Page 29 of What Remains

Josie stepped back for a final survey, needing the reassurance of the ritual. Layla buckled safely in her booster—check. Her favorite blanket tucked beside her for comfort—check. Winter coat, mittens, and hat within arm’s reach in case the heater failed—check. The small emergency bag with snacks, a water bottle, crayons, and a tiny first-aid kit—check.

The rest of the SUV sat packed tight, every inch filled with their lives condensed into duffels, totes, and boxes. Medical supplies. Food. Tools. Blankets. Ammunition. A map marked with the cleanest route out of town. Everything Josie could lift with her own two hands after laying her old world to rest.

Only the trunk remained empty. Waiting. Waiting for the final pieces staged across the street—the gas cans, the bag of food pulled from a dead man’s pantry.

“Mommy?” Layla’s voice floated forward. “Your hands are shaky.”

Josie stopped. She turned and met her daughter’s serious gaze.

“They are a little shaky, aren’t they?” she admitted. “It’s just because this is a really important job.”

Layla considered this. “Like when I have to carry water the plants?”

Josie’s breath caught. “Exactly like that.” She kissed Layla’s forehead. “The most important plants in the whole world.”

Layla nodded, satisfied, and lifted Mr. Ranger so he could “kiss” Josie too.

Josie pulled the door closed, her hand gripping its edge as a tremor ran through her legs.

Josie slid behind the wheel, hands in her lap, not yet ready to touch anything. She looked up at the house one last time—the place that had once overflowed with warmth and laughter, with holidays and birthday candles, with dance-recital pictures on the fridge and Mark’s awful habit of leaving socks in every room he entered.

She put the car in reverse, the tires crunching over the remaining snow in driveway. She backed the car from her driveway into the driveway of Jim Mckale “Adventure,” Layla echoed from the back seat, her tiny voice a lifeline pulling Josie forward.

The garage door’s groaned was a loud in the silence—too loud. Josie winced and glanced over her shoulder, though the street remained still around her. Silent. Watching.

“Mommy?” Layla called.

“I’m right here, baby,” Josie assured her, keeping her voice steady even as her pulse refused to cooperate. “Just loading the last things we need.”

She returned for the last load—two jugs of water, a bundle of candles, and a plastic tote filled with first aid supplies. As she turned to leave, her breath hitched.

A picture frame lay face-down on the garage floor where she must have knocked it during yesterday’s frantic search, its corner cracked. Josie swallowed and picked it up.

Mr. McKale smiled back at her in his dress uniform, his wife beside him, their two grown sons—strong, proud—standing on either side.

All gone now.

She set the photo gently on the workbench and blinked hard until her vision cleared. Not your life, Josie. Not your ghosts.

She carried the last of the supplies to the trunk, packed everything tight, and closed it with a quiet thud. Then she stood there a moment longer, gathering her courage. Every instinct she possessed screamed at her to stay hidden, to retreat to the basement, to wait. But Layla needed more from her. Layla needed a chance.

Josie climbed into the driver’s seat and buckled in, then turned back to her daughter and brushed a stray hair behind her ear.

“Okay, love bug,” she said. “We’re ready now.”

Layla smiled wide, trusting her completely. “Adventure time?”

The answer was a hard knot in Josie’s throat, but she nodded anyway.

“Adventure time.”

She started the engine, not daring to look back at the house that held her entire past. She couldn’t. Shifting into gear, she focused on the empty street ahead, one thought repeating: Just get her through today.

Three light taps on the window—Cara’s signal.

Seth blinked awake, stiff from the few hours of sleep he’d managed in the back of the beast. Pure exhaustion had granted him that small mercy, and he found himself grateful. He shoved the sleeping bag aside, stretched until his back popped in protest, and pushed open the door.

Cold morning air jolted him fully awake before his boots even hit the ground.