Page 32 of Sick(ness)

Once the truck was shifted, Sawyer tested the door. “Still solid.”

They loaded their gear into the truck, duffels, water, what little food they had left, and Sawyer did one final walk around the cabin, checking for signs that anyone, or anything, had been near. Addy took the moment to drink in the small, rough comfort of the place: the porch where she’d hung blankets, the bed that still held her body’s warmth, the aroma of burned wood.

She didn’t want to leave. But she also didn’t want to stay and find out what might come looking.

When Sawyer came back, he climbed into the driver’s seat, motioning for her to get in. Addy hesitated just long enough to glance over her shoulder one last time.

The cabin stood small and solitary against the expanse of the forest, smoke curling lazily from the chimney. It looked almost normal — like something out of another lifetime. A place untouched by the chaos swallowing everything else.

Addy climbed in and shut the door. The engine rumbled to life, loud in the still morning air. As they started down the narrow two-track, she pressed her hand against the window, watching the cabin shrink until it disappeared behind the trees.

“Think we’ll make it back before dark?” she asked quietly.

“If the roads hold,” Sawyer said, eyes fixed ahead.

She nodded, fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. “And if they don’t?”

He glanced at her, a flicker of something dark, not fear, exactly, but realism, crossing his face. “Then we adapt.”

They fell silent again, the truck bouncing along the uneven path, the world around them waking in eerie stillness. Somewhere in the distance, a crow cawed, sharp, lonely, and far too loud in the quiet.

Addy stared out the window, the cold morning light catching on her reflection. She looked older than she remembered, harder. But as she glanced at Sawyer’s steady profile, she sensed a flicker of something.

Courage.

Six

The Supply Run

They reached the edge of town just after noon way better time that Sawyer had anticipated.

From a distance, it looked almost normal: low brick buildings, a grocery store, a pharmacy, and a small strip mall with faded signs. Only when they drew closer did Addy see the stillness that made her chest tighten. Cars sat like empty tombs, doors open.

A banner strung across Main Street flapped weakly in the breeze: Summer’s End Fling, August 25th. Just a few weeks ago.

Addy leaned forward, scanning the streets. “You’ve been here before?”

Sawyer nodded. “Once or twice. Used to fish north of here. Small, quiet place.”

It didn’t look quiet anymore. It looked as if it had exhaled and never breathed back in.

He parked the truck behind a laundromat, hidden from the main road. “We’ll go on foot from here,” he said, killing the engine. “Less noise. Safer.”

Addy slipped her pack on, glancing around. The wind stirred a few leaves and scraps of paper, but otherwise… nothing. “Where first?”

“Grocery store,” Sawyer said. “Then the pharmacy. If we’ve got time, we’ll check the sporting goods store. Might be something useful there.”

Inside the grocery store, the air was stale and cold.

The place had an aroma of spoiled produce and damp cardboard. Somewhere near the deli, a faint, sweet rot lingered, the ghost of things that had once been fresh. A magazine rack near the entrance had collapsed, its glossy covers fanned across the tile floor like fallen leaves. Headlines promised “Flu Season Tips” and “10 Ways to Stay Healthy This Winter.”

Addy stepped carefully around the mess, her boots crunching on broken glass and bits of dried cereal. Her heart hammered in her chest, the sound of her own breathing too loud in her ears. Shopping carts were scattered everywhere; some overturned, some still half-full. One held a child’s toy, a box of mac and cheese, and a forgotten purse with its strap torn.

Sawyer scanned the aisles, his flashlight cutting through the dim. “Grab anything sealed,” he said quietly. “Cans, dry goods, water if you can find it.”

They moved quickly, keeping their voices low. Addy’s hands trembled as she pulled cans from the shelves: soup, beans, anything sealed. Most of the shelves had been picked over, but here and there she found overlooked treasures: a jar of peanut butter, a box of crackers, two dusty bottles of sports drinks.

At the end of one aisle, a display of cereal boxes still stood half-intact. The cartoon mascot on the front grinned through a thin layer of dust, oblivious to the world falling apart around it. Addy caught herself staring for a second; the absurd normalcy of it was almost enough to break her.