14. New Hope
Fourteen
New Hope
Addy hung back a few paces behind the men, studying their new companion as they walked.
He was tall and lean, the kind of lean that came from hard living, not exercise.
His coat was heavy and patched in places, his gloves mismatched, and his boots looked like they’d been repaired more than once.
A short beard framed his jaw, dark with flecks of gray, and his eyes, a pale, clear blue, had that same watchful stillness she’d seen in Sawyer’s.
The look of someone who had seen the world fall apart and decided to keep walking anyway.
“So, Jay,” she said after a long stretch of quiet, “how long have you been out here on your own?”
He didn’t turn as he answered. “Since the day it started. Long enough that the days stopped meaning much, honestly. “
Sawyer adjusted his pack, glancing his way. “You said you had a cabin near the lake. That your family’s?”
Jay nodded. “My dad built it back in the eighties. Used to take me fishing out here when I was a kid. After he passed, I fixed it up, made it my own place for hunting trips.” He paused and added, “I actually moved back out this way a few years before all this, opened a bait shop in town. Thought I’d slow down a little, live simple, spend more time on the water.
Guess I got more ‘off the grid’ than I bargained for. ”
Addy smiled faintly. “So this really was home.”
“Yeah,” Jay said, voice quieter now. “Was. It’s different when you’re the only one left walking Main Street.”
“Sounds like fate,” Addy said softly.
Jay chuckled under his breath. “Or bad luck. If I’d been living in the city like most folks, I wouldn’t have had to watch it all crumble from the sidelines.”
Sawyer gave him a sidelong glance. “You’re still here. That’s something.”
“Yeah. Still here. Guess survival counts for something these days.” His eyes shifted between them. “You two got names, or should I whistle when I need your attention?”
Addy caught Sawyer’s warning glance but spoke anyway. “I’m Addy. He’s Sawyer.”
Jay nodded once, the ghost of a smile crossing his weathered face. “Alright. Addy and Sawyer, it is.”
They fell silent again, the crunch of snow beneath their boots filling the air.
Addy’s legs ached, but she didn’t complain.
Every so often, Jay would point out small things: the way a frozen stream curved toward the ridge, or how the snow drifted differently over the old logging road they followed.
He moved with the ease of someone who knew the land like an old friend.
After a while, Addy asked, “You said you’ve been listening to transmissions. Do you think the government’s still out there? I mean, actually functioning?”
Jay’s jaw tightened. “If by functioning you mean cleaning up what’s left and keeping people quiet, yeah. They’re out there. Just not to help.”
Sawyer’s voice was low. “You sound sure.”
“I am,” Jay said. “I saw it happen here first. The National Guard came through right at the beginning of the outbreak. Told everyone to stay inside, that help was coming. The next thing we knew, they were gone.”
“That’s… comforting.”
Jay glanced at her, sympathy softening his tone. “That’s the world now. You either stay, lay down, and fade away, or you keep moving and try to outlast it.”
“Sounds like you’ve been doing the second,” Sawyer said.
“Trying to,” Jay replied. “Doesn’t hurt to have company once in a while, though. Even if it’s just for the walk.”
Sawyer grunted, but there was something almost approving in the sound.
By the time they crested the last hill, Addy could see the lake, frozen over and rimmed with trees heavy with snow. Smoke curled faintly from a metal chimney tucked between two birch trunks.
“There she is,” Jay said, nodding toward a small wooden structure perched near the waterline. “Home, sweet home.”
Up close, the cabin revealed itself as a patchwork fortress: weathered pine logs darkened by years of snow and sun, reinforced with sheets of corrugated metal at the corners.
The three wooden steps leading to the front door had been meticulously cleared, revealing boot-worn planks beneath.
Atop the slanted roof, a careful arrangement of six solar panels caught what little sunlight filtered through the gray sky, their blue-black surfaces free of snow.
Around the perimeter, Addy spotted Jay’s silent sentinels: rusted soup cans threaded on fishing line between trees, wind chimes fashioned from spent shell casings, and what looked like fishing hooks suspended at ankle height, primitive but effective warnings against anything that might approach in the night.
“You weren’t kidding,” Sawyer murmured, eyes scanning everything. “You’ve thought this through.”
“Years of living off bait and borrowed time,” Jay said with a small smile. “Come on inside. I’ve got a stove and coffee that tastes like dirt but’s still hot.”
Inside, the air hit Addy’s face like a warm blanket, carrying the mingled scents of wood smoke, coffee grounds, and something herbal, possibly dried mint or pine needles.
A small fire crackled in a large stone hearth in the corner, its orange flames casting dancing shadows across the rough-hewn log walls.
Hand-built shelves sagged slightly under the weight of mason jars filled with everything from pale yellow corn kernels to dark berries suspended in murky liquid.
Coils of fishing line hung from hooks, alongside an assortment of hand tools with worn wooden handles polished by years of use.
A shortwave radio with a bent antenna sat atop a wooden ammunition crate near the frost-rimed window, its green dial light glowing weakly as static hissed and popped like tiny campfires.
Beside it stood a bookshelf crammed with hundreds of paperbacks, their spines faded and curling, titles ranging from Hemingway to dog-eared survival manuals.
Addy exhaled, the tension slowly draining from her shoulders. “This is… incredible,” she said.
Jay shrugged, pulling off his gloves. “It’s home. For now, anyway.”
Sawyer set his rifle down but didn’t stray far from it. “How long can you hold out here?”
Jay leaned against the counter, thinking. “A few months, easy. Longer if we ration and hunt once the snow starts to break. Plenty of fish under that ice too.”
Addy smiled, glancing between the two men. “Well, that sounds like a plan to me.”
Sawyer’s eyes flicked toward the radio, still whispering in the background. “Is that thing still working?”
Jay nodded. “When the air’s clear enough. You’d be surprised what people still say when they think no one’s listening.”
Sawyer’s gaze sharpened. It’s possible that’s something we ought to pay attention to.
Jay met his eyes, something unspoken passing between them. “Perhaps,” he stated softly. “But not tonight. Tonight, we rest.”
* * *
Sawyer thought back to what Jay had said.
He hadn’t been stateside when it started. His last deployment had been overseas — some coastal country they were never supposed to name in the briefings. Officially, they were assisting with “civilian evacuations” after a viral outbreak in a small region. Unofficially, it was chaos.
People weren’t being treated. They were being contained.
Whole villages burned under the justification of “preventing spread.” Soldiers were ordered to hold perimeters and never make contact.
No one told them what the virus actually did, only that infection meant immediate quarantine.
Then the reinforcements came, the ones wearing hazmat suits and carrying flamethrowers instead of stretchers.
A few days later, the orders changed. Their team was pulled out. No debriefing, no explanation. Just a quiet directive to return home and “stand by for reassignment.”
Only reassignment never came.
Now, hearing Jay talk about military involvement and an “effort to clean up,” Sawyer experienced the cold weight of recognition settle in his gut.
The puzzle pieces clicked into place with the same sickening precision as a rifle being assembled in the dark.
He’d seen those same hazmat suits overseas, watched the same calculated destruction of evidence, recognized the same rehearsed explanations from commanding officers whose eyes never quite met his.
It wasn’t just a sickness gone wrong—it was a meticulously executed cover-up, layers of deception that had been carefully constructed long before the first civilian fell ill.
Sawyer’s fingers tightened around his rifle as a sinking suspicion crystallized: the government hadn’t just been cleaning up a mess, they’d created it, then burned the laboratory notes and buried the witnesses beneath quarantine protocols and classified orders. Like some bad sci-fi movie.
He glanced at Jay again, studying him. There was something familiar about the man — not just in the way he moved or spoke, but in the quiet confidence that came from knowing how to survive.
The way he scanned the trees reminded Sawyer of his own squad mates, men who’d learned to keep one eye on the horizon and the other on their conscience.
Jay wasn’t military, but he understood things the same way a soldier did. You kept moving. You did what you had to. You didn’t ask questions you couldn’t afford the answers to.
Still, Sawyer couldn’t afford to trust easily. Not yet. Not with Addy depending on him.
He glanced back at her trudging through the snow, the scarf wrapped tight around her face, her breath puffing out in small clouds. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t let anything happen to her.
* * *
The cabin was small but solid, the kind of place built by hand and cared for by someone who understood the rhythm of the woods. Inside, the warmth hit Addy first, a steady, comforting heat that carried a faint scent of pine and wood smoke.