Page 115 of What Remains

The store offered little more than a few dented cans of soup and a half-box of matches. He built a small, contained fire in a steel barrel behind the station. Dinner was lukewarm soup that he barely tasted. His mind wasn't on survival; it was hours down the road, back at the ranch.

He missed her already.

As full darkness settled over the highway, Seth pulled his sleeping bag into the back of Beast, leaving one rear door cracked just enough to catch the sound of anything approaching. His rifle rested beside him, one hand draped over it even as exhaustion began dragging him under.

Before closing his eyes, he unfolded the map one last time and traced the route back to the ranch by the dim glow of his flashlight.

He could make it by midday.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he'd see Josie again.

The thought alone finally let sleep claim him.

Gray light filtered through the windshield, and Seth's eyes opened instantly, years of training snapping him fully alert before he'd even moved. For several long seconds he lay still and listened.

Only the wind. No shuffling footsteps in the snow, no distant moan of the dead.

The fire had burned out, and a thin layer of fresh snow dusted Beast's hood, proof the storm had drifted through sometime during the night without waking him. He climbed out, stretching stiff muscles before brushing snow from the glass with a gloved hand as the cold immediately bit at his exposed face.

Coffee wasn't an option this morning. He settled for cold water and a granola bar as he walked one last slow perimeter around the station. No tracks. No sign anyone or anything had passed during the night. Just the endless quiet of a world that had long forgotten the sound of morning traffic.

He climbed back behind the wheel, and Beast rumbled to life on the first turn of the key. Seth looked toward the distant mountains, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth;"Almost there," he murmured, his breath a cloud in the cold.

He shifted into drive and eased back onto the empty highway.

Chapter 28

Bring Her Home

Fresh snow fell overnight, frosting fences and blanketing fields in white. Smoke drifted from the farmhouse chimney. Horses waited impatiently at the pasture gate, nickering when the back door opened.

Josie smiled, cold air filling her lungs. Some routines felt normal—a small mercy. She shrugged into her father's chore coat, grabbed leather gloves from a hook, and stepped into the crisp air.

Behind her, Layla finished breakfast. Liz poured coffee.

"I'll care for the horses," Josie said.

Liz nodded. "I'll feed the goats. Layla offered to help."

"I always volunteer," Layla said.

"That you do, kiddo."

Josie crossed the yard, boots crunching through snow, and slid open the heavy barn door beneath a pale sky. The familiar scent wrapped around her—hay, leather, horse—the smell of every morning on this land. The gelding nearest the entrance pushed his nose over the stall door. She paused to scratch between his ears.

"Morning, handsome."

She reached for a hay bale and started down the aisle, but stopped.

A tack room door stood open.

She frowned, certain she'd latched it. Liz might have looked for something after dinner. Still, her body tensed before her brain caught up—shoulders tight, jaw set, weight shifting forward. The barn fell silent—no rustle of horses, no stomp, no creak of old wood. Animals froze, ears pinned, eyes fixed on shadows near the back.

Josie slowly lowered the hay bale, eyes sweeping the aisle inch by inch.

Then she saw it.

A fresh boot print, dark against straw. Large. Not hers.