2. Basement Home & Sad Endings
Basement Home for a moment, she looked untouched by everything.
Josie's chest tightened, her new reality now—fear and love tangled together so completely that she could no longer separate one from the other.
Her gaze drifted to the fireplace.
Mark's voice rose from memory, teasing and bright, just as it had sounded the day the realtor first showed them through:
"Come on, Josie—think of all the romantic nights we could have. A fire, a glass of wine... I'm telling you, this house is worth it for the fireplace alone."
She had rolled her eyes at him that day. Accused him of being dramatic. Told him the house cost way too much, that it made no sense, that he'd fallen in love with an aesthetic and expected her to mortgage their future for it.
But God, she could hear him now—the way he'd nudged her side, the way he'd pulled her close against him and whispered all the stupid, sweet reasons it had to be this one, this house, no other.
The corners of her mouth lifted, just slightly, in spite of everything.
Each piece of this new life, she'd made herself: the barricade, the dwindling pile of furniture for the fire, the crowbar under her pillow. Mark would have teased her about becoming so 'handy,' and the thought was a fresh pang in the reality of this new life.
"Thank you," she whispered into the nothingness, unsure whether she meant it for him or for the universe that had given her those years at all.
You're gone. But thank you anyway.
The house groaned faintly above her, settling against the cold. Josie adjusted her grip, her attention fixed on the homemade door brace—two-by-fours bolted together, wedged tight against the basement door each night before they slept.
Slowly, carefully, she slid the bar free. The metal brackets she'd screwed into the studs groaned in protest. Josie winced, freezing, listening for any change in Layla's breathing.
Still steady. Still slow.
Josie slowly pulled the basement door open an inch, wincing at the loud metallic whine that seemed impossibly loud in the stillness.
She slipped through and closed the door firmly behind her, the latch settling with a soft click.
The upstairs air hit her like a slap. Frost had etched delicate crystalline patterns into the corners of the windows, spreading in pale, feathered whorls across the glass. The floorboards beneath her socks might as well have been sheets of ice.
Every morning since the last normal day, she began the same pilgrimage, her ritual never changing.
First to the living room window, with its view of the street, looking for signs of life.
Then to the kitchen, where she'd portion out their meals—two cans on a lucky day, split two ways, the smaller share always quietly claimed as her own.
Finally, she would stand in the center of what had once been their dining room, arms wrapped around her middle, willing the world to have somehow healed itself overnight.
But today, as she moved through the dark hallway toward the kitchen, the shadows shifted around her in ways they never had before. The house's familiar creaks shifted into something unfamiliar. Her stomach tightened as if her body had understood something her mind hadn't caught up to yet.
Today carried a different weight.
And she couldn't shake the growing certainty that something waited for her on the other side of that front window.
The sky hung low and white—each axe strike echoing through the trees with a weight that reached beyond wood.
Sawyer swung his axe cleanly through a log, the halves splitting apart and tumbling onto the snow at his feet.
Jay picked one up, steadying it on the block for the next cut, while Seth knelt nearby, sorting the growing pile into neat stacks.
Their breath visible in the cold, mingling with the scent of fresh-cut pine.
"Spring's gonna sneak up fast," Jay said, placing a new log on the block. "We'll need more space before then."
Sawyer nodded, rolling his shoulders. "Yeah. And more supplies. Which is what I wanted to talk about."
He swung.
CRACK.
The log split neatly, and Seth tossed it onto the pile without breaking rhythm.
"And a new coop," Jay added, wiping frost from his beard with the back of his glove. "Chickens are doing good now, but we'll need more birds for steady eggs and meat through next winter. Maybe a goat, get some milk going."
Sawyer almost smiled—almost. "A goat, huh? Let's survive the damn winter first."
Jay snorted. "Fair."
A comfortable moment passed, filled with the sharp sounds of the axe and the thud of wood splitting.
Then Sawyer rested the axe head against the ground, and his face shifted into a somber expression.
"We need to talk about something bigger."
Jay straightened at the change in his voice. Seth's hands stilled on the wood.
"Supplies."
Jay's jaw tightened. "Ridgeview got us through winter, but that haul won't stretch long-term. We both know it."
Sawyer nodded grimly. "We're running low on everything we can't make ourselves. Flour's half gone. Sugar's even lower. "Coffee—" he pointed a finger at Jay "—we both know it's gonna be a true apocalypse when you run out."
Jay glared at him. "Don't even joke about that."
Sawyer's eyes softened, but only slightly, and his voice dropped. "And now... with the baby."
Seth's hands stilled on the stacked wood.
Sawyer pressed on, his voice low as he detailed his reasoning.
"We're gonna need diapers. Blankets. Formula backups in case Addy has trouble feeding.
Real medical supplies—not the scraps we've been rationing.
Seeds, too. Actual spring garden seeds, not the picked-over crap left rotting on small-store shelves. "
Jay shifted his weight, his chin dropping.
Seth's voice was quiet from beside the woodpile. "Yeah. A kid changes everything."
Sawyer nodded. "We can't depend on Ridgeview anymore. That run turned out to be a miracle as it is—too many unknowns now, too many people still out there doing desperate things to stay alive."
Jay rubbed the back of his neck, already dreading the answer. "So what are you saying?"
Sawyer swung the axe into the chopping block with a thunk and met his eyes.
"I think we need to hit a bigger city."
Jay swore under his breath, turning half away. "Damn it, Sawyer..."
"I know," Sawyer said, holding his ground.
"Believe me, I know exactly how dangerous it is.
But a large city? Even half-looted, there will be warehouses, super centers, medical suppliers, and tractor stores with seed vaults.
Maybe even baby supplies if we get lucky.
We make one huge run and we won't have to risk anything else hopefully for a long, long while. "
Seth frowned, working through the implications. "Which city are we talking about?"
Sawyer glanced toward the tree line, as if measuring distances on an unseen map. "Depends. Somewhere clear of the old military evac routes. The places people fled away from—that's where the supplies will still be sitting. Hell, just a huge city at this point is an option."
Jay shook his head slowly, offering no argument, but his reluctance was clear in every line of his body.
"And we'll need a solid plan this time," Sawyer continued. "Not like Ridgeview, where everything went sideways the second we got distracted. A plan for entry, a plan for getting out. Fuel. Plan B routes. A meetup point if we get separated."
Jay met Sawyer's eyes across the chopping block. "So we go... just the three of us?"
Sawyer hesitated, the pause speaking volumes.
"No," he said, his voice final. "Cara's the quietest scout we've got, and we'll need her eyes out there.
The way I see it, either you, me, and Seth go—or Cara goes with you and Seth instead.
" His voice hardened at the edges. "But I don't want Addy or the baby anywhere near danger. That part's not up for debate."
Jay blew out a long breath. "Christ. We're planning an expedition. My vote's Cara, me, and Seth—but we'll need to run all of this by the women before anything's decided."
Sawyer lifted the axe again, settling it over his shoulder. "We will. And we're not rushing any of it. We do this smart, or we don't do it at all."
Seth tossed another log onto the pile. "If it keeps that baby fed, I'm in."
Jay nodded, reluctant but resolved. "Same."
Sawyer gave a single approving nod, then raised the axe high.
"Spring," he said. "We leave in spring."
The axe came down hard.
The wood split clean.
The plan settled between them, quiet and heavy as a stone.
The evening had shifted into the blue hour that arrives just before full dark, when Cara tugged on her coat and found Jay stacking the last of the firewood near the porch, his movements slowing as he noticed her approach.
"Would you... do you want to take a walk with me?" she asked, her voice shy but steady.
"Yeah. I'd like that."