Page 39 of Sick(ness)

She set her spoon down, trying to shake the feeling, forcing herself to meet his gaze. Sawyer’s expression softened when he saw the storm in her eyes, and for a long moment neither of them said a word.

It was quiet, not empty, but full of something fragile and dangerous. The kind that was like standing too close to a fire.

* * *

Addy needed to get a grip, or she was going to do something monumentally stupid, like lean across the battered kitchen table and kiss Sawyer right on his unsmiling, aggravating mouth. A month ago, two months ago, the idea would have struck her as so absurd it circled right back to plausible, a desperate animal’s gamble. Now it was all she could think about, this irrational gravity drawing her inexorably toward him, even as the rest of her brain screamed caution, not now, not here, not in the middle of the goddamn apocalypse. The last thing she needed was to complicate things, and yet every glance, every accidental brush of his hand sent a pulse through her that had nothing to do with adrenaline and everything to do with need.

It didn’t help that Sawyer made zero moves to break whatever was barreling toward them. If anything, he was complicit in it: the way he sometimes held her gaze a second too long, the way he always stepped between her and any hint of danger, even when she was perfectly capable of handling herself. He wasn’t giving her a single out, and that unsettled her in ways she wasn’t equipped to handle, not while the world was busy burning down outside their door.

She tried to focus on the immediate, on what had to be done to keep them alive for another day. There were supplies to inventory, fuel rations to stretch, perimeter checks to run. She should be thinking about firewood or the next scavenging run, not the line of his shoulder in the morning light or the way he said her name. But the more she tried to shove the thoughts down, the more they fought their way to the surface—raw, insistent, undeniable.

Her hands shook slightly as she rinsed out her bowl, the metal clattering a little too loudly in the washbasin. She closed her eyes for a second, willing herself to get it together, to be the pragmatic survivor she was supposed to be. This wasn’t a movie or a daydream, and there would be no dramatic confessions, no lingering embraces before the camera cut to black. If she screwed this up, if she misread the current between them, she’d not only lose the uneasy peace of their partnership, she’d lose the one person in this wasteland who could protect her.

She wiped her hands dry, squared her shoulders, and forced her thoughts back to business. If she didn’t trust herself to keep a lid on her feelings, she’d at least keep her mouth busy with something other than words she’d regret.

* * *

Sawyer sat down at the table, his movements deliberate but heavy with fatigue. The map he’d brought from the truck had been spread across the rough wood, edges curling from age and damp. He gestured to Addy with a small motion of his hand.

“Come sit,” he said. “We need to go through what we got from town, figure out what we can stretch, what needs to go first, and what the next move is.”

Addy set aside the rag she’d been using to dry dishes and slid into the chair opposite him. The fire behind them had burned down to a steady glow, its warmth pressing softly against the back of her neck.

Sawyer leaned over the map, tracing a finger down a faded highway line that cut through the nearest county. “We’ve got enough food for about six weeks if we ration it right,” he said. “Possibly seven if we go light and start supplementing with hunting or traps. Water’s fine for now, but we’ll need to filter the lake stuff soon if it doesn’t rain.”

Addy nodded slowly, her eyes flicking over the map. “And after that?”

He hesitated, then looked up. “That’s what we need to decide. We can stay here, ride it out, and see what happens. Or we can keep looking, try to find that safe zone they mentioned on the radio.”

“Do you think it’s still there?” she asked quietly.

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze drifted back to the map, jaw tightening. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Could be, or just as easily be gone like everything else.”

Addy frowned. “So what do we do, then? Flip a coin?”

That earned a faint grin, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Not exactly. If we stay, we’ve got security. Shelter, wood, a solid, defensible spot. But if this virus spreads or the sick start moving out this way…” he trailed off, tapping the table. “We could get trapped.”

She traced the map’s edge with her fingertip, her mind racing. “And if we leave?”

“Then we’re exposed,” he said. “But maybe we find somewhere people are rebuilding. Somewhere safer than hiding in a cabin in the woods.”

The fire popped, the sound loud in the still air. Addy watched the flame’s reflection dance over his face. His expression was calm, but she could see the fatigue in his eyes, the kind of exhaustion that went deeper than lack of sleep.

“What would you do?” she asked.

He looked at her, really looked at her, his eyes sharp and assessing as if weighing not just the question, but her place in the answer. “If it were just me,” he said slowly, “I’d probably keep moving. I don’t like waiting for trouble to find me.”

“And since it’s not just you?” she pressed.

He leaned back, folding his arms. “Then I listen to reason. And you strike me as someone with a pretty good sense of that.”

The compliment caught her off guard. She sensed her face warm, and not from the fire. “I think…” she hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “I think if we stay too long, we’ll get comfortable. And comfort isn’t safe anymore. We can’t build a life here if everything around us keeps falling apart.”

Sawyer nodded once, his expression unreadable. “Then we prepare to move. Give it two days, enough time to rest, organize. We’ll take what we have and head west at first light after that.”

Addy exhaled slowly, relief and fear twisting together in her chest. “West,” she repeated softly, as if saying it made it real.

He studied her for a long moment, the corner of his mouth twitching in something like respect. “You’re tougher than you look, Addy.”