Page 50 of What Remains

"So," he said after several miles, "where exactly are we taking you in Denver?"

Josie smiled faintly without turning from the window. "It's not Denver itself. It's a little ranch my parents own between Denver and Boulder—kind of in the middle of nowhere, honestly. You'd miss the turn if you didn't know to look for it."

She watched an abandoned neighborhood drift past, its windows dark and its driveways empty.

"I figured if you all got me to Denver," she continued, "Layla and I would have to try and manage the rest of the distance ourselves."

Seth's brow furrowed. "No."

She blinked and turned toward him. "No?"

"We're taking you all the way."

"Seth, you don't have to⁠—"

"We do." His voice was flat, the decision already made. "I'm not dropping you and your daughter in the middle of an apocalypse and wishing you good luck."

A corner of her mouth lifted despite herself. "I wasn't asking you to."

"You were expecting it."

She didn't argue. He saw the truth in the way her shoulders relaxed, just a fraction—the release of tension she must have been holding for miles. She'd expected to be left on a roadside and hadn't dared to hope for more.

"I appreciate it," she said.

Seth gave a small shrug. "Seems like the decent thing to do."

For a while, neither of them spoke. Outside, the landscape opened into fields where frost had settled into the furrows of old tractor tracks. A few fence posts remained upright, the rest gone or leaning, and a barn stood with its roof punched through in the middle, the gap wide enough that whatever had been stored inside was long past saving.

"You grow up there?" Seth asked eventually.

Her entire expression softened, and warmth crept into her voice. "Yeah. My parents bought it before I was born—horses, cattle, a few chickens. My mom always kept this ridiculous vegetable garden that took over half the yard every summer." She laughed quietly at the memory. "When I was a kid, I swore I'd never live somewhere so isolated."

"And now?"

Her shoulders slumped slightly as her eyes tracked the empty fields. "Now I'm hoping it's isolated enough."

Seth understood without needing more. Isolation had become security, and distance from other people had become the closest thing to safety anyone could find. He nodded once.

"You think they'll still be there?"

Her fingers tightened together in her lap, knuckles paling. "I don't know." The honesty in her voice cut deeper than false hope ever could have. "I've thought about it every single day since it started.” She swallowed hard, then steadied herself. "My dad's stubborn enough to survive just about anything. And my mom..." A small chuckle escaped her. "She keeps enough canned food to outlast three apocalypses."

Seth actually smiled at that. "Sounds like she'd get along with Sawyer."

"Sawyer?"

"He's the one who stockpiled emergency food back when everyone thought he'd lost his mind for it."

She laughed—a genuine laugh this time, bright enough that Layla glanced up from her notebook. "I like him already."

“He’s an interesting character.”

The silence that followed felt different. He noticed she wasn't pressed against her door anymore, the rigid line of her shoulder now softened.

After another mile, Seth spoke again. "Think you could help us while we're out here?"

She looked over, curious. "How?"