Page 71 of Sick(ness)

Sawyer’s voice dropped further. “They were testing something. A treatment, they said, for viral immunity. But people were dying faster than they could burn the bodies. I saw whole camps go dark overnight. And then the word came down: ‘containment.’ We weren’t helping anyone. We were burying the evidence.”

Jay’s gaze didn’t waver. “And now it’s here.”

“Now it’s everywhere,” Sawyer replied.

The radio crackled again, a new burst of static masking a brief exchange — “…test phase complete… evacuation suspended… repeat, suspended…”

Sawyer stared at the small box, his pulse heavy in his ears. “They’re not trying to stop it anymore,” he said. “They’re studying it.”

Jay leaned back, his chair creaking. “Then I guess we’re on our own.”

“Yeah,” Sawyer said, his tone flat. “We’ve been on our own for a long time.”

For a long while, neither spoke. The storm outside had slowed to a lazy drift, snow tapping faintly at the glass. In the hallway, Addy’s soft humming carried through the quiet, a small, human sound in the middle of too much truth.

Jay finally stood, turning the dial back down. “We’ll talk more in the morning,” he said, his voice tired. “No sense letting ghosts ruin what peace we’ve got tonight.”

Sawyer nodded but didn’t move. His eyes stayed fixed on the radio, its soft green light blinking like a heartbeat in the dark.

He didn’t say it aloud, but deep down, he already knew.

Whatever had started out there hadn’t stayed there.

And the men who caused it were still talking.

* * *

Sawyer washed up quickly, the warmth of the water hitting his skin almost painfully at first. It had been so long since he’d felt anything like it, heat that didn’t come from fire or friction, but from something clean. The water ran in slow, steady rivulets down his back, taking with it the grime and exhaustion of too many weeks on the move.

He tilted his head back, working the small amount of shampoo through his hair, closing his eyes as the scent filled the small space — simple, clean, and faintly floral. For a few precious minutes, he let himself forget everything outside the walls of the cabin. No sickness. No gunfire. No static-filled radio whispering secrets he didn’t want to hear. Just the heat, and the sound of running water.

When he finally stepped out, the mirror was fogged, his breath ghosting across the glass. He wiped a hand across it, studying his reflection: the sharp lines of his face, the scruff that had grown in uneven patches, the eyes that looked older than he remembered. He sighed softly. It was strange seeing a version of himself that wasn’t covered in dirt or blood or distance.

By the time he pushed open the bedroom door, the cabin had gone quiet again. The faint hum of the generator outside and the low crackle of the fire in the next room were the only sounds left.

Addy was already asleep, her hair still damp and curling slightly against the pillow. The faint scent of soap and warmth lingered in the air, soft and human and home. Sawyer paused in the doorway, watching her for a long moment. There was something grounding about her presence: the way she breathed, the way her hand was tucked under her chin, the way she’d managed to find peace even for a few hours in this world that had forgotten what peace was.

He moved quietly across the room and slipped beneath the covers, careful not to wake her. The bed creaked faintly under his weight as he drew close, his body instinctively curling around hers. She stirred slightly, making a small sound in her sleep but not pulling away.

Sawyer let himself breathe her in, the clean scent of her hair, the warmth of her skin against his chest. His hand found her waist, resting there lightly, protective yet gentle.

He pressed his lips to the curve of her neck, his voice a soft whisper against her skin. “I love you, 2B,” he murmured, the words feeling strange but right. For a heartbeat, he thought she hadn’t heard.

Then, half-asleep, she mumbled back, “I love you too, soldier man.”

He smiled, a quiet, tired smile that reached his eyes for the first time in what felt like years.

Outside, the snow drifted softly against the window.

Fifteen

Could Be

She was warm, warmer than she’d been in days, wrapped in Sawyer’s arms, his body a fortress against the bitter chill that had seeped into her bones since the world ended. His chest rose and fell against her back in a metronome rhythm, steady and slow, and the soft brush of his breath warmed the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck, sending pleasant shivers down her spine. His arm draped over her middle, heavy and protective like an anchor keeping her from drifting away, and his calloused fingers were laced lightly through hers, their hands fitting together like weathered puzzle pieces.

For a long time, she didn’t move. She remained there, taking in the calm pattern of his breaths and the soft breeze on the walls.

It hit her all at once: how strange and beautiful it was that this man, the gruff, closed-off neighbor she’d barely spoken to a few weeks ago, had somehow become her anchor in a world gone to hell. The cranky guy who used to avoid eye contact in the hallway was now the reason she was safe enough to close her eyes.