13. Silent Vigil
Thirteen
Silent Vigil
Sawyer hadn’t slept.
He sat by the window, rifle balanced across his lap, eyes scanning the pale gray horizon where dawn was beginning to push through the last remnants of the storm. Even the forest seemed to be holding its breath.
Behind him, Addy slept curled under the blanket. Her face was soft in sleep, the tension finally eased from her features. He could see faint color in her cheeks again, a sign that the warmth had done its job. She looked peaceful.
He envied that.
He took a slow breath and let it out, his gaze sweeping the treeline. The storm had done more than simply bury them; it had covered every trace of their trail. No footprints, no tracks. The men who’d hunted them would either be stalled or given up. Either way, they’d bought themselves time.
Still, Sawyer didn’t relax. He never truly did.
He’d told himself not to get attached. Not to care. And here he was declaring his love, like a love stuck idiot. But watching her sleep now, so small against the world outside, he knew that he did love her.
He’d been through too much to mistake these emotions for weakness. It wasn’t. It was something he hadn’t allowed himself in years: connection.
And it terrified him.
He shifted slightly, gloved hand resting on his knee. The cabin creaked faintly in the cold; the fire snapping softly behind him. His eyes drifted back to her.
She murmured something in her sleep, a quiet, broken sound that made his chest tighten. He’d seen people die without flinching, but this, this small, fragile sound from her, nearly undid him.
“Shh,” he whispered without thinking. “You’re safe.”
Addy stirred but didn’t wake, the corners of her mouth softening. He found himself smiling, a rare, quiet thing.
He stayed that way for a while, keeping watch.
When Addy finally began to stir, Sawyer turned from the window. The light outside was brighter now, glinting off the snow and pouring pale light into the cabin.
“Morning,” he said softly.
She blinked, still half-asleep. “You didn’t sleep?”
He shook his head. “Didn’t need to.”
Her eyes drifted toward the window. “The storm’s over.”
“Yeah,” he said. “We’ve got a small window before anyone finds us again.”
Addy sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “So… what now?”
Sawyer looked at her, his face unreadable but his tone sure. “Now we move.”
And when she nodded, without hesitation, he knew, whatever came next, he wasn’t facing it alone anymore.
* * *
Sawyer stood near the window. “We’ll move as soon as it’s full daylight,” he said. “No sense stumbling through the trees half-blind.”
Addy was already rolling up the blanket she’d slept under. “Are you sure it’s safe to travel today?”
He glanced back at her and nodded. “Safe? No. Safer? Yeah. The snow and wind gives us cover and hides our tracks. It’s the best we’re going to get for a while.”
She watched him tighten the strap on his rifle, every motion smooth and practiced. “You always sound so sure,” she said, smiling faintly. “Even when you probably aren’t.”
Sawyer gave her a glance, one corner of his mouth lifting. “That’s the trick. Confidence keeps people alive.”
“And are you confident right now?”
He paused, checking the chamber before slinging the weapon over his shoulder. “I’m confident I don’t want to stay here long enough to find out who’s still looking for us.”
That made her grin despite herself. “Fair.”
They began packing in silence for a few minutes. Addy folded what clothes they had left into the torn canvas bag he snagged on the way out of the cabin, while Sawyer took stock of their remaining supplies. He picked up each item as if it mattered, counting, weighing, and calculating.
“Two bottles of water,” he said quietly. “One’s half full. We’ll need to melt snow when we stop.”
Addy nodded, tucking a can of soup into her pack. “How long do you think this will last?”
“Three days, possibly four, if we ration it right.”
“And after that?”
Sawyer looked up, meeting her eyes. “We find more.”
The simplicity of his tone almost made her laugh. He said it like finding food in a dead world was simply another chore.
“You make it sound easy.”
“Doesn’t have to be easy,” he said, cinching his pack closed. “It simply has to get done.”
“Was it always like this for you?” she asked suddenly. “Being the one who keeps everyone safe? In the military?”
He nodded once. “At that point in my life, it was orders. Now…” He shrugged. “Now it’s become a habit.”
Addy tightened the strap on her pack and stepped closer. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad it’s a habit.”
He gave her a small, quiet smile. “Me too.”
They stood there for a moment, simply watching each other. Sawyer cleared his throat, shifting back into his steady, practical tone. “When we move, stay close. The snow’s deep; you’ll tire fast. If I tell you to drop, you drop. Don’t mess around, don’t hesitate.”
“Got it,” she said, but her voice was softer now. “And, Sawyer?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m not only cargo. You don’t have to protect me from everything.”
He looked at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “You’re right,” he said finally. “I don’t have to.” He adjusted the strap on her bag, tightening it for her. “But I want to.”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.
When they finally stepped outside, Addy’s lungs seized mid-breath.
Her nostrils stuck together, frost forming instantly on her eyelashes.
The snow swallowed her leg to mid-thigh with her first step, forcing a grunt as she yanked herself forward.
Ahead, Sawyer’s shoulders hunched against the brightness, his hand instinctively shifting to rest on his holster as his eyes swept the glittering expanse.
The silence pressed against their eardrums, broken only by the soft crunch of their footsteps and the distant crack of a branch giving way under its frozen burden.
Sawyer led the way down the slope, breaking a path through the drifts. Addy followed close behind, her breath visible in the air between them.
“Northwest, right?” She asked, her voice muffled by the scarf he’d wrapped around her earlier.
He nodded. “Northwest. If we’re lucky, there’s still a road under all this.”
“And if there isn’t?”
Sawyer glanced back at her, eyes steady. “Then we keep moving until there is.”
Addy smiled faintly at that. “You always have an answer.”
“Someone’s gotta,” he said, and kept walking.
Behind them, the small ranger station disappeared beneath the snow, as though it had never existed — one more piece of the old world swallowed by winter.
* * *
The wind had calmed, the silence stretched.
The pale sky pressing low and heavy. Addy’s legs burned from trudging through the drifts; each step was a fight against the weight of the world itself. Sawyer led the way, rifle slung across his back, every so often turning to make sure she was close.
By midday, the trees began to thin, replaced by faint humps and shadows half-swallowed by snow. Sawyer slowed, raising a hand. “We’re close,” he said.
Addy squinted through the glare. “Close to what?”
“Town,” he said. “Or what’s left of one.”
They crested a small rise, and there it was: a cluster of rooftops jutting from the snow, power lines sagging low under their frozen burden.
The world below was ghostly still; the shapes of cars barely visible beneath the drifts.
Signs poked through here and there: a diner, a gas station, what looked like the edge of a pharmacy.
Addy let out a slow breath. “It’s like it just… stopped.”
Sawyer nodded. “That’s exactly what it did.”
They started down carefully, feet slipping on the ice-crusted slope. As they reached the first intersection, Addy brushed snow off a street sign: Main Street. The letters, familiar and foreign all at once.
“Think anyone’s still here?” she asked.
“Doubt it,” Sawyer said, scanning the rooftops. “If they were smart, they moved out before the storm hit.”
He crouched by a buried SUV, scraping snow from the window with his glove. Inside, a few boxes and a blanket sat frozen in place, untouched. “No one’s been through here since it started it seems.”
Addy’s teeth chattered as she hugged her arms to her chest. The thin jacket she wore wasn’t enough for this kind of cold. Sawyer noticed.
“Come on,” he said, motioning to a storefront across the street. “That place looks like a sporting goods shop. We might get lucky.”
They waded through the snow, boots sinking deep until they reached the shattered front door. The sign above read Lakeview Outfitters in faded green letters, half-buried under ice.
Inside, the air was cold but still. Dust hung like frost in the weak light streaming through a crack in the boarded window. Sawyer swept his flashlight across a row of racks: heavy coats, snow pants, gloves.
Addy gasped softly. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Sometimes,” Sawyer said with a grin, “the world throws you a bone.”
They dug through the racks quickly but methodically. The clothes were stiff with cold but intact: thick parkas, wool socks, insulated boots. Sawyer tossed her a coat that looked close to her size. “Try that.”
Addy pulled it on, sighing as the warmth trapped inside. “Oh my god,” she said, smiling for the first time in what felt like forever. “It actually fits.”
“Good,” he said, finding a dark jacket for himself and testing the zipper. “Now you won’t freeze before we starve.”
She gave him a glance. “You’re hilarious.”
He smirked, adjusting the collar of his coat. “You’ll thank me when your fingers still work.”
They filled a duffel with extras: gloves, scarves, thermal blankets, a couple of water-resistant tarps. At the counter, Addy found a rack of flashlights and grabbed two with working batteries. Sawyer threw in the MREs he found.
“Not bad,” she said. “Almost feels like winning the lottery.”
“Yeah,” Sawyer replied, scanning the street through the window. “Let’s just hope no one else bought a ticket.”