"They are. We've been through enough together to trust each other completely." I settle back against a tree, keeping my voice low so we don't wake the others. "We've been running routes together for a year. Since the Alaska expedition."
"I heard about that." She pushes herself up slightly, wincing at the movement. "You connected a dozen remote settlements in one summer. People talk about it like you're some kind of legend."
"Thirteen settlements." The number carries weight. "And we lost one. Got there too late."
Her eyes hold mine in the firelight, understanding there. Not pity—understanding. There's a difference.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I've made peace with it." Mostly. "What I learned is that isolation kills as surely as raiders. Connection keeps us human. That's why we do what we do—link communities, share information, prove that cooperation beats going it alone."
"And that's why you're helping me? Connection?"
"Partly." I look away, toward the treeline where shadows dance with firelight. "Also, because your crew died protecting those supplies, and finishing their mission matters. It honors them."
Hazel is quiet for a long moment. The fire crackles. Somewhere distant, an owl calls.
"I was on watch," she finally says. "When the ambush hit."
"I figured."
"I should have seen them coming."
"Ambushes are designed so you can't see them coming. That's what makes them ambushes."
"That's too easy."
"No. It's just true." I meet her eyes again. "Get some sleep, Hazel. We've got two more days of travel, and you need to heal."
She doesn't argue, which tells me how exhausted she still is. Within minutes, her breathing evens out, and I go back to watching the darkness.
I don't tell her the other reason I'm helping. The one I can barely admit to myself.
When I first saw her lying on that road, fierce even in collapse, still fighting, it made me think of thines I haven’t in a long time. Something I've been avoiding for a year. Connection is good for communities. For individuals, it's dangerous.
Caring about someone makes you vulnerable. Makes every decision harder.
I've been avoiding that complication deliberately.
But watching Hazel Cooper refuse to give up, refuse to drop her burden even when her body was failing... I recognized that stubbornness. Understood it in my bones.
And I wanted to know more.
That's the most dangerous thought I've had in months.
three
Hazel
Iwaketomorninglight and the smell of coffee.
Travis's crew is already moving around camp, breaking down tents, checking vehicles, rationing fuel. Jess checks my vitals while handing me a cup, and the first sip is so good I nearly cry.
"Feeling better?" she asks, studying my face with clinical attention.
"Human, almost." The fever's finally broken. My shoulder still hurts, but it's a healing hurt now, not the deep infection burn of before. "Thank you. For everything."
"Thank Travis. He's the one who wouldn't leave you on that road." She pauses, something flickering across her face. "For what it's worth, he doesn't do that. Stop for strangers, I mean. In a year of running together, I've never seen him divert a route for one person."
