With only five minutes more of hiking through overgrown trails and patches of sunlight filtering through the trees, Xenia and the group came upon another small cabin—weathered, mossy, and tucked away as though the forest itself was trying to hide it.
"There are people who live here," Rico said, wiping his brow. "A blind old lady and her granddaughter."
Xenia paused at the foot of the clearing. "Do you know what happened to them?"
Rico glanced at Anna, who looked uncharacteristically hesitant.
"Irah is my cousin," Anna answered finally. Her voice dropped into a softer tone than any of them had heard from her before. "Her daughter… she died while giving birth to Cecil. So it's been just the two of them ever since. Irah's blind now. Weaving is how she earns a living, and Cecil—well, she finds the materials. Palm fibers, banana stalks, buri, and sometimes even old curtains or dried seaweed if they're desperate."
Rafe adjusted his grip on his pack. "Let's meet them."
They walked quietly toward the cabin. Outside, a girl—about fourteen years old—stood barefoot on the wooden porch, holding a bundle of stripped fiber and dried vines. Her hands were busy tying knots, likely for weaving mats or baskets. When she saw them, her body stiffened with caution.
"Why are you here?" the girl asked. Her tone was defensive, but her eyes widened when she saw a familiar face.
"Cecil… it's me," Anna said softly.
The change was instant. Cecil's shoulders dropped, her grip loosened, and a cautious smile began to form. "Grandma! Anna is here!"
Xenia blinked, caught off guard by the tenderness in Anna's voice. The usual sharp-tongued woman now sounded like someone who used to sing lullabies.
"And who are they?" Cecil asked, eyeing Xenia and Rafe.
"They're… friends," Anna said simply. "People I trust. And we need to talk."
Inside the small, dim cabin, they met Old Irah. She sat cross-legged on a bamboo mat, with a loom set up beside her. Her long gray hair was tied into a loose braid, and her hands, though knotted with age, still moved delicately over unfinished weaving. Her eyes were clouded with blindness, but they flickered toward the door as if she could still feel the light changing.
"Irah," Anna said, kneeling beside her. "It's me, Anna."
"My dear," Irah breathed, her voice trembling. "Is it really you?"
"Yes. We came here because things have changed, Irah. Terribly changed."
Irah turned her head slightly. "How do you mean?"
Anna looked to Xenia, who gently stepped forward and explained the situation in calm, clear terms. She told them about the outbreak, about the infected people—zombies—that now roamed parts of the island. She described the refuge they'd built at Gabriel's land, the fencing, the patrols, and the need to find every living person and bring them to safety before it was too late.
"I don't understand all of it," Irah admitted after a moment. "But I understand danger. And I understand the need to survive."
Cecil listened with wide eyes. She'd never heard the word "zombie" before. She had grown up isolated from technology, from TV, even from books about monsters. She whispered softly, "Is it like a sickness?"
"Yes," Xenia said carefully. "A sickness that spreads through bites. People change. They become something… else. And once it happens, there's no going back."
The room fell into silence. Then, Irah broke it gently.
"Cecil," she said, turning toward her granddaughter, "fetch water from the well, please. Our guests may want to wash up."
Cecil nodded and stepped out of the cabin, still holding her bundle of weaving materials.
As soon as she was gone, Irah's voice dropped. She began to cry.
"I have prayed every morning," she whispered, "that someone would come for Cecil. That someone kind, someone capable, would find her. I am old, Anna. Too old. My body is too weak to walk now, too weak to keep her safe. I cannot carry her through danger. I cannot even see her face anymore. But I know the day of my last breath is near. I can feel it."
Anna reached for her cousin's hands. "Don't say that."
"I must." Irah's voice trembled. "That is why I am asking you, Anna. Take her with you. Raise her. Guide her. Let her live. That is all I want."
Tears welled in Anna's eyes, but she nodded. "I promise. She will be safe with me."
Unknown to them, Cecil had returned quietly with a bucket of water and had heard the tail end of the conversation. She stood frozen at the door, tears slowly rolling down her cheeks. She stepped forward, water sloshing in the bucket.
"I'll go with you," she said softly. "But only if Grandma comes too."
Everyone turned to her.
"I don't want to leave her here," Cecil continued, voice trembling. "Please. We can take her, right? She can stay in our new home too."
Xenia gave a faint smile. "We were never going to leave her behind, Cecil. Of course she'll come with us."
With that, the group began packing. Rafe, tall and sturdy, volunteered to carry Irah on his back with a woven blanket used as a sling. Anna gathered the few personal belongings Irah had—extra fabric, tools, dried herbs—and tied them together with cord. Cecil moved quickly, gathering thread, materials, and the family's only oil lamp. Rico helped secure everything with knots.
As they made their way back through the forest, the sky began to deepen into afternoon orange. The air smelled of leaf mold and hope.
"We'll be sleeping outside tonight," Xenia said, once they were nearing the trail's end. "Gabriel's house is full."
"I expected as much," Anna muttered.
"We'll fix that soon," Xenia added. "We're building a house for the Wild Man tomorrow. But now… I'm expanding the list."
She counted on her fingers. "One house for Nestor. One for Tenorio. One for Marga. One for Rafe. One for me. And another for Irah and Cecil."
"You're planning a village," Rafe said with a smirk.
"No," Xenia said, smiling faintly. "I'm planning a future."
Behind them, Cecil walked beside Anna, her hand tightly holding her cousin's. Irah, swaying gently on Rafe's back, whispered blessings to the wind.
And for the first time in days, it felt like their strange, stitched-together family was beginning to make sense.