Journal Entry

Four in the morning belongs to the people keeping everyone else alive.

It belongs to cold coffee, frozen boots, quiet doors, and conversations nobody has enough energy to start.

Maggie gets up with me now.

I never asked her to.

She never offered.

The first morning after lockdown, I sat up and found her already pulling on her boots. She has done it every morning since.

We still haven't talked about Christmas.

There was a kiss.

Then a horde.

Then bodies.

Then a man standing in the trees telling me he intends to kill us.

Maybe feelings have to wait their turn now.

A week after the attack, James woke at exactly four in the morning without needing the alarm tucked beneath his cot.

The bunker was dark except for the narrow strip of emergency lighting running along the floor, casting enough of a glow to keep people from breaking their necks without providing enough light to wake anyone who had managed to sleep through the constant hum of the ventilation system.

Seven days of sleeping underground had changed the space completely.

The few actual bedrooms belonged to the children now. Harry and Jonas shared one, while Elliott had been given the smallest room because Karen claimed she needed the most sleep and James claimed everyone else needed protection from her elbows. The adults slept in the open living areas on military cots arranged wherever they could fit without blocking doors, storage rooms, or emergency routes.

John and Karen slept closest to the laboratory entrance.

Anderson had claimed a corner near the medical storage room.

James and Maggie slept on opposite sides of the common area, though the word opposite had become increasingly generous as more supplies migrated downstairs and the walkable space between their cots narrowed.

Nobody had privacy anymore.

Nobody complained.

The bunker was safer than the cabin, and after seeing the man in the woods, safety had become more important than walls that looked like home.

James sat up slowly and listened.

John snored softly two cots away, one arm hanging toward the floor. Karen had turned onto her side sometime during the night and stolen most of his blanket. Anderson slept with his glasses still resting crookedly across his face and a notebook open against his chest, which meant he had fallen asleep while pretending he was only resting his eyes.

Nothing unusual.

Nothing moving.

Nothing breathing that shouldn't have been.

James pushed aside his blanket.

Across the room, Maggie was already awake.

She sat on the edge of her cot pulling on thick wool socks, her hair gathered into a loose knot at the back of her head. When she looked up and caught him watching, neither of them spoke.

They had developed an entire language without sound.

James nodded toward the ladder.

Maggie nodded back.

Boots.

Thermal layers.

Heavy coats.

Gloves.

Radio.

Knife.

James slung his bow over his shoulder and checked his quiver by touch. Maggie lifted her crossbow from beneath her cot and quietly inspected the safety before fastening the strap across her chest.

Neither mentioned the kiss yet.

They hadn't mentioned it once in the week since Christmas.

There had been no time.

The morning after the kiss, the horde had come.

Then the cleanup.

Then Maggie had broken apart in the kitchen after Harry mentioned Ozempic, all the grief she had carried since shooting her mother finally spilling into the open.

After that came lockdown.

Cots.

Schedules.

Three perimeter patrols a day.

Weapons training.

Camera checks.

Nobody wandering outside.

Nobody sleeping aboveground.

Feelings had been pushed somewhere behind food, security, firewood, blood exposure, and the possibility that another living person wanted their home badly enough to murder for it.

James wasn't sure whether he and Maggie were avoiding the conversation or simply waiting for the world to stop demanding something from them.

The world had shown no interest in cooperating.

Maggie reached the ladder first and looked back at him.

Ready?

James checked the room once more before following.

Ready.

The hatch opened into James's old bedroom closet.

For the first few nights, climbing through it had felt strange, like they were breaking into a life they had abandoned upstairs. Now it was routine.

James climbed into the dark bedroom, moved aside, and offered Maggie a hand. She ignored it and climbed the rest of the way herself, though she put one hand briefly against his shoulder when her boot slipped on the last rung.

Neither acknowledged that either.

The cabin above them was cold.

They no longer kept the wood stove burning through the night unless someone was posted upstairs, both to conserve firewood and to prevent the glow from advertising that people were awake. Frost had formed along the corners of the windows, and the faint Christmas decorations still hanging around the room looked less cheerful without the lights.

The tree remained beside the fireplace.

Nobody had discussed taking it down.

James crossed to the security monitors while Maggie moved toward the stove and stirred the ashes, checking for enough heat to restart the fire later.

North fence.

Clear.

Eastern trail.

Clear.

Garden.

Clear.

Lake.

Clear.

Camera Seven.

Clear.

Every feed showed the same thing it had shown for seven days.

Snow.

Trees.

Nothing.

James trusted nothing less every time he saw it.

Maggie stood beside him and looked over the screens.

"Anything?" she whispered.

"No."

She pulled on her gloves.

"That's still not comforting."

"No."

James checked the time, then lifted the radio from its charger and clipped it to his coat.

The adults had decided the morning patrol would happen before sunrise because the frozen ground made tracks easier to identify and because anyone watching the cabin might assume they were still asleep underground. The afternoon patrol focused on cameras and mechanical systems. The final patrol happened before dark and included a full fence inspection.

James and Maggie did all three.

John accompanied them when larger repairs were required, but Karen wanted someone armed at the bunker at all times, and Anderson had proven only moderately useful with anything that didn't involve a microscope or emergency medicine.

James checked the rifle beside the front door but left it in place.

The bow would be quieter.

Maggie adjusted the strap on her crossbow.

He looked at her.

She looked back.

For the first time that morning, he spoke at a normal volume.

"Ready?"

"No."

"Good."

James unlocked the door. Then stopped, he turned to Maggie, looked at her for three seconds before bowing his head to hers and getting a kiss. Maggie was frozen to her spot as James opened the door to the cold, which really froze her to her spot.

Stepping outside, James closed the door carefully behind them.

The sky remained completely dark, though a faint gray line had begun forming over the lake. Their boots sank into the old patrol trail, where repeated walks had compressed the snow into a narrow path around the cabin.

For the first hundred yards, neither of them spoke.

They rarely did anymore.

The early patrol demanded listening.

Snow compressed beneath their boots.

Wind moved over the trees.

Somewhere beyond the fence, a branch cracked beneath the weight of ice.

James stopped.

Maggie stopped with him.

They waited.

Nothing followed.

James continued walking.

Maggie fell into step beside him.

They reached the north fence first. The repairs from the horde remained ugly but functional, new lumber bracing shattered posts and fresh wire crossing older sections where the dead had nearly pushed through. The ground around it was still blackened where they had burned the bodies after finding them frozen solid against the earth.

Snow had covered most of the damage.

It had not covered the smell completely.

James checked the first tension line, running one gloved hand along the wire while Maggie watched the trees.

"Still good," he said.

"Camera?"

"Next."

They continued.

A week earlier, Maggie would have filled some of the silence with a joke, a question, or an observation about how much she hated winter before sunrise.

Now she listened.

She checked behind them without being reminded.

She watched high branches as well as the ground.

She no longer carried the crossbow casually over one shoulder. It stayed low across her chest, ready without looking dramatic.

The horde had changed her.

It had changed all of them.

They were unsure whether that was good or terrible.

Probably both.

They reached the first camera, and James crouched beneath the housing while Maggie brought up the feed on the tablet.

"Working?" he asked.

"You're upside down."

"That means it's working."

"You look terrible upside down."

"I look terrible from every angle."

"Good. Self-awareness."

The exchange felt almost normal.

James glanced toward her with a devilish smile.

Maggie was looking at the tablet, but the corner of her mouth had lifted.

He returned to the camera, but not before taking her gloved hand and placing a small kiss in her palm.

The battery remained full.

Wiring intact.

Housing sealed.

No signs of tampering.

He stood and brushed snow from his knees.

"Nothing."

"Maybe he's gone."

James looked toward the trees.

"No."

"You're very certain for someone who hasn't seen anything in seven days."

"He didn't go through all that trouble to leave."

Maggie lowered the tablet.

"You don't know he led the horde."

"Yes, I do."

"You believe it."

"I saw him watching."

"That doesn't prove he brought them."

"He made sure I saw him after."

Maggie said nothing.

James continued down the trail.

After a few seconds, she followed.

The argument had happened before, though never loudly. Maggie believed the scout had likely caused the attack, but she refused to treat suspicion as proof. James knew that was reasonable.

He hated it anyway.

The man had stood hundreds of yards away while the family fought for their lives. He had watched children kill for the first time. He had waited until the last Sick fell, then slowly drawn one finger across his throat before disappearing into the trees.

That was not coincidence.

That was ownership.

A declaration that the cabin should belong to someone else.

They reached the eastern side of the property as the first hint of morning light spread between the trees. The woods shifted from black to blue, trunks appearing one by one through the darkness.

James checked a bell trap.

Maggie checked the tablet.

Nothing.

They crossed the narrow frozen creek.

Nothing.

They reached Camera Seven.

Still working.

Still connected.

Still watching an empty stretch of woods.

James climbed the ladder, opened the weatherproof housing, and inspected the cable that had started all of this.

No damage.

No loosened terminal.

No sign that another hand had touched it.

He latched the cover and climbed down.

Maggie stood with her back to him, scanning the trees.

James folded the ladder.

Neither moved.

The silence felt different there.

It always did.

Maybe because it was where they had first admitted feeling watched. Maybe because James knew someone had stood close enough to unplug the camera without setting off the alarms. Maybe because the man could be watching them from the same place right now.

Maggie finally looked over.

"What?"

James frowned.

"I didn't say anything."

"You're making the face."

"What face?"

"The one where you're somewhere else."

He rested the folded ladder against the tree.

"Do you ever think about what would've happened if you hadn't come here?"

Maggie's expression changed.

The question had come out before James knew he was asking it.

She looked toward the cabin, though it was hidden behind the trees.

"Every day."

James nodded slowly.

"I think about it too."

"Why?"

He looked at her.

For a moment, words failed him completely.

There were too many answers.

Because she had become the person he looked for first when he entered a room.

Because every job felt easier when she did it beside him.

Because Elliott listened to her.

Because Harry watched them both like they were proof growing up might still lead somewhere.

Because Jonas had decided James belonged to him, and Maggie never seemed surprised by it.

Because when James imagined the cabin without her, the entire place felt emptier than it had before she arrived.

He looked down at the snow between their boots.

"I couldn't do this life without you."

Maggie went completely still.

James almost tried to take it back.

Not because it wasn't true.

Because it was too true, and saying it aloud made the weight of it impossible to hide behind jokes, chores, or the apocalypse.

He forced himself to look at her.

Maggie's eyes had gone wide.

He waited.

She opened her mouth.

Nothing came out.

For once, Maggie Anderson had no answer.

James felt panic beginning to crawl into his chest.

"I didn't mean..."

Maggie stepped closer.

James stopped.

She reached up, one gloved hand resting briefly against the side of his coat, then rose onto her toes and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

The warmth of it remained after she pulled away.

She leaned closer, her mouth near his ear.

"Ditto."

James stood frozen.

Maggie stepped back.

Her cheeks were pink, though he couldn't tell whether it came from the cold or what she had just done.

Probably both.

For several seconds, neither spoke.

Then James frowned.

"Did you just quote Ghost?"

Maggie adjusted her crossbow strap and started walking.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You absolutely quoted Ghost."

"I don't know what Ghost is."

"That's a terrible lie."

"I've never lied in my life."

James picked up the ladder and followed her.

"You lied yesterday about eating the last Pop-Tart."

"That was survival."

"You hid the wrapper under Harry's pillow."

"That was strategy."

James laughed.

The sound startled him.

It was the first real laugh he had managed since Christmas.

Maggie glanced over her shoulder, smiling.

Neither mentioned the kiss on the roof or James' impulsive kiss.

Neither needed to.

Not yet.

The walk back felt different anyway.

Not lighter exactly. The woods remained dangerous. The scout remained somewhere beyond the fence. The horde had still happened.

But something between them had settled.

Not defined.

Not solved.

Just understood.

At the bunker, the children were awake.

James heard them before he opened the hatch.

The repeated thud of something striking wood.

A pause.

Another thud.

Then Karen's voice.

"Elliott, slower."

"I am going slower."

"You threw three knives at once."

"That was slower than four."

James closed his eyes.

Maggie smiled.

"Home."

"Unfortunately."

They climbed down.

The bunker had become louder in the hour they were gone. Harry and Jonas were dressed and eating oatmeal at the common table, though Harry's bowl sat almost untouched beside the notebook where he recorded his practice scores. Elliott stood at a makeshift target Karen and John had installed against the far reinforced wall, three throwing knives laid out on a towel beside her.

John sat nearby restringing Harry's bow.

Anderson made coffee.

Karen held a stopwatch.

Nobody had told the children to practice.

That was the part James hated most.

Before the horde, training had been exciting.

Harry wanted to use a bow because James used one.

Jonas wanted a crossbow because he wanted something that belonged to him.

Elliott liked knives because throwing them made Karen nervous.

Now Harry recorded every shot.

Jonas practiced loading and unloading until his fingers went numb.

Elliott timed how quickly she could reach her knives from different places in the bunker.

They understood.

Far too young, they finally understood that weapons were not games or privileges.

They were the narrow difference between being alive and becoming the thing someone else had to burn from the ground.

Harry looked up first.

"Anything?"

James set down the ladder.

"No."

Harry nodded and returned to his notebook.

No disappointment.

No relief.

Just information.

Maggie watched him for a moment before crossing the room.

"How many?" she asked.

"Fifty."

"Shots?"

Harry nodded.

"How many hit?"

"Forty-one."

"That's good."

"It isn't good enough."

Maggie looked toward James.

He had heard it too.

She sat beside her brother.

"Your arm is shaking."

"I'm fine."

"You're done."

"I have nine more."

"You're done."

Harry frowned.

"What if I have nine more coming at me?"

The room went quiet.

John stopped working on the bowstring.

Karen lowered the stopwatch.

Harry looked around, suddenly aware that everyone had heard him.

His face reddened.

"I'm just saying."

Maggie reached for his hand.

"You keep practicing when your arm is shaking, you teach yourself bad form."

Harry looked at James for confirmation.

James nodded.

"She's right."

Harry looked down at the notebook.

"What if I'm tired when it happens?"

"You probably will be," James said.

Karen shot him a look, but he continued.

"That's why you learn the right way first. You don't make yourself worse trying to prove you're ready."

Harry considered that.

Then closed the notebook.

"Okay."

Maggie squeezed his hand once.

Jonas swallowed the last bite of oatmeal and stood.

"My turn."

Anderson pointed at the bowl.

"Your turn to wash that."

Jonas looked personally betrayed.

"The world could end while I'm washing dishes."

"The world already ended," Elliott said.

"That's my point."

Anderson handed him the bowl.

"Sink."

Jonas muttered something beneath his breath and obeyed.

James removed his coat and hung it beside the hatch.

Karen watched him.

"Report."

"Everything is working. No tracks. No tampering."

"Camera Seven?"

"Still connected."

"Fence?"

"North brace is holding. Eastern wire needs tightening before the afternoon patrol."

Karen wrote it down on the clipboard she kept beside the table.

"Anything else?"

James glanced toward Maggie.

She was helping Harry massage feeling back into his fingers.

"No."

Maggie looked up.

Their eyes met.

Her mouth twitched.

James turned away before his mother noticed.

Too late.

Karen looked between them.

Then at James's face.

Then at Maggie.

Her eyebrows rose slightly.

James walked toward the coffee before she could ask anything.

His mother remained mercifully silent.

The morning passed beneath the bunker's artificial light.

School happened at the common table.

Karen taught Elliott and Jonas mathematics while Anderson worked with Harry on biology. John moved between maintenance projects, repairing a radio one minute and helping James mark the new patrol findings on the map the next.

Maggie updated the food inventory.

James pretended to concentrate.

He failed.

His cheek still felt warm.

Every time he looked toward Maggie, he found her already looking at him.

Neither smiled openly.

That would have invited questions.

Elliott noticed anyway.

Of course she did.

"What happened to your face?"

James looked up.

"What?"

"You keep touching your cheek."

He immediately lowered his hand.

"I do not."

"You just did."

"I had an itch."

Elliott narrowed her eyes.

Maggie dropped her pencil.

Harry looked between them.

Jonas stopped pretending to read.

Karen became deeply interested in her coffee.

John looked delighted.

Anderson looked alarmed without understanding why.

Elliott pointed at Maggie.

"Did you do something?"

Maggie kept her eyes on the inventory sheet.

"No."

The answer came far too quickly.

Elliott gasped.

"You did."

"I didn't."

"You're lying."

"Elliott," James warned.

His sister's eyes widened further.

"You kissed him again."

The entire bunker went silent.

James closed his eyes.

Maggie covered her face with both hands.

Harry started laughing first.

Jonas followed.

John leaned back in his chair, smiling with the satisfaction of a man whose suspicions had finally received legal confirmation.

Anderson looked at Maggie.

"Again?"

Maggie's head snapped up.

"That's the part you're focusing on?"

"There was a first time?"

"Dad."

"When?"

"Dad."

"Where?"

"Please stop."

Karen lifted one hand.

"Everyone leave them alone."

James looked toward her gratefully.

Then she smiled.

"For now."

"Traitor," he muttered.

Elliott beamed.

The afternoon patrol began at noon.

This time John came with them to help tighten the eastern wire and inspect the damage around the outer alarm system.

They moved faster with three people.

John worked without asking questions about whatever Elliott had announced during breakfast, though his silence carried an unbearable amount of amusement.

James lasted twenty minutes.

"Say it."

John looked up from the wire.

"Say what?"

"Whatever you're trying not to say."

"I'm not trying not to say anything."

Maggie snorted.

James pointed at her.

"You stay out of this."

"I'm already in it."

John pulled the wire tight.

"She's got you there."

"Both of you are terrible."

John secured the wire and stood.

"I'm happy for you."

James froze.

The teasing disappeared from his father's voice completely.

John looked toward Maggie.

"Both of you."

Maggie's expression softened.

"Thank you."

James glanced toward the trees.

"We haven't really talked about anything."

"You don't have to rush."

John packed the tools into the bag.

"You also don't have to pretend nothing happened."

James looked at Maggie.

She shrugged.

"Your father is disturbingly reasonable."

"Don't encourage him."

John smiled and lifted the tool bag.

They continued along the fence.

At the far eastern corner, John stopped.

The change in him was immediate.

One second he was smiling.

The next he was crouched beside the snow.

James moved closer.

"What?"

John held up one hand.

Wait.

Maggie raised her crossbow and turned toward the trees.

John brushed a thin layer of fresh powder aside.

Beneath it was the shallow edge of a boot print.

James's stomach tightened.

The print sat just outside the fence.

Not animal.

Not theirs.

A human heel had compressed the older snow before the most recent dusting covered it.

John examined the edges.

"Two days," he said.

"Maybe three."

James stared into the woods.

"He came back."

Maggie moved closer without lowering the crossbow.

"How do you know it isn't from the attack?"

"Wrong snowfall," John answered. "This happened after."

James followed the direction of the print.

Nothing.

The scout had stepped close enough to inspect the repaired fence, then moved back onto harder ground where the wind had erased the rest of his trail.

John looked toward the cabin.

"He's testing the repairs."

James's hand tightened around his bow.

"I told you."

"This doesn't prove the horde."

"It proves he came back."

"Yes."

"He wants the cabin."

John stood slowly.

"Maybe."

"What else would he want?"

"I don't know."

James stepped toward the fence.

John caught his coat.

"No."

"He's close."

"He was close two days ago."

"We can follow."

"No."

James turned.

"We have a trail."

"We have one print."

"Then we find the next one."

John's grip tightened.

"And if that print is bait?"

James stopped.

The woods remained still.

Maggie looked between them.

John lowered his voice.

"You think he doesn't know we patrol?"

James said nothing.

"He has watched long enough to know who leaves the cabin. He knows the routes. He knows the cameras. He knows you're angry."

"That doesn't mean he knows me."

John looked directly at his son.

"He knows enough."

The words landed harder than James wanted to admit.

Maggie lowered the crossbow slightly.

"We should go back."

James looked at her.

She did not look afraid.

She looked certain.

Not because she wanted to retreat.

Because she understood exactly what John was saying.

The scout had left one print where they would find it.

Maybe by mistake.

Maybe not.

James looked into the trees one last time before stepping away from the fence.

"Fine."

John released his coat.

They returned to the cabin without speaking.

The evening patrol showed nothing else.

No more tracks.

No damaged alarms.

No movement on the cameras.

The single footprint was enough.

Lockdown tightened.

Karen ordered the children to remain inside the bunker entirely.

John added a second wire alarm along the east fence.

Anderson moved emergency medical supplies into the common room.

James reviewed the camera feeds three times before dinner and twice afterward.

Nothing.

The scout had come close enough to see the damage he caused.

Close enough to inspect their repairs.

Close enough to leave a print.

Then vanished again.

At nine, everyone settled onto their cots.

Lights dimmed.

The bunker quieted slowly, conversations fading beneath blankets until only the ventilation system remained.

James lay on his back staring at the concrete ceiling.

Across the room, Maggie turned onto her side.

He felt her looking at him before he looked over.

She lifted two fingers to her cheek.

James smiled.

Ditto.

Then she closed her eyes.

James waited until her breathing settled before quietly climbing from his cot.

He moved toward the ladder.

John's voice stopped him.

"Where are you going?"

James turned.

His father remained beneath the blanket, eyes closed.

"Checking the monitors."

"You checked them twenty minutes ago."

"I know."

John opened one eye.

"You planning to go outside?"

"No."

The answer was true.

For tonight.

John studied him before closing his eye again.

"Wake me if you see anything."

James nodded.

"I will."

He climbed into the cabin.

The upstairs rooms felt abandoned now.

Cold.

Silent.

The remains of Christmas still hanging where everyone had left them.

James sat in front of the monitors and rewound the last forty-eight hours of footage from the eastern cameras.

Snow.

A rabbit.

Snow.

Wind moving through bare branches.

A deer crossing near the creek.

Snow.

He accelerated the footage.

Hours disappeared in minutes.

Nothing.

Then Camera Six flickered.

James stopped the recording.

Rewound.

Played it again.

A dark shape crossed the edge of the frame.

Not enough to identify.

A shoulder.

Part of a coat.

Gone in less than a second.

James leaned closer.

The timestamp matched the night before.

Three forty-seven in the morning.

Thirteen minutes before he and Maggie began their patrol.

The scout had been there while they slept.

James replayed it.

Again.

Again.

Again.

On the fourth viewing, he noticed the figure had not been walking past the camera.

He had stopped just outside its field of view.

Waiting.

Watching the cabin.

Watching for James and Maggie to climb into the morning darkness.

James froze the image.

The shape remained blurry.

Faceless.

Patient.

He looked toward the window, though the glass reflected only the dark cabin behind him.

Somewhere outside, the man knew their routine.

Tomorrow morning, James would wake at four.

Maggie would wake with him.

They would dress in silence.

They would climb through the hatch.

They would step outside.

And the scout would be waiting to see what they did next.

James rested one hand against the bow beside his chair.

"I know you're out there," he whispered. The beginning of a trap idea starts to play through his head.

The camera feed remained still.

For now.