Page 22 of Sick(ness)

Addy nodded, trying to push through the fatigue that was beginning to drag at her. The promise of warmth, of shelter, was almost enough to make her collapse right where she stood. But Sawyer was already moving, efficient as always, and she found herself watching him with a strange mix of curiosity and awe.

He reached into the bed of the truck and pulled out two large plastic totes, gray and scuffed, each sealed tight with latches. Addy frowned. She hadn’t noticed them before, not through all the chaos of the last few days.

“What are those?” She asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

Sawyer hefted one of the totes easily, carrying it toward the porch. “Insurance,” he said. “When things started going bad, before the comms dropped, I stocked up on some gear. Food, water filters, batteries. A few things that don’t expire.” He set the first tote down with a solid thunk. “Figured if I had to leave fast, I’d rather not do it empty-handed.”

Addy blinked. Of course he had. The man was basically a walking survival manual. She folded her arms and watched as he returned for the second tote, his movements steady and unhurried.

“You really have everything, don’t you?” she said, a little laugh slipping out despite herself.

He smirked faintly without looking up. “Not everything. But enough to stay alive.”

She shook her head, smiling to herself. Stay alive. He made it sound so simple. As if survival were another task on a list to check off.

As she watched him haul the second tote up the steps, her mind wandered, an uninvited, treacherous drift. The way his shoulders moved under the faded green jacket. The low rasp of his voice when he spoke. The calm on his face, even when the world around them was chaos.

Her stomach tightened. She hadn’t thought about someone like that in… years. Not since Evan. And even that had been a comfort, a routine—nothing like the sudden heat curling under her skin now.

She wondered, for a second, what Sawyer would taste like if she leaned in close enough.

Her eyes widened, and she mentally slapped herself. God, Addy, get a grip.

She turned away, pretending to adjust her pack, cheeks warming under the cold air. It’s not an attraction, she told herself. It’s adrenaline. End of the world. He looks good because there’s literally no one else left.

Still… when she glanced back at him, lifting the heavy tote with effortless strength, the argument didn’t seem quite as convincing.

Sawyer caught her looking and raised an eyebrow. “You gonna stand there staring or help me check these supplies?”

Addy cleared her throat, forcing herself to move. “Right. Yeah. Supplies.”

“Good,” he said, that small, knowing smirk returning for a second. “Because if we’re going to stay here for a while, it’s going to take both of us to make this place work.”

She followed him inside, the floor creaking under their steps, the air thick with the scent of dust and old wood. Addy felt something almost normal, a strange flutter of hope tangled with nerves.

* * *

The cabin was definitely old, one of those places that looked as though time had just… stopped. Dust mites drifted lazily through bands of evening light slipping through the cracked windowpanes. It was one big, open room, simple but solid. A massive stone fireplace dominated one corner, blackened from years of use, with a small love seat pushed in front of it. To the left sat a narrow kitchen, if you could even call it that, with a stove straight out of Little House on the Prairie, a hand pump jutting from a chipped porcelain sink, and three warped cupboards that looked like they’d been holding on through sheer willpower.

On the far side of the room, a single bed rested under a slanted window. The plaid bedspread looked faded but clean enough; the mattress was surprisingly thick for a place this rustic. Addy’s eyes lingered on it a moment too long. One bed. Of course.

Great, she thought with a dry laugh. One bed and one couch. Guess that answers who’s getting the short straw.

She glanced at the love seat again, narrow, lumpy-looking, definitely not meant for sleeping. But honestly, she didn’t care. Sleep. That was all she wanted. Sleep without the stench of decay, without the groans of the sick echoing in the distance. Sleep where she might actually feel safe for the first time in weeks.

Sawyer was already moving with quiet purpose, scanning the room, checking corners, peering out the back window toward the lake, checking the back door to make sure it was secure. Then he started opening the cupboards, one after another, pulling out dusty cans, half-filled oil bottles, and a few matches in a small glass jar.

“This isn’t bad,” he said finally, setting the items on the small counter. “They must’ve been here not too long ago. Stuff’s still good.” He gave a satisfied nod, as if that small discovery had restored a bit of faith in the world.

Addy leaned against the arm of the loveseat, arms wrapped around herself. She could already imagine the warmth from the fireplace, the glow of light against the dark logs, the weight finally lifting from her shoulders.

“I’m gonna check the wood situation,” Sawyer said, grabbing a flashlight from his bag. “If there’s any left in that shed out back, I’ll get a fire going.”

Before she could answer, he stepped outside, the old door groaning as it shut behind him.

For a moment, Addy just stood there in the stillness, letting her eyes travel around the little space. It wasn’t much, but to her, it was almost beautiful. A subtle aroma of pine and dust, the solid timbered enclosures that subdued the breeze beyond, the peaceful drone of existence embracing them.

She ran a hand over the back of the love seat, noting the rough fabric under her fingertips. It’ll do, she thought. It’s a home. For now.