Page 45 of Sick(ness)

She moved along the edge of the treeline, eyes scanning for movement. Everything looked the same: the cabin, the truck, the wide stretch of lake, until something small broke the pattern.

Tracks.

They started near the far side of the cabin — faint impressions pressed into the thin layer of frost. Too large to be an animal, too deep to be Sawyer’s. The shape was wrong too; uneven, dragging slightly on one side.

Addy crouched, heart thudding. The prints weren’t fresh, definitely a few hours old, but they hadn’t been there yesterday.

She followed them a few paces before they disappeared into the shadow of the trees; the frost disturbed, but not enough to tell in which direction the person, if it was a person, had gone.

A shiver crawled up her spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

She raised the radio. “Sawyer,” she said quietly. “You copy?”

Static crackled for a moment before his voice came through, steady as ever. “Yeah, go ahead.”

“There’s… something you should see.”

He was there within minutes, moving quickly but quietly, eyes scanning as she pointed toward the ground. He crouched beside her, studying the tracks, jaw tightening.

“Not mine,” he said finally.

“I figured,” she replied.

He traced the outline of one print with his gloved hand. Perhaps it was a passerby. Could be more than one.”

Addy swallowed, looking toward the trees. “Do you think they saw the cabin?”

“Hard to say.” He stood, scanning the treeline again. “But if they did, they’ll be back.”

Her stomach turned. “You think it’s the sick?”

He didn’t answer right away. “Possibly,” he said. “Or not. Either way, we’re not alone out here.”

The wind picked up, carrying the faint creak of branches from deeper in the forest. The sound made Addy’s skin prickle.

“What do we do?” she asked.

Sawyer looked back toward the cabin, eyes narrowing. “We stay sharp. Check the windows; keep the fire low tonight. And Addy—”

“Yeah?”

“If anything seems off, anything at all, don’t hesitate. You understand?”

She nodded, her fingers tightening around the rifle strap. “I understand.”

They walked back toward the cabin together, the crunch of frost beneath their boots sounding far too loud in the silence that followed.

Behind them, the woods stood still, but Addy couldn’t shake the feeling that something in there was watching.

* * *

Back inside, Addy sat on the edge of the sofa, trying to warm her hands near the low fire Sawyer had started. The room was quiet except for the faint crackle of burning wood and the distant moan of the wind outside.

She should’ve felt safe, the cabin solid, the door barred, Sawyer moving somewhere nearby with that calm, capable energy of his — but her mind wouldn’t settle. The image of those footprints out in the frost replayed over and over, each print a reminder that their fragile peace could be shattered at any moment.

Her mind went to the night before, lying beside him in that narrow bed, both of them pretending to be asleep longer than they actually were. Every time she shifted, every time the blankets rustled, she sensed the awareness between them, a pulse that neither of them dared to acknowledge.

And now, after seeing those tracks, that small flicker of comfort seemed almost dangerous. Because what if Sawyer was right? What if things had really fallen that far, where people would kill for food, for warmth, for the illusion of safety?