13. Silent Vigil #2
Addy followed his gaze; the snow swirling just beyond the glass. She saw it then: faint movement between the cars, too steady to be the wind. Her voice dropped. “Sawyer… there’s something out there.”
He stepped closer, eyes narrowing. For a second, the shape vanished behind a drift, then reappeared, upright, human.
“Get down,” he said quietly.
They crouched behind the counter, the air thick with silence.
Addy’s heart pounded. “What do we do?”
Sawyer’s voice was steady and low. “We wait. If they’re just passing through, they’ll move on.”
“And if they’re not?”
He reached for the rifle beside him, eyes still fixed on the window. “Then we find out what they want.”
The snow pressed harder against the glass, the wind rising again like a whisper of warning. Outside, the shape moved closer.
* * *
The figure outside moved closer, weaving through the half-buried cars. Sawyer gripped his rifle, shoulders tensing. “Stay behind me,” he murmured.
Addy crouched lower, peering through the crack in the frosted window. The man wasn’t moving like a scavenger. He wasn’t sneaking or stumbling; his steps were steady and deliberate. A long coat flapped behind him, dusted with snow, and a hunting rifle hung from his shoulder.
When he reached the doorway, he stopped and raised one hand. “Don’t shoot,” he called, his voice rough but steady. “I saw your tracks out front. Just looking for some gear and possibly a few words with someone still healthy.”
Sawyer hesitated, his gun still aimed at the doorway. The stranger’s tone wasn’t threatening, but that didn’t mean much these days.
“Step inside slowly,” Sawyer said. “Hands where I can see them.”
The man did as told, pushing the door open with a grunt.
He was tall, in his early forties, with a sun-weathered face and eyes that looked like they’d seen too much.
His clothes were layered and practical: a battered coat, thick gloves, and a scarf that looked hand-knitted.
He was not one of the men from the cabin.
“Name’s Jay,” he said, lowering his raised hands slowly. “Born and raised in this town. What’s left of it, anyway.”
Addy glanced at Sawyer. He still hadn’t lowered his gun, but his eyes narrowed, calculating. “You’re from here?” Sawyer asked.
Jay nodded. “Used to run a bait shop out by the lake. Been holed up a few miles north since all this started. Came back hoping to find supplies or signs of anyone still alive.” He paused, his eyes flicking between them. “Looks like I found both.”
Addy stepped forward slightly, the floorboards creaking beneath her snow-dampened boots. “It must have been hard being alone this long.”
Jay gave a short, dry laugh that didn’t reach his wind-chapped eyes.
His gloved fingers absently traced the worn strap of his rifle.
“Yeah. You’d be surprised how long a man can talk to himself before he stops noticing.
After a while, even the echo of your own voice in an empty room starts to feel like company. ”
Sawyer finally lowered the rifle, though he didn’t put it away. “How’d you make it this long?”
“Fishing, trapping, staying quiet,” Jay said, nodding toward the rifle slung over his back. “And luck. Mostly luck.” His gaze drifted toward the shelves they’d scavenged. “Guess you two got lucky too.”
Addy studied him. There was something genuine about Jay, the kind of weary steadiness she recognized in Sawyer. Survivors had a look, and he had it.
“What do you know about what’s going on out there?” she asked. “The sickness, it’s not just the flu, is it?” Her voice was sarcastic.
Jay shook his head, expression darkening. “No. Not even close. It started fast. People got sick, yeah, but then… something changed. The government came in hard: roadblocks, black vans, quarantine zones. They said it was viral, airborne. But the symptoms don’t add up. Not anymore.”
Sawyer frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I saw folks go down with fevers, then wake up days later, changed. Slower. Confused. Some were violent. Some just… were not there. Like their minds were burned out, but the bodies kept going.”
Addy shivered, remembering the neighbor she’d seen collapse on her street weeks ago. “You think it’s still spreading?”
Jay’s eyes narrowed as he stared out the window, his knuckles whitening around his rifle strap. “Everything spreads,” he said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Like cancer. Like wildfire. Like whatever the hell turned our neighbors into those things.”
Sawyer’s jaw clenched so tightly that a muscle jumped beneath his stubbled skin. “This place is north. How secure is it?”
“The cabin’s half-buried in the woods,” Jay said, turning back with a hard glint in his eyes.
“I reinforced the doors. I got solar, got a well that still runs, and enough ammunition to hold off whatever comes crawling.” He leaned forward.
“You’re welcome to it, if you can pull your weight when the time comes. ”
Sawyer’s eyes narrowed, but something in his chest loosened.
The offer of shelter pulled at him like gravity, even as warning bells clanged in his mind.
Jay seemed genuine, the kind of straight shooter he’d trusted his life to overseas, but these days, trust was a luxury that killed faster than the cold. Still, they needed somewhere to go.
Addy’s heart hammered as she locked eyes with Sawyer, her silent question hanging between them like a live wire.
* * *
Sawyer didn’t lower his guard right away; his eyes sharp and unreadable. “You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t jump at the chance to follow a stranger into the woods,” he said evenly.
Jay gave a small shrug. “I can’t say I blame you. Stranger danger and all that.” His tone was dry, edged with weariness rather than sarcasm. “I’d feel the same if our places were swapped.”
Addy glanced at Sawyer, then back at Jay. “How do we know you’re not leading us into something?”
Jay’s weathered face creased into something between a grimace and a smile.
“You don’t,” he said simply, breath clouding in the cold air between them.
His eyes flicked to the rifle in Sawyer’s hands, then back up.
“You’ve got a gun, though, and from the way you hold it—finger off the trigger, stock braced against your shoulder just so — you know how to use it.
” He gestured toward the frosted window where snowflakes swirled like ash.
“If I wanted trouble, I’d wait till that blizzard pins you down, till you’ve burned the last of your fuel and counted your final bullets. Till desperation makes you careless.”
That made Sawyer’s jaw twitch, a point reluctantly conceded.
Jay stepped carefully away from the door, hands still visible.
“Look, I get it. You’ve lasted this long because you’re smart.
Careful. That’s good. But winter’s not even started yet, and this town’s small.
You can dig through every shop here and still starve by next week.
My place isn’t much, but it’s shelter. Food.
Heat. And I’ve got eyes on what’s happening out there. ”
Addy frowned. “Eyes how?”
Jay hesitated, glancing toward the window before answering.
“Got a shortwave radio still operational. I’ve been listening.
Whatever this thing is, whatever started it, the government’s not saying much anymore, but I’ve picked up transmissions.
Military chatter. They’re regrouping somewhere north.
A safe zone, maybe, or something like it. ”
That made Sawyer’s head snap up. “Military chatter? You sure?”
Jay nodded. “As sure as I can be. Most of the signals are scrambled, but some come through. They’re not talking about evacuation anymore, though. They’re talking about containment.”
Addy shifted uncomfortably. “Containment. Like… burning cities to the ground containment?”
Jay’s eyes flicked to hers, and that was answer enough. “I think it’s worse than they let on,” he said. “Whatever’s spreading, it’s not something they can stop with medicine or walls. So they’re closing ranks. And anyone outside the lines? Left to fend for themselves.”
Sawyer’s expression hardened, his military training kicking into gear. “And you’ve been tracking this the whole time?”
“Long enough to know no one’s coming to save us,” Jay said. “I’ve been staying ahead of it by keeping off the roads. Listening.”
He looked at them both then, his voice steady but low. “I’m not asking you to trust me right off the bat. Just come take a look. You’ll see it’s safe. If it’s not for you, you can leave with a full belly and a direction to head.”
Addy crossed her arms. “You’d really do that? Just let us walk away?”
Jay’s faint smile was tired but genuine. “Lady, I’ve got enough ghosts in my head. Don’t need more.”
The silence that followed was thick. Sawyer weighed every word, watching Jay’s body language, his stance, his tone. He’d learned to read people the hard way, and nothing in Jay’s voice rang false.
Finally, Sawyer exhaled. “All right,” he said. “We’ll come and take a look. But we walk behind you, and I don’t drop the rifle.”
Jay nodded, no offense taken. “Fair trade.”
Addy adjusted her scarf and shouldered her pack. “How far is it?”
“Two miles, maybe less if the drifts aren’t bad,” Jay said, slinging his own rifle over his shoulder. “You’ll know it when you see it — a little cabin built by my dad back before the world forgot how to slow down.”
As they stepped back into the pale, frigid daylight, Addy glanced once more over her shoulder at the frozen town behind them: the silent streets, the ghostly outlines of cars, the snow drifting over what had once been life.
Then she looked ahead, toward Jay and Sawyer breaking a path through the white, and followed.