Page 67 of Sick(ness)

Up close, the cabin revealed itself as a patchwork fortress: weathered pine logs darkened by years of snow and sun, reinforced with sheets of corrugated metal at the corners. The three wooden steps leading to the front door had been meticulously cleared, revealing boot-worn planks beneath. Atop the slanted roof, a careful arrangement of six solar panels caught what little sunlight filtered through the gray sky, their blue-black surfaces free of snow. Around the perimeter, Addy spotted Jay’s silent sentinels: rusted soup cans threaded on fishing line between trees, wind chimes fashioned from spent shell casings, and what looked like fishing hooks suspended at ankle height, primitive but effective warnings against anything that might approach in the night.

“You weren’t kidding,” Sawyer murmured, eyes scanning everything. “You’ve thought this through.”

“Years of living off bait and borrowed time,” Jay said with a small smile. “Come on inside. I’ve got a stove and coffee that tastes like dirt but’s still hot.”

Inside, the air hit Addy’s face like a warm blanket, carrying the mingled scents of wood smoke, coffee grounds, and something herbal, possibly dried mint or pine needles. A small fire crackled in a large stone hearth in the corner, its orange flames casting dancing shadows across the rough-hewn log walls. Hand-built shelves sagged slightly under the weight of mason jars filled with everything from pale yellow corn kernels to dark berries suspended in murky liquid. Coils of fishing line hung from hooks, alongside an assortment of hand tools with worn wooden handles polished by years of use. A shortwave radio with a bent antenna sat atop a wooden ammunition crate near the frost-rimed window, its green dial light glowing weakly as static hissed and popped like tiny campfires. Beside it stood a bookshelf crammed with hundreds of paperbacks, their spines faded and curling, titles ranging from Hemingway to dog-eared survival manuals.

Addy exhaled, the tension slowly draining from her shoulders. “This is… incredible,” she said.

Jay shrugged, pulling off his gloves. “It’s home. For now, anyway.”

Sawyer set his rifle down but didn’t stray far from it. “How long can you hold out here?”

Jay leaned against the counter, thinking. “A few months, easy. Longer if we ration and hunt once the snow starts to break. Plenty of fish under that ice too.”

Addy smiled, glancing between the two men. “Well, that sounds like a plan to me.”

Sawyer’s eyes flicked toward the radio, still whispering in the background. “Is that thing still working?”

Jay nodded. “When the air’s clear enough. You’d be surprised what people still say when they think no one’s listening.”

Sawyer’s gaze sharpened. It’s possible that’s something we ought to pay attention to.

Jay met his eyes, something unspoken passing between them. “Perhaps,” he stated softly. “But not tonight. Tonight, we rest.”

* * *

Sawyer thought back to what Jay had said.

He hadn’t been stateside when it started. His last deployment had been overseas — some coastal country they were never supposed to name in the briefings. Officially, they were assisting with “civilian evacuations” after a viral outbreak in a small region. Unofficially, it was chaos.

People weren’t being treated. They were being contained. Whole villages burned under the justification of “preventing spread.” Soldiers were ordered to hold perimeters and never make contact. No one told them what the virus actually did, only that infection meant immediate quarantine. Then the reinforcements came, the ones wearing hazmat suits and carrying flamethrowers instead of stretchers.

A few days later, the orders changed. Their team was pulled out. No debriefing, no explanation. Just a quiet directive to return home and “stand by for reassignment.”

Only reassignment never came.

Now, hearing Jay talk about military involvement and an “effort to clean up,” Sawyer experienced the cold weight of recognition settle in his gut. The puzzle pieces clicked into place with the same sickening precision as a rifle being assembled in the dark. He’d seen those same hazmat suits overseas, watched the same calculated destruction of evidence, recognized the same rehearsed explanations from commanding officers whose eyes never quite met his. It wasn’t just a sickness gone wrong—it was a meticulously executed cover-up, layers of deception that had been carefully constructed long before the first civilian fell ill. Sawyer’s fingers tightened around his rifle as a sinking suspicion crystallized: the government hadn’t just been cleaning up a mess, they’d created it, then burned the laboratory notes and buried the witnesses beneath quarantine protocols and classified orders. Like some bad sci-fi movie.

He glanced at Jay again, studying him. There was something familiar about the man — not just in the way he moved or spoke, but in the quiet confidence that came from knowing how to survive. The way he scanned the trees reminded Sawyer of his own squad mates, men who’d learned to keep one eye on the horizon and the other on their conscience.

Jay wasn’t military, but he understood things the same way a soldier did. You kept moving. You did what you had to. You didn’t ask questions you couldn’t afford the answers to.

Still, Sawyer couldn’t afford to trust easily. Not yet. Not with Addy depending on him.

He glanced back at her trudging through the snow, the scarf wrapped tight around her face, her breath puffing out in small clouds. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

* * *

The cabin was small but solid, the kind of place built by hand and cared for by someone who understood the rhythm of the woods. Inside, the warmth hit Addy first, a steady, comforting heat that carried a faint scent of pine and wood smoke.

To the left was a narrow kitchen. A wood cookstove glowed low with embers, and a metal kettle sat on top, steam curling from its spout. On the counter beside it, a sink with an old-fashioned hand pump stood next to a faucet, a strange combination that made Addy pause. When she stepped closer, she realized both were connected to a small system of pipes that ran down through the floor. A faint hum came from somewhere beneath, and beside the stove stood a refrigerator, actually running. She blinked, disbelief flashing across her face.

Jay caught her eye and smiled. “Everyone thought I was nuts for putting in the solar setup,” he said, gesturing toward the window. “Called it doomsday prepping. Now it keeps the fridge cold, water flowing, and that radio alive.” He tapped his temple. “Paranoia pays off sometimes.”

Addy ran her fingertips over the humming refrigerator, the impossible normalcy of it. “It’s… amazing.”

To the right was a small living room, cozy and surprisingly neat. A worn couch sat facing a beautiful stone fireplace, its craftsmanship standing out against the rougher edges of the rest of the cabin. The hearth was broad, the kind built to last generations, and the fire burning there cast a golden glow that softened everything. Two mismatched armchairs sat nearby, a small table between them stacked with a few old paperbacks and a half-burned candle. The large bookcase that had caught her eye when they arrived stood just to the left.