Page 62 of Sick(ness)

Sawyer stood near the window. “We’ll move as soon as it’s full daylight,” he said. “No sense stumbling through the trees half-blind.”

Addy was already rolling up the blanket she’d slept under. “Are you sure it’s safe to travel today?”

He glanced back at her and nodded. “Safe? No. Safer? Yeah. The snow and wind gives us cover and hides our tracks. It’s the best we’re going to get for a while.”

She watched him tighten the strap on his rifle, every motion smooth and practiced. “You always sound so sure,” she said, smiling faintly. “Even when you probably aren’t.”

Sawyer gave her a glance, one corner of his mouth lifting. “That’s the trick. Confidence keeps people alive.”

“And are you confident right now?”

He paused, checking the chamber before slinging the weapon over his shoulder. “I’m confident I don’t want to stay here long enough to find out who’s still looking for us.”

That made her grin despite herself. “Fair.”

They began packing in silence for a few minutes. Addy folded what clothes they had left into the torn canvas bag he snagged on the way out of the cabin, while Sawyer took stock of their remaining supplies. He picked up each item as if it mattered, counting, weighing, and calculating.

“Two bottles of water,” he said quietly. “One’s half full. We’ll need to melt snow when we stop.”

Addy nodded, tucking a can of soup into her pack. “How long do you think this will last?”

“Three days, possibly four, if we ration it right.”

“And after that?”

Sawyer looked up, meeting her eyes. “We find more.”

The simplicity of his tone almost made her laugh. He said it like finding food in a dead world was simply another chore.

“You make it sound easy.”

“Doesn’t have to be easy,” he said, cinching his pack closed. “It simply has to get done.”

“Was it always like this for you?” she asked suddenly. “Being the one who keeps everyone safe? In the military?”

He nodded once. “At that point in my life, it was orders. Now…” He shrugged. “Now it’s become a habit.”

Addy tightened the strap on her pack and stepped closer. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad it’s a habit.”

He gave her a small, quiet smile. “Me too.”

They stood there for a moment, simply watching each other. Sawyer cleared his throat, shifting back into his steady, practical tone. “When we move, stay close. The snow’s deep; you’ll tire fast. If I tell you to drop, you drop. Don’t mess around, don’t hesitate.”

“Got it,” she said, but her voice was softer now. “And, Sawyer?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not only cargo. You don’t have to protect me from everything.”

He looked at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “You’re right,” he said finally. “I don’t have to.” He adjusted the strap on her bag, tightening it for her. “But I want to.”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

When they finally stepped outside, Addy’s lungs seized mid-breath. Her nostrils stuck together, frost forming instantly on her eyelashes. The snow swallowed her leg to mid-thigh with her first step, forcing a grunt as she yanked herself forward. Ahead, Sawyer’s shoulders hunched against the brightness, his hand instinctively shifting to rest on his holster as his eyes swept the glittering expanse. The silence pressed against their eardrums, broken only by the soft crunch of their footsteps and the distant crack of a branch giving way under its frozen burden.

Sawyer led the way down the slope, breaking a path through the drifts. Addy followed close behind, her breath visible in the air between them.

“Northwest, right?” She asked, her voice muffled by the scarf he’d wrapped around her earlier.