Page 21 of Sick(ness)

As Addy took a drink from her canteen, she let her gaze drift back toward the tracks. The rails stretched on forever, vanishing into the trees, silent, abandoned, and cold.

Something about them reminded her of everything that was gone: movement, direction, purpose.

And now, somehow, she and Sawyer were standing at the edge of what was left.

Five

The Cabin

They moved slowly down the back roads; the tires bumping over frost-hardened ruts. The deeper they went, the wilder the world around them became; trees leaning over the road like sentinels on guard, brush thick and tangled, the air carrying that sharp, damp scent of late fall. Addy had long stopped asking what Sawyer was looking for. Every few minutes, he’d slow, squint toward a side trail or an old signpost, then mutter a quiet, “No, not that one,” before driving on.

To her, the cabins they’d already passed looked fine, better than fine, honestly. Most were small, sturdy-looking places tucked into the trees, their porches sagging but intact. She would’ve been happy to take any of them, but each time she’d start to say so, Sawyer would shake his head and press forward.

By the time they’d passed the third one, Addy’s patience had worn thin. “They all look the same to me,” she muttered. “What exactly are we looking for?”

Sawyer didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed fixed ahead, scanning. “I’ll know when we find it,” he said finally. “Something defensible. Off the line of sight from the road. If we can see it easily, someone else can too.”

She sighed and leaned her head against the cold window. The forest outside had grown denser, trees packed tight together, their branches woven overhead like ribs. Fallen leaves matted the ground in dull golds and browns, hiding the old ruts of forgotten driveways. It seemed like they were driving straight into nowhere.

Then, without warning, Sawyer slowed and turned the wheel sharply onto what barely counted as a road. Two narrow tire tracks wound through the brush, disappearing into the trees.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Addy said. “That doesn’t even look like a path.”

He gave her a half-smile. “Trust me.”

The truck lurched and bumped along, branches scraping against the sides. The track twisted deeper and deeper into the woods, winding back so far that Addy started to wonder if they’d have to turn around. Her stomach tightened; she was about to say something when the trees thinned, and suddenly the cabin came into view.

It stood a little above the ground, perched on thick wooden stilts that had darkened with age. Moss crept up the base, and the steps leading to the front porch leaned slightly to one side. The roof was tin and rust-streaked, but intact. Beyond it, a small lake shimmered pale and still beneath the gray sky, ringed with reeds and cattails. The air carried the scent of water and pine, and cold earth.

Addy blinked. After miles of nothing, the sight of it seemed almost unreal. It was small and worn, but in this world, it looked like safety.

Sawyer let out a low whistle. “This,” he said, his voice threaded with satisfaction, “is it.”

“You know this place?” Addy asked, surprised by the hint of recognition in his tone.

He nodded, cutting the engine and stepping out. “Sort of. I remember spotting it from the lake a few years back when I was fishing. Always thought it was smart, built off the ground, good visibility from all sides. Harder for animals or people to sneak up on. Didn’t know exactly where it was, though. Guess I do now.”

He walked around to the back of the truck and swung open the tailgate, pulling out his worn duffel bag; and to Addy’s surprise, he reached in and lifted out a rifle—sleek, black, and well cared for.

Addy froze, her pulse jumping. She hadn’t realized he had a gun. She supposed she should have expected it; Sawyer seemed like the type, but seeing it in his hands still startled her. For a moment, she wasn’t sure what to say.

Sawyer must have sensed her hesitation. “Relax,” he said, checking the chamber before slinging the rifle over his shoulder. “I’m not planning to use it unless we have to. But I’d rather have it and not need it than the other way around.”

She nodded slowly. The logic made sense, and honestly, the sight of the weapon, though unsettling, made her feel safer. There was something about the way he handled it: calm, practiced, controlled. Like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Stay here,” he said, moving toward the porch. “I’ll check it first. Make sure we’re alone.”

Addy stayed by the truck, watching as he disappeared through the cabin’s open doorway. The sound of his boots echoed inside, followed by the creak of floorboards and the faint thud of doors being opened and shut. The lake behind her rippled in the breeze, quiet except for the whisper of water lapping at the shore.

A minute later, Sawyer reappeared in the doorway. “Clear,” he called out.

Addy let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She slung her bag over her shoulder and made her way toward the cabin, the old steps groaning beneath her feet.

It wasn’t much, she could tell that even from the porch, but it was something. A roof. Four walls. A small piece of safety.

* * *

Sawyer dropped the tailgate with a dull thud, his breath fogging in the cold afternoon air. “We should take stock of what’s here,” he said, scanning the cabin and its small porch. “Check everything: windows, the wood stove, see if there’s any water access nearby. Tomorrow, we’ll figure out how far the town is and scope it out. See if we can scrounge up some supplies.”