Page 55 of What Remains

"So we stop again," Seth said. "But smarter. Faster. No lingering."

Jay folded his arms against the cold. "Once we get to Josie's parents' place—assuming it's secure—we'll use it as a base and scavenge Denver from there."

Seth nodded. The advantages spoke for themselves: somewhere to sleep, somewhere to repair the vehicles, somewhere safe to leave Layla if the city proved too dangerous. Somewhere that wasn't surrounded by skyscrapers and thousands of infected pressing in from every direction.

Jay looked toward the lead SUV, where Josie sat quietly talking to Layla through the open backseat door.

"You trust her?"

Seth didn't hesitate. "Yeah."

Jay studied him for a second. "That was a fast answer."

Seth frowned, working through his own certainty. "I trust that she wants to get to her parents."

"Not the same thing."

"No, it isn't." He paused, watching Josie tuck the blanket tighter around her daughter. "But I trust that she's telling us the truth."

Jay accepted that without argument. He'd been watching Josie too, and nothing about her rang false. Fear, absolutely. Grief, in spades. But deception? No. He'd met enough liars to recognize the difference.

He rubbed snow from the brim of his cap and glanced at the map tucked beneath his arm. "If the roads stay open, we should reach the ranch tomorrow."

Seth eyed the thickening snowfall drifting between them. "And if this storm gets worse?"

"The next day, at the latest." Jay looked around the empty rest area, at the shadows already deepening between the picnic shelters. "Either way, we're done driving after dark."

Seth agreed without a word. After today, he didn't need a list of reasons. Every shadow on the road ahead looked like a potential ambush.

"We need somewhere to hole-up tonight."

Jay unfolded the map across the hood, a gloved finger tracing the highway ahead until it tapped a faded dot. "There should be a small town another fifteen miles west. Maybe a church, a fire station—something with solid walls we can secure before the light goes."

Seth looked down the empty road stretching into the falling snow. His voice came out quieter. "Let's hope we're the first ones to find it."

Neither of them voiced the thought that weighed on both their minds: After today, finding shelter wasn't enough anymore.

They had to find shelter that nobody else had already claimed.

The little town appeared just before dusk—if you could still call it a town.

A weathered sign, its letters faded by years of sun, welcomed travelers to Millhaven, Population 2,143. Snow drifted across the empty streets, softening the outlines of abandoned cars and burying the sidewalks under a clean, undisturbed layer of white. Storefront windows stared back at them, dark and lifeless.

Jay's voice crackled over the radio. "Keep it slow."

Seth eased off the accelerator, and the silence outside pressed in on him. No infected wandered the streets. No dogs barked. No birds circled overhead. Just the whisper of snow skimming across asphalt, and a stillness so complete it made his skin prickle.

Cara's voice broke through the static. "Fire station. Twelve o'clock."

Seth spotted it immediately—a two-bay brick building just off Main Street, its garage doors closed, the city emblem still proudly painted above the entrance as though the town it protected hadn't already died.

Jay slowed. "Looks promising."

"Or occupied," Seth answered.

" Well Let's find out."

They stopped fifty yards out, everyone remaining inside while Jay studied the building through his binoculars. Nothing moved. No broken windows, no smoke, no tracks in the fresh snow leading to the doors. Seth scanned the rooftops and found only more emptiness.