14. New Hope #3
Addy looked up. “So you were already preparing before it got bad?”
“Yeah,” Jay said, his tone casual but not boastful. “I had this gut feeling. Then, when the first lockdowns hit, I cleaned out my shop and filled this place up. Between the generator and the solar panels, I’m sitting better than most.”
Sawyer nodded slowly. “You thought ahead. That’s rare.”
“Luck,” Jay said with a shrug. “Or all those sideways glances from neighbors calling me crazy weren’t so wrong after all.”
When they finished eating, Jay carried the bowls to the sink and began hand-pumping water to rinse them. “I’ll heat some water for the showers after this,” he said over his shoulder. “You can go first, Addy. Takes about an hour for the tank to warm up, so don’t expect luxury, but it’s hot.”
Addy couldn’t stop herself from grinning. “A hot shower and real food on the same night? I might actually cry.”
Jay chuckled. “Just don’t use all the soap. It’s rationed.”
Sawyer leaned back in his chair, watching her. She looked more alive than he’d seen her in weeks, cheeks flushed, eyes bright in the firelight. For a moment, the worry that had taken root in his chest since meeting Jay loosened its grip.
“Go on,” he said quietly, nudging her knee under the table. “You deserve it.”
She met his eyes, her voice soft but teasing. “You just want me to test the water first.”
He gave her a faint smirk. “Perhaps.”
Jay looked over his shoulder with a small grin. “Don’t take too long, or you’ll use all the hot water. And keep the door shut tight; it’s easy to lose the heat.”
Addy nodded, still smiling as she headed down the hallway, clutching the towel Jay had handed her.
Sawyer watched her go until she disappeared behind the door, then leaned forward, his tone dropping. “You’ve done well for yourself here, Jay. Feels… safe.”
Jay met his gaze evenly. “That’s the idea. Safe keeps you alive.”
The two men sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the fire snapping in the hearth and the faint hum of the generator outside.
Then Jay’s eyes flicked toward the shortwave radio by the window, its green light pulsing faintly through the static. “You hear what’s still out there, though,” he said quietly. “Even now. The transmissions haven’t stopped.”
Sawyer followed his gaze, unease settling low in his gut. “I’ve heard similar chatter before,” he said. “Overseas.”
Jay looked at him, his face unreadable. “Then maybe you already know what I’m about to say.”
The fire had burned down to a soft orange glow by the time Addy’s footsteps faded down the hall. Steam drifted faintly from the bathroom door, the scent of soap lingering in the warm air. Sawyer sat across from Jay, the mug of coffee cooling in his hands.
The cabin was quiet except for the soft murmur of static from the shortwave radio near the window. Its small green light pulsed slowly, rhythmically, almost hypnotically.
Jay reached over and adjusted the dial, his movements careful. “You hear it yet?”
Sawyer tilted his head, listening. Beneath the crackle and hum of empty frequencies, there was something else: faint, structured. A pattern.
“Here,” Jay said, turning the volume up a notch.
Through the noise came a clipped, mechanical voice. Male. Distorted. The message repeated in bursts, a mix of numbers and short code words.
“…Sector four-seven… containment breach… Black Echo priority… stand down… repeat, stand down…”
Sawyer froze. His hand tightened around the mug until his knuckles whitened. “Play that again.”
Jay watched him closely, then replayed the snippet.
“Recognize it?”
Sawyer’s eyes didn’t leave the radio. His voice came out low and grim. “Yeah. I do.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Black Echo isn’t a location. It’s a clearance term, used for off-record operations. Stuff that never makes it into reports. That transmission… that’s military protocol. Or what’s left of it.”
Jay nodded slowly, as if he’d been expecting that answer. “Thought so. I’ve been hearing the same phrases off and on for weeks. Usually around midnight, sometimes at dawn. Whats left of command, if that’s even what it is, they’re talking to someone. Or covering something up.”
Sawyer rubbed a hand over his face, his jaw tight. “We were told to stand down before extraction overseas. Same wording, same damn tone. Two days later, we were recalled. They shut down the operation and classified everything. No debrief, no medical checks, nothing.”
Jay sat back, his expression dark. “You think it’s the same thing? What you saw over there — this sickness?”
“I don’t think,” Sawyer said quietly. “I know.”
The fire popped softly, sending up a brief flare of light. Shadows shifted across their faces, deepening the silence that followed.
Sawyer’s voice dropped further. “They were testing something. A treatment, they said, for viral immunity. But people were dying faster than they could burn the bodies. I saw whole camps go dark overnight. And then the word came down: ‘containment.’ We weren’t helping anyone. We were burying the evidence.”
Jay’s gaze didn’t waver. “And now it’s here.”
“Now it’s everywhere,” Sawyer replied.
The radio crackled again, a new burst of static masking a brief exchange — “…test phase complete… evacuation suspended… repeat, suspended…”
Sawyer stared at the small box, his pulse heavy in his ears. “They’re not trying to stop it anymore,” he said. “They’re studying it.”
Jay leaned back, his chair creaking. “Then I guess we’re on our own.”
“Yeah,” Sawyer said, his tone flat. “We’ve been on our own for a long time.”
For a long while, neither spoke. The storm outside had slowed to a lazy drift, snow tapping faintly at the glass. In the hallway, Addy’s soft humming carried through the quiet, a small, human sound in the middle of too much truth.
Jay finally stood, turning the dial back down. “We’ll talk more in the morning,” he said, his voice tired. “No sense letting ghosts ruin what peace we’ve got tonight.”
Sawyer nodded but didn’t move. His eyes stayed fixed on the radio, its soft green light blinking like a heartbeat in the dark.
He didn’t say it aloud, but deep down, he already knew.
Whatever had started out there hadn’t stayed there.
And the men who caused it were still talking.
* * *
Sawyer washed up quickly, the warmth of the water hitting his skin almost painfully at first. It had been so long since he’d felt anything like it, heat that didn’t come from fire or friction, but from something clean.
The water ran in slow, steady rivulets down his back, taking with it the grime and exhaustion of too many weeks on the move.
He tilted his head back, working the small amount of shampoo through his hair, closing his eyes as the scent filled the small space — simple, clean, and faintly floral.
For a few precious minutes, he let himself forget everything outside the walls of the cabin.
No sickness. No gunfire. No static-filled radio whispering secrets he didn’t want to hear.
Just the heat, and the sound of running water.
When he finally stepped out, the mirror was fogged, his breath ghosting across the glass.
He wiped a hand across it, studying his reflection: the sharp lines of his face, the scruff that had grown in uneven patches, the eyes that looked older than he remembered.
He sighed softly. It was strange seeing a version of himself that wasn’t covered in dirt or blood or distance.
By the time he pushed open the bedroom door, the cabin had gone quiet again. The faint hum of the generator outside and the low crackle of the fire in the next room were the only sounds left.
Addy was already asleep, her hair still damp and curling slightly against the pillow.
The faint scent of soap and warmth lingered in the air, soft and human and home.
Sawyer paused in the doorway, watching her for a long moment.
There was something grounding about her presence: the way she breathed, the way her hand was tucked under her chin, the way she’d managed to find peace even for a few hours in this world that had forgotten what peace was.
He moved quietly across the room and slipped beneath the covers, careful not to wake her. The bed creaked faintly under his weight as he drew close, his body instinctively curling around hers. She stirred slightly, making a small sound in her sleep but not pulling away.
Sawyer let himself breathe her in, the clean scent of her hair, the warmth of her skin against his chest. His hand found her waist, resting there lightly, protective yet gentle.
He pressed his lips to the curve of her neck, his voice a soft whisper against her skin. “I love you, 2B,” he murmured, the words feeling strange but right. For a heartbeat, he thought she hadn’t heard.
Then, half-asleep, she mumbled back, “I love you too, soldier man.”
He smiled, a quiet, tired smile that reached his eyes for the first time in what felt like years.
Outside, the snow drifted softly against the window.