Page 64 of Sick(ness)

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.”

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?”