She shifts, propping herself up to look at me. "You did that yourself. I just gave you a reason."
"Best reason I ever had."
She kisses me, slow and deep, and outside the beacon keeps turning, keeps shining, keeps bringing people home.
I built it with my hands, but Ruby built it with her heart.
And for the first time in years, I'm not afraid of being found.
Epilogue
Mayson
Sixmonthsafterwelit Hope Tower, autumn is painting the forest in shades of gold and rust. Winter's coming early this year according to the weather reports crackling through our radio, which means we're about to get busy.
I'm splitting firewood when I hear Ruby on the radio inside, coordinating with three different settlements about a supply convoy that's running late. Her voice has that efficient clip it gets when she's solving problems, and I find myself pausing mid-swing just to listen. Even six months pregnant, she's unstoppable.
She's transformed this place. Not only the physical space, but the purpose of it. The cabin isn't a fortress anymore. It's a waystation, a link in a network of communities trying to rebuild something worth saving.
Hope Tower's beacon rotates steadily in the background, visible even in daylight if you know where to look. We've guided forty-three groups to safety in the past six months. Forty-threegroups who would have frozen or gotten lost or wandered into zombie territory without that light.
"Mayson!" Ruby calls from the doorway, one hand resting on her rounded belly. "Travis Kind just radioed. He's two hours out with his group, heading back south from Alaska. Can we accommodate eight for the night?"
"Workshop's set up for overflow," I call back. "We've got the space."
She gives me a thumbs up and disappears back inside. I return to splitting wood, but I'm smiling. Two years ago, the thought of eight strangers sleeping on my property would have sent me into a panic. Now it's just Tuesday.
Travis's group arrives as the sun's setting, the rumble of ATV engines announcing them before they come into view. Eight people on four vehicles, all of them tired but in good spirits. They made it to Alaska, established a foothold, and now they're heading back to Old Pines for the winter with news of success.
Travis himself is maybe thirty, with the kind of easy confidence that comes from leading people through dangerous territory and getting them home alive. Ruby's mentioned him a few times over the radio—one of the newer coordinators helping connect remote settlements across the region.
One of the women in his crew, younger, maybe mid-twenties, keeps looking at him when she thinks no one's watching. Not that I can blame her. The guy's probably got his pick of company at every settlement they stop at.
"You two have gotten famous," Travis says over dinner, gesturing at Hope Tower visible through the window. Then his eyes land on Ruby's belly and he grins. "And I see congratulations are in order."
"Six months," Ruby says, her hand automatically going to her stomach. "Due in late winter."
Travis raises his cup. "To miracles, then. Both the big ones"—he nods toward Ruby's belly—"and the small ones." He gestures at Hope Tower. "People talk about the beacon on the mountain. About the couple who lights the way home. You're part of the network now, whether you planned to be or not."
"That seems to be a theme for us," Ruby says, glancing at me with a smile.
"How was the Alaska run?" I ask, steering the conversation away from our accidental fame. I never did like being the center of attention.
"Brutal. Beautiful. Worth it." Travis leans back, and I can see the exhaustion in his eyes despite his easy manner. "Spent all summer connecting remote groups, mapping routes, establishing communication protocols. There are more people out there than we thought. More communities trying to rebuild."
"And they're all talking to each other now?"
"Starting to. That's the goal, anyway. Get everyone on the same network, sharing information, helping each other survive." He looks at me. "People like you make that possible. Beacons, way stations, safe routes. It's all connected."
After dinner, Travis's people settle into the workshop while Ruby and I clean up. She's moving more carefully now, one hand braced against her lower back, and I can see the fatigue in her eyes even though she'd never admit it.
"Sit," I tell her. "I'll finish."
"I'm pregnant, not helpless."
"I know. Sit anyway."
She narrows her eyes but sinks into the chair with a sigh that tells me her back's been bothering her. I finish the dishes while she watches, and there's something peaceful about it—this domestic routine we've built, even with a baby on the way and travelers in the workshop.
