Page 19 of What Remains

"Outskirts only," Seth agreed, his jaw tight. "We stick to the big targets on the list, grab what we can, and get the hell out before anyone knows we were there."

"And when we get back," Sawyer added, nodding toward Cara and Addy, "everything stays in the trailers until we build a storage shed—one big enough to keep predators out and weather off."

Addy exhaled slowly, relief and anxiety tangling in her chest. "So... this is it. The last big run."

Jay's eyes moved over them: Addy's palm resting on the swell beneath her shirt, Sawyer's shoulders tight but his gaze steady, Seth with that quiet, unshakable focus, Cara already wearing the mask of calm she wore into every fight. His thumb found the frayed edge of the map, tracing it once before he let himself speak.

"This run buys us a future," he said. "We do this right, and we won't have to risk anything like it again."

Cara reached out and rested her hand over his. "We'll make it back." A simple statement, spoken with absolute certainty.

Seth nodded. "And we'll bring home enough supplies to last a long damn while."

Addy smiled faintly. "Enough diapers and wipes to last a lifetime, I hope."

Sawyer groaned and rubbed the back of his neck. "God, I didn't even think about wipes."

Jay snorted. "Add it to the list—along with everything else we used to take for granted."

The next two weeks passed in a blur of preparation, anxiety sitting just beneath the surface of every conversation, even the lighthearted ones.

Every other day, Seth and Sawyer ran the SUV through the town's skeletal remains—the store, the pharmacy, the sporting goods shop, the small library behind the post office—picking its carcass clean.

Every trip brought back more than supplies: canned goods, gauze, antibiotics, batteries, blankets, lantern oil, seeds, rope, tarps. And books. Weathered hardcovers, children's stories, gardening guides, medical manuals, and a few romance paperbacks Sawyer pretended not to notice as he unloaded them.

Addy cried when she saw the collection piled on the table.

They were stocking up, yes, but it felt like more—like they were building a future, one heavy load at a time.

Jay and Cara decided the warmer, more defensible bottom bedroom was better in the long run. Sawyer and Seth hauled their mattress downstairs.

All the storage—food crates, blankets, tools, and medical supplies—migrated to the loft. The arrangement lacked elegance, but it worked. With everything they'd pulled from town, the loft increasingly resembled a prepper's private grocery store.

Addy joked that if the world hadn't ended, she'd open a convenience store.

"We'd call it the 'Dead & Save,'" Sawyer quipped, making Cara nearly snort tea out her nose.

But their jokes were a thin cover for the truth: whatever they didn't gather now, someone else eventually would. And not all survivors were decent people.

The boot prints kept appearing—different sizes, different treads. Still distant, but less so than before. Seth had noticed first; since then, he had been more on alert. Sawyer, without prompting, started checking the perimeter twice a day.

Jay put it plainly one night as they sorted supplies by lantern light: "Winter kept people away. Spring will bring them back."

Cara nodded beside him. "We need to stay ahead of it. Denver is our shot."

Seth studied the growing stacks of sealed buckets and boxes. "This is our only shot to do it right."

The air outside carried the sharp bite of early spring, hinting at a thaw it didn't quite deliver. A thin crust of frost crackled under Sawyer's boots as he stepped onto the porch and glanced back through the doorway.

"Seth," he called. "Walk with me."

Seth looked up from the table where he'd been talking logistics with Jay and Cara. His expression tightened slightly; he understood this invitation meant more than a casual stroll. Seth rose, zipped his jacket, and walked out after him.

They walked in silence for several minutes, heading toward the ridge trail. Moonlight spilled across the forest floor, bright enough to guide them without lanterns. Seth broke the silence first.

"You're worried I'm going to screw this up," he said.

Sawyer let out a humorless breath. "If I thought you were going to screw anything up, I wouldn't let you go in the first place."