"Travis."
"Yeah?"
"Shut up and go to sleep."
I almost laugh. "Yes ma'am."
She's out within minutes, her breathing evening out. I stay awake longer, staring at the ceiling.
It seems like a lifetime ago that I found her bleeding out on a road. Now I'm lying here thinking about futures that probably don't exist, making plans that assume we'll both survive long enough to see them through.
It's stupid. Reckless.
I don't care.
Tomorrow we'll deal with whatever comes next. But tonight she's warm against me and breathing steady, and that's enough.
Hazel
Three Months Later...
Theradiocracklesatdawn, Cole's voice cutting through the quiet.
"Northern convoy, this is Hope Tower. What's your status?"
I reach for the handset while Travis checks the maps. "Hope Tower, this is Northern convoy. Three hours out with full cargo."
"Copy that. Safe travels, Hazel."
"Thanks, Cole. Convoy out."
Outside, the crew is already moving. Jess teaches Patricia suturing techniques while I prep the medical supplies for today's delivery. Ken runs maintenance, muttering about a loose belt on ATV-3 that he's been meaning to fix for a week. Eric scouts ahead, his skills sharp enough now that Travis actually listens to his suggestions instead of just nodding politely.
The convoy has a rhythm now. Everyone knows their role, moves without needing to be told. It's not the same as my old crew, nothing ever will be, but it's good. Solid.
The raider cell that killed my crew was neutralized last month. Ruby and Mayson coordinated a multi-settlement response that broke their operation—leaders captured, cells scattered, supply routes safer than they've been in half a year. Tom relayed the news over the radio, and I had to step away from the fire for a few minutes.
Travis found me sitting alone in the dark, didn't say anything. Just sat with me until I was ready to go back.
It won't bring them back. But fewer convoys will get ambushed. Fewer medics will die protecting supplies. Fewer families will wait for people who'll never come home.
That has to be enough.
The grief is still there. Some mornings I wake up expecting to hear Susan's voice. Some nights I dream about Tommy asking questions, his face so clear I can count his freckles. But it doesn't crush me anymore. Just aches, like an old injury that flares when the weather changes.
I've started training two new medics from settlements along our route. Neither has formal training, but they're learning fast. One's a former vet tech, the other worked as a paramedic before the outbreak. I teach them what I know, the same way I taught Tommy. Except this time I make sure they understand how to defend themselves too. How to shoot, how to recognize an ambush, how to survive when everything goes wrong.
Because it will go wrong. It always does eventually.
But maybe they'll be ready for it.
After breakfast, Travis pulls me aside with that look he gets when he's planning something. I've learned to recognize it—theslight smile he's trying to suppress, the way he keeps checking his pocket.
"Old Pines wants us to establish a permanent northern route," he says. "Monthly runs through winter. Tom's coordinating with three new settlements that need regular supply access."
"That's ambitious. Winter routes are brutal up north."
"Yeah." He pulls something from his pocket. "I'm thinking about making a few long-term commitments."
