Page 44 of Sick(ness)

“Efficient,” he corrected.

As she turned toward the cabin, she sensed his eyes on her for just a second longer than necessary. And even though the world outside was still falling apart, Addy felt something real.

Steady. Seen.

* * *

“I’ve been thinking,” Sawyer said, setting the last log into the growing stack by the hearth. He straightened slowly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck as his breath came out in faint white clouds. “We should hold off on moving for a bit.”

Addy looked up from where she was arranging the smaller pieces of kindling, one brow lifting. “Hold off? I thought you wanted to move before the snow hit.”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “That was before I realized how fast the weather’s changing. If it gets colder, it might slow the spread, keep the sick more contained inside, and possibly even stop them from wandering. Cold has a way of freezing things in place.”

Addy leaned back on her heels, thinking. Outside, the wind howled faintly through the trees, and a light dusting of frost clung to the corners of the windowpanes. “So we stay here. How long?”

“Couple of weeks, possibly less,” he said, picking up his jacket from the chair. “Long enough to be fully rested. Then we move. Hit a few of the other towns west of here; check those cabins we passed on the way up. If we’re lucky, we’ll find supplies that haven’t been touched yet.”

She frowned. “And if we’re not?”

“We’ll come back here,” he said simply. “We’ve got cover, a lake, firewood, and food we can ration. This place buys us time, and right now, that’s worth more than anything else.”

Addy nodded slowly, her fingers absently tracing the rough edge of the table. “Makes sense.” She paused, then added, “Do you really think the cold will help?”

Sawyer shrugged, his eyes on the fire. “I don’t know. But it can’t hurt. I’ve seen what cold does to people. It slows things down, even fear. Makes the world quieter.”

She tilted her head, studying him. “You sound almost peaceful about that.”

He gave a faint smirk. “Peaceful isn’t the word. Just practical.”

Addy stood, brushing her hands on her jeans. “All right, then. We hunker down. I can check the perimeter in the mornings, make sure nothing’s gotten too close. You can work on… whatever it is you do with the maps and plans.”

“Deal,” he said, pulling his gloves back on. Then, with a softer tone, “You don’t have to go out alone, though.”

“I can handle it,” she said, but her smile undercut the stubbornness. “I’ll holler if I see any bears, or an infected.”

Sawyer’s mouth twitched into that small, rare grin she’d started to recognize. “You do that.”

They worked in companionable silence for a few minutes, stacking the last of the firewood near the door. The cabin seemed sturdier now, less like a temporary refuge and more like a place that could hold out against the winter.

As Addy closed the shutters for the night, she caught sight of Sawyer standing near the window, staring out into the gray treeline. The muscles in his jaw were tight; his expression unreadable.

“Something’s wrong?” she asked.

He shook his head slowly. “No. Just… thinking about what’s out there.”

Addy followed his gaze. The forest stretched endlessly in every direction, cold and still, hiding whatever was left of the world.

“Whatever it is,” she said softly, “we’ll face it when it comes.”

He turned to her, eyes meeting hers in the dim light. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “We will.”

* * *

The cold came early that morning, sharper than the day before. Addy’s breath fogged in front of her face as she stepped out onto the porch, rifle slung over her shoulder, and the world still muted with frost. The lake glimmered, and the air carried that hollow stillness that always came before snow.

She’d told Sawyer she’d check the perimeter, and he hadn’t argued. He’d only handed her a spare radio and said, “Call if you see anything.” Then he’d gone back to the truck, checking the engine like he always did, needing to stay busy, needing control.

Addy descended the steps slowly, boots crunching against the frozen ground. The woods beyond the clearing were quiet except for the occasional groan of tree limbs shifting in the wind. A squirrel darted through the underbrush somewhere nearby, the only real sign of life she’d seen in days.