"Three." Devin's jaw works. "We found them five miles past where they should have turned. If they'd just known where they were..."
I see where this is going before he says it. The silence stretches while I war with myself—the part that still wants to hide warring with the part that knows hiding isn't living.
"Your place is the last high ground before the valley," Devin continues, setting down his mug. "Perfect line of sight. If wecould set up some kind of signal system, something visible even in bad weather..."
"You want me to advertise my location to every traveler in the region."
"I want to stop digging graves for people who die fifty yards from safety."
Ruby squeezes my hand. Not pushing, just... present. Steady.
"What did you have in mind?" I ask.
Devin's shoulders drop half an inch, and he lets out a breath he'd been holding. "Light beacon. Maybe a radio relay. Nothing fancy, just something to let people know they're close. That there's shelter if they need it."
My first instinct is still no. Two years of solitude, of safety through isolation, don't disappear just because a woman made me remember how to live. But then I look at Ruby, who chose this place, who sees what I built as worth staying for, and I think about those three people who froze because they couldn't find the settlement that was right fucking there.
"How big a beacon?" I ask.
We spend the afternoon sketching plans. Not me reluctantly going along—actually collaborating, using what I know about the land and materials to make Devin's idea work. Ruby organizes it, naturally, pulling out paper and making lists like the world didn't end.
"Tower needs to be at least twenty feet," I say, marking the proposed location on Ruby's rough map. "Higher if we want visibility in heavy snow."
"And the zombies?" Ruby asks quietly. "A light like that, rotating all night—it's going to attract them."
There it is. The problem I've been turning over since Devin first suggested this. A bright beacon is a dinner bell for the undead.
"It will," I admit. "We'll get more of them wandering through. Maybe a lot more."
"So we beef up the defenses," Devin says. "Early warning system, better perimeter alarms. Maybe some barriers to funnel them away from the cabin."
"That's a lot of work. A lot of risk." I look at Ruby. "This is your home too now. You get a say in whether we paint a target on it."
She's quiet for a moment, chewing her lip the way she does when she's thinking. "How many people travel through this area in winter?"
"Maybe a dozen groups," Devin says. "More if things go bad somewhere and people have to relocate."
"And how many get lost? Die from exposure because they miss the settlement?"
"Too many."
Ruby meets my eyes. "Then we do it. We make this place as safe as we can, but we do it. Because saving people is worth the extra zombies."
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure. Are you?"
I think about those three frozen bodies. About the man and child we haven't saved yet. About Ruby's words—that living means more than just surviving.
"Yeah," I say. "I'm sure. But we do it smart. Motion sensors on the approaches, bells and alarms, clear kill zones. The light brings them in, but we make sure they don't get close enough to matter."
"I can help source materials for that too," Devin offers. "Might take an extra week, but better to do it right."
"Agreed."
"Can you build that?" Devin asks.
I give him a look. "I built this entire cabin and workshop. A tower's just tall carpentry."
