"By being present when you're here. By doing good work when you're working. By letting yourself laugh when something'sfunny." He squeezes my fingers. "And by letting yourself feel like shit when the grief hits. You don't have to perform either way."
"You say that like it's simple."
"It is simple. Not easy, but simple." He pulls me closer. "You show up. You do what you can. You lean on people when you need to. Repeat until it gets bearable."
We lie there in silence for a while. Outside, I hear Ken's voice doing his perimeter check. Patricia's answering laugh. The normal sounds of a convoy at rest.
"Thank you," I finally say. "For coming over. For not making me feel crazy."
"You're not crazy. You're grieving." He presses a kiss to my forehead. "There's a difference."
"Will you stay? Just until I fall asleep?"
"Yeah. I can do that."
He settles in beside me, his arm around my shoulders, and I let myself relax into his warmth. The fear is still there—probably always will be. But it's not alone anymore.
Maybe that's what survival looks like. Not forgetting the dead or the guilt or the fear.
Just learning to carry it while still moving forward.
seven
Travis
"We'vegotmovement."
Eric's voice crackles through the radio, tight with tension. I bring my ATV to a stop, signaling the others to do the same.
"Details."
"Six hostiles, maybe more. Setting up on the main road ahead. Same signature as the convoy attack—they're laying an ambush."
Hazel's arms tighten around my waist. She heard.
I pull out my map, studying options. The main road is fastest, but if Eric's right about the signatures, we're dealing with the same group that killed Hazel's crew. The same professional, coordinated raiders who've been hunting medical supplies across the territory.
The alternative route adds three days. Three days of fuel we may not have. Three days Hazel spends waiting to put this behind her.
"We can go around," Ken suggests over the radio. "Play it safe."
"Three extra days," Patricia counters. "And they'll just hit the next convoy instead."
She's right. If we don't deal with this group now, more people die. That's the math of this world—every threat you dodge becomes someone else's problem.
I look back at Hazel. Her face is pale but determined.
"What do you think?"
"I think we finish this." Her voice doesn't waver. "I didn't survive to run from these bastards now."
Pride surges through me, tangled with fear. She's brave enough to face them. The question is whether I'm smart enough to get us through alive.
"All right. We're going in. But we're going in prepared."
That night, I spread maps across the ground and start planning. This is what I'm good at—coordinating complex operations, using terrain and tactics instead of brute force. Ruby and Mayson taught me defensive strategies. Cole and Sierra taught me communication protocols. Rebecca and Joseph taught me supply chain logistics. I'm basically a composite of everyone's best skills, filtered through my own instincts.
Hazel watches me work, something new in her eyes.
