Page 63 of Sick(ness)

He nodded. “Northwest. If we’re lucky, there’s still a road under all this.”

“And if there isn’t?”

Sawyer glanced back at her, eyes steady. “Then we keep moving until there is.”

Addy smiled faintly at that. “You always have an answer.”

“Someone’s gotta,” he said, and kept walking.

Behind them, the small ranger station disappeared beneath the snow, as though it had never existed — one more piece of the old world swallowed by winter.

* * *

The wind had calmed, the silence stretched.

The pale sky pressing low and heavy. Addy’s legs burned from trudging through the drifts; each step was a fight against the weight of the world itself. Sawyer led the way, rifle slung across his back, every so often turning to make sure she was close.

By midday, the trees began to thin, replaced by faint humps and shadows half-swallowed by snow. Sawyer slowed, raising a hand. “We’re close,” he said.

Addy squinted through the glare. “Close to what?”

“Town,” he said. “Or what’s left of one.”

They crested a small rise, and there it was: a cluster of rooftops jutting from the snow, power lines sagging low under their frozen burden. The world below was ghostly still; the shapes of cars barely visible beneath the drifts. Signs poked through here and there: a diner, a gas station, what looked like the edge of a pharmacy.

Addy let out a slow breath. “It’s like it just… stopped.”

Sawyer nodded. “That’s exactly what it did.”

They started down carefully, feet slipping on the ice-crusted slope. As they reached the first intersection, Addy brushed snow off a street sign: Main Street. The letters, familiar and foreign all at once.

“Think anyone’s still here?” she asked.

“Doubt it,” Sawyer said, scanning the rooftops. “If they were smart, they moved out before the storm hit.”

He crouched by a buried SUV, scraping snow from the window with his glove. Inside, a few boxes and a blanket sat frozen in place, untouched. “No one’s been through here since it started it seems.”

Addy’s teeth chattered as she hugged her arms to her chest. The thin jacket she wore wasn’t enough for this kind of cold. Sawyer noticed.

“Come on,” he said, motioning to a storefront across the street. “That place looks like a sporting goods shop. We might get lucky.”

They waded through the snow, boots sinking deep until they reached the shattered front door. The sign above read Lakeview Outfitters in faded green letters, half-buried under ice.

Inside, the air was cold but still. Dust hung like frost in the weak light streaming through a crack in the boarded window. Sawyer swept his flashlight across a row of racks: heavy coats, snow pants, gloves.

Addy gasped softly. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Sometimes,” Sawyer said with a grin, “the world throws you a bone.”

They dug through the racks quickly but methodically. The clothes were stiff with cold but intact: thick parkas, wool socks, insulated boots. Sawyer tossed her a coat that looked close to her size. “Try that.”

Addy pulled it on, sighing as the warmth trapped inside. “Oh my god,” she said, smiling for the first time in what felt like forever. “It actually fits.”

“Good,” he said, finding a dark jacket for himself and testing the zipper. “Now you won’t freeze before we starve.”

She gave him a glance. “You’re hilarious.”

He smirked, adjusting the collar of his coat. “You’ll thank me when your fingers still work.”