pipe; another had a short blade tied to a stick.
Freddie whispered, “Scavengers.”
One bent to pick up a bottle from the sand, shook it, and cursed when it was empty.
Another kicked at the side of the van, testing it.
Mary Anne’s bag sat at her feet, heavy with supplies.
The sound of her heartbeat filled her ears.
Freddie raised his rifle slowly, the barrel steady.
He didn’t aim to shoot, just to show it.
One of the men noticed the movement and froze.
The others turned. For a long moment, no one moved.
The distance between them was only thirty feet, but it felt closer.
Freddie spoke first. “We don’t want trouble.”
“Then leave what you found.”
“We need it.”
“So do we,” the man said.
“There’s nothing left here,” Mary Anne said. “Take what’s behind you.”
“Already did.”
Freddie’s finger rested near the trigger. “We’re walking away. You don’t follow.”
The man spat into the sand. “You won’t get far.”
“Maybe not, but neither will you if you try.”
One of the other men tugged the leader’s sleeve.
They muttered to each other. Finally, the group began to back away.
They disappeared behind the far ambulance, their footsteps fading into the wind.
She grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder.
They didn’t run, but their pace quickened as they retraced their path down the road.
“We could’ve died back there.”
“Yes,” she said.
“They weren’t random scavengers. They moved together, watching each other’s flanks.”
“Organized.”
“Trained, maybe,” he said. “You saw their eyes. They’ve done this before.”
“Then we were lucky.”
He nodded. “This time.”
They walked the rest of the way in silence. The heat made the air swim. By the time they reached Rosewood, the light had turned orange, the sky rippling with haze.
Hale met them at the edge of town. He saw the bag and raised an eyebrow. “You made it back.”
“Barely,” Freddie said.
Mary Anne handed the bag to Hale. “IV fluids. Antibiotics. A few painkillers. Not much, but enough.”
“That’s more than I expected,” Hale said.
“There’s more out there, but we weren’t the only ones who knew it.”
Freddie’s tone was flat. “We ran into scavengers. Five, maybe six. Armed.”
Hale’s face hardened again. “They follow you?”
“No, but they saw us. If they’ve got a leader, he’ll know we’re here.”
They brought the supplies into the clinic. The air inside was stifling, but the shelves looked better than they had in months. Mary Anne lined up the bottles and vials carefully. For a brief moment, she let herself feel the relief.
Emily arrived soon after. “You found it?”
“Some of it,” Mary Anne said.
Emily smiled weakly. “Good. People need good news.”
“Then don’t tell them the rest.”
“What rest?”
Freddie answered. “There are others out there. Armed. Organized. Not friendly.”
Emily’s face went pale. “You think they’re the same ones who took the food?”
“I’d bet on it.”
Night came quickly. The wind picked up again, whistling through the gaps between buildings. Patrols moved through the square, their lanterns flickering. The air smelled of smoke and sand. Mary Anne sat on the clinic steps with her canteen, the water warm against her tongue.
Freddie leaned nearby, silent. “Think they’ll come tonight?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “They’ll wait until we’re comfortable again.”
“You sound sure.”
“I’m not, but fear’s better used than wasted.”
He smiled faintly. “You always say things like that.”
“Because they’re true.”
When he left, she remained on the steps.
The air had cooled, but the dust lingered.
From somewhere far north came a sound that might have been thunder, or something closer, heavier.
She went inside, closing the door behind her.
The clinic was dim, lit only by the lantern on her desk.
The supplies gleamed faintly in their bottles.
The encounter at the wrecks had left her shaken, though she didn’t want to admit it.
The men they met hadn’t been starving fools.
It meant Rosewood was no longer a hidden corner of the world.
It meant they were no longer alone. She blew out the lantern and sat in the dark, listening to the wind move through the valley.
She closed her eyes, trying not to see the men in the wreckage, their faces burned and hollow. The world after the pulse hadn’t stopped being quiet. It had simply been waiting. Rosewood wasn’t alone anymore, and not every survivor wanted peace.