The convoy had been rolling for over two hours, engines humming low beneath the weight of silence. Dust trailed behind them like ghosts of the VIRA Complex, now buried in rubble. The road ahead was cracked and uneven, flanked by skeletal trees and rusted signs pointing to towns that no longer existed.
Then the van jerked once—then sputtered—and finally rolled to a stop on the shoulder of the road. Derek climbed out of the driver's seat, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. "That's it," he muttered.
One by one, the rest of the convoy slowed and halted behind him. Dylan eased the SilentHawk Hybrid to a stop, boots crunching gravel as he kicked the stand down. Yve remained seated behind him, arms still loosely wrapped around his waist, her eyes scanning the horizon with quiet tension.
David killed the engine of the first military truck. Dr. Jenkins looked up from the passenger seat, his fingers still curled around the handle of his briefcase.
Lucas stepped out of the second truck, Taylor and Elena watching from inside. He approached Derek, his expression already tight. "What's going on?"
Derek gestured toward the van. "Outta fumes," he said flatly. "Gauge dipped just before we hit that last bend. I coasted as far as I could."
Lucas exhaled through his nose. "Can we siphon from the trucks?"
"Maybe," Derek said, "but even if we do, we're not gonna make it far. And we've only got a few hours before dark."
Maurice stepped down from the third truck, Lara and Joan following close behind. "So what's the move?" he asked, voice low.
Derek looked around—at the cracked road, the overgrown fields, the distant silhouette of a crumbling overpass. "We need shelter. Fast. Somewhere we can hole up for the night and figure out fuel in the morning."
Lucas nodded, already scanning the treeline. "We'll split up. Small teams. Check the area. If we don't find anything in thirty minutes, we circle back here."
Dylan swung a leg off the SilentHawk, his jaw tight. "We better find somethin' with walls and a roof. I ain't sleepin' under the stars with shriekers sniffin' around."
Lucas turned to the group. "Grab weapons, flashlights, radios. Stay sharp. We don't know what's out here."
Taylor stepped out of the truck, brushing dust from her jeans as she moved toward the van. Elena followed close behind, her eyes already scanning for Lily and Tyler. The two kids sat quietly in the backseat, wide-eyed but calm. Elena offered them a small, reassuring smile as Taylor crouched beside the door. "You two okay?" Taylor asked gently.
Tyler nodded. "Just tired."
Lily clutched her stuffed dolphin tighter but didn't speak. Elena reached in and brushed a strand of hair from her face. "We'll find somewhere safe soon. Promise."
Meanwhile, Lucas stood near the front of the halted convoy, arms crossed, eyes on the horizon. "We need options," he said. "Fast. We've got daylight, but not much fuel. We can't sit here."
David stepped forward, voice firm. "There's a military base about fifteen miles east. If it's intact, it'll have fuel, shelter, maybe even supplies."
Maurice scoffed. "And if it's not? If it's overrun or collapsed like VIRA? Then we've wasted what little fuel we've got and walked ourselves into a death trap."
David turned to him, jaw tight. "So what—you'd rather sit out here in the open? Wait for nightfall and hope the shriekers don't find us?"
"I'd rather not gamble with everyone's lives," Maurice snapped. "You're being reckless."
David stepped closer. "I'm being realistic. We need shelter. We need fuel. That base is our best shot."
Maurice squared his shoulders. "Or our last mistake."
The air between them thickened. Joan and Lara exchanged uneasy glances. Dr. Jenkins lingered near the truck, silent but watching. Dylan leaned against the SilentHawk, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, saying nothing—but ready to step in if fists started flying.
Then Elena's voice cut through it all—sharp, emotional, and raw. "Stop it!" she shouted, stepping forward, her eyes wide with frustration. "Just stop fighting!"
Everyone turned.
"We've lost enough already," she said, her voice trembling. "We don't have a base. We don't have a home. All we've got left is each other—and those kids." She pointed toward the van, where Tyler and Lily sat watching through the window. "They come first. We make sure they're safe before we start tearing each other apart."
The silence that followed was heavier than the argument. Maurice looked down, jaw tight. "You're right," he muttered. "I'm sorry."
David let out a long breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm just tense. I didn't mean to start anything. I just… I want what's best for everyone."
From the side of the road, Ethan stepped forward, squinting at something in the distance. "Hey," he said, pointing. "That sign—look."
The group turned to where he was gesturing. A rusted, half-bent road sign stood crooked near the edge of the brush. The paint was faded, but the words were still legible:
HILLSVIEW TOWN – 3.2 KM
"Could be worth checking out," Ethan said. "Might be abandoned. Might be something."
Lucas stepped closer, eyes narrowing at the sign. "It's close. We've got enough fuel to make it."
Lara crossed her arms, nodding. "It might be our only shot. We can't afford to sit here hoping something better shows up."
The group exchanged glances. One by one, they nodded. "Alright," Lucas said. "We check it out."
Before they moved, David and Maurice worked together to siphon fuel from the military trucks, filling a jerry can and topping off Derek's van. No one spoke much during the process, but the tension had softened—just enough.
Once the van was fueled, everyone loaded back into their vehicles. Engines rumbled to life, headlights cutting through the dust as the convoy turned toward the cracked road leading to Hillsview Town.
The road curved gently, and then—like a curtain lifting—the town came into view.
Hillsview Town. True to its name, the small town sat nestled in a shallow valley, with a breathtaking view of the distant mountains. The peaks rose like jagged teeth against the sky, and though the sun was still high, it was clear that when it did set, it would do so right behind those ridges.
The convoy slowed to a crawl, then stopped at a safe distance just outside the town's edge. Engines cut. Doors creaked open. The air was still. Lucas stepped out first, scanning the quiet streets. "We check it first. Make sure it's clear."
Lara nodded, already slinging her rifle over her shoulder. Ethan followed, checking the magazine on his sidearm. David cracked his knuckles, tense but focused. Dylan swung off the SilentHawk, eyes narrowed, and Yve stepped down behind him, her movements careful, deliberate.
The six of them—Lucas, Lara, Ethan, David, Dylan, and Yve—set off toward the town, weapons ready, footsteps soft against the gravel. Behind them, the others stayed with the vehicles, forming a perimeter around the supplies and keeping watch over the kids.
The town was quiet. Still, they moved slowly, checking buildings one by one—storefronts with shattered windows, houses with doors ajar, a diner with overturned chairs and faded menus still taped to the glass. No movement. No sound but the wind.
Lucas, Dylan, and Yve drifted a little deeper into the town, past a rusted playground and a half-collapsed pharmacy. The silence between them was broken only by the crunch of gravel underfoot.
"What if this place isn't safe?" Dylan muttered, glancing at Lucas. "What's the backup plan?"
Lucas didn't answer right away. He kept his eyes forward, scanning the rooftops. "Then we move on. Again."
Dylan exhaled through his nose. "We're running out of 'again.'"
Yve didn't speak. She walked a few paces ahead, her eyes flicking from building to building, her breath shallow. Then something caught her eye.
A body. A shrieker, long dead, slumped against the curb. Its chest was torn open, ribs exposed, dried blood crusted around its mouth. But what drew her attention wasn't the corpse—it was the water bottle lying beside it.
Still sealed. The cap intact. A miracle. She crouched slowly, checking the label. No cracks. No punctures. She picked it up, brushing off the dust, and looked back toward the convoy in the distance.
Maybe the kids could use it.
Lucas and Dylan moved in a slow sweep, checking alleyways and doorways, their conversation low and tense. "If this place is clear, we might be able to hold it for a few days," Lucas said, eyes scanning the rooftops.
Dylan grunted. "If."
Then— Screams.
Sharp. Human. Desperate.
Both men froze.
Another scream—closer this time, followed by the unmistakable sound of gunfire.
They didn't hesitate. Weapons up, boots pounding pavement, they sprinted toward the sound, Yve close behind. They rounded the corner of the old bank building—and stopped cold.
A man was on the ground, shriekers tearing into him, blood pooling fast. Across the street, a woman was firing shot after shot, her back pressed to a crumbling wall as more shriekers closed in. Her clip was nearly empty. You could hear it in the rhythm of her fire—panicked, uneven.
And then—another girl, younger, sprinting down the street, shriekers chasing her like wolves.
Lucas raised his rifle. "We've got to move!"
Dylan turned to Yve. "Stay behind me. Raise your gun if they get close."
Lucas was already charging in, firing at the shriekers closing in on the woman against the wall. She was nearly out of ammo, her hands shaking as she reloaded with trembling fingers.
Dylan stepped forward, ready to cover him—then paused.
Yve hadn't raised her gun. Instead, she was staring at it. Then slowly, she shook her head "No," she whispered.
She reached into her pack and pulled out the water bottle—the one she'd picked up earlier. Dylan glanced back, confused.
"What are you doing?" he barked.
Yve didn't answer. She uncapped the bottle and, with a calmness that didn't match the chaos around them, tossed the water into the air.
The droplets scattered midair, catching the light like tiny stars.
And then— She moved her hand in a slow, fluid motion, catching the falling liquid.
Then— her sword appeared. Glowing. Silent. Real.
Yve didn't say a word. She didn't look at Dylan. Didn't explain. Didn't hesitate.
She just moved.
With her sword now in hand—born from water and will—she surged forward like a phantom, her steps light, her strikes lethal. The blade shimmered with every arc, slicing through shriekers like silk. Heads rolled. Limbs dropped. Blood sprayed in wide, crimson fans.
Dylan stood frozen for half a second, eyes wide, mouth parted. "What the hell…"
But Yve was already gone—dancing through the chaos like she belonged in it. Lucas caught the motion from the corner of his eye. He stopped mid-stride, rifle half-raised, watching as Yve cut down three shriekers in a single, fluid motion. His breath caught "What the—"
No time.
Another shrieker lunged at him, and instinct took over. He fired point-blank, the creature's skull snapping back as it crumpled to the ground. Questions could wait. Survival couldn't.
Dylan snapped out of it, jaw clenched. "Screw it."
He charged in, tomahawk in hand, the double-headed blades gleaming under the sun. He swung wide, burying one end into a shrieker's neck, then yanked it free and spun, catching another across the jaw. Bone cracked. Blood sprayed. He moved with brutal precision—less grace than Yve, but just as deadly.
The woman against the wall had just finished reloading. She fired again, dropping two shriekers with clean shots. But one broke through the line—fast, snarling, too close.
She didn't have time to aim.
Then— Thunk.
Yve's sword flew through the air like a bolt of lightning, spinning once before embedding itself clean through the shrieker's skull. The creature dropped mid-lunge, a few feet away from her.
She gasped, stunned. Yve walked forward, calm and unshaken. She gripped the hilt of her sword and pulled it free with a wet, metallic sound. No words. Just motion.
And then she was moving again—slicing, spinning, cutting down the last of them with terrifying elegance.
Lucas fired his last round and lowered his rifle, scanning the street. Clear.
Dylan stood over two bodies, chest heaving, tomahawk dripping.
Yve stood in the center of the carnage, sword in hand, blood on her face, eyes unreadable. Yve didn't wait.
The moment the last shrieker dropped, she turned and sprinted—toward the distant screams echoing down the street. Another girl. Still running. Still alive.
Dylan cursed under his breath and took off after her. "Yve—dammit—wait!"
Lucas hesitated for half a heartbeat, still reeling from what he'd just seen. But instinct kicked in. He chambered a fresh round and followed.
The woman they'd just saved—blood on her face, hands shaking—didn't hesitate either. She fell in behind them, adrenaline overriding shock.
Ahead, the girl was running full tilt down the cracked road, her breath ragged, her voice hoarse from screaming. Four shriekers were on her heels, fast and relentless. She stumbled once, caught herself, and kept going. "Help! Please—somebody!"
Yve surged forward, her speed inhuman, her movements fluid and precise. She closed the distance in seconds, her eyes locked on the shriekers.
One of them leapt—claws out, jaws wide, ready to tear into the girl's back.
Yve didn't break stride. She threw her sword.
It spun through the air like a streak of silver, slamming into the shrieker's chest mid-leap. The impact knocked it off course, sending it crashing into the pavement with a shriek of its own. It wasn't dead—but it was down.
The girl screamed again but didn't stop running. The gap between her and the pack widened.
Lucas raised his rifle and fired—one, two, three shots. Two shriekers dropped, their bodies skidding across the road.
The last one kept coming. The woman behind them raised her pistol and fired—but the shot went wide, pinging off a rusted mailbox. "Dammit," she hissed.
Dylan pushed forward, tomahawk in hand, eyes locked on the final shrieker.
Yve was already moving again, sprinting toward her fallen sword.
The chase wasn't over yet. The last shrieker lunged forward, jaws wide, inches from the girl's back—
BANG!
It dropped mid-stride, a clean shot through the skull.
Ethan stepped out from the doorway of a nearby house, lowering his pistol with steady hands. Smoke curled from the barrel as he scanned the street. "Bullseye!," he called out.
From behind him, Lara and David emerged, weapons raised, eyes wide as they took in the scene.
The girl—stumbled to a stop, her chest heaving, legs trembling. She dropped to her knees on the pavement, gasping for air, her hands braced against the ground Yve stood a few feet away, sword in hand, blood streaked across her cheek. Her breathing was calm, but her eyes were locked on Emily—watching, assessing. Dylan came up behind her, tomahawk still in hand, his gaze flicking between Yve and the girl on the ground. He didn't say anything, but his expression was tight—still processing everything. Lucas slowed to a walk, rifle lowered, his eyes scanning the street for any more movement. There was none.
Then—
"Emily!"
The woman they'd saved earlier sprinted forward, her voice cracking with relief. She dropped to her knees beside the girl, pulling her into a tight embrace "Emily, are you okay? Talk to me!"
Emily nodded weakly, still catching her breath. "I—I'm okay. I think…"
Dylan's eyes flicked from the sword in Yve's hand to her face, then back again. He stepped closer, his voice low and rough. "You alright?" he asked, patting her shoulder.
Yve gave a small nod. "Yeah. I'm fine."
The others were closing in now, their eyes bouncing between the bloodied street, the two girls huddled together, and the gleaming sword that had no business existing. Lara narrowed her eyes. "Where'd you get that sword?"
Yve hesitated—just for a second. But it was enough. Before she could speak, Dylan cut in. "Found it on the road. One of the shriekers had it. Figured it'd be better in her hands than rotting with the dead."
Lucas turned sharply, his voice edged with disbelief. "For God's sake, Dylan—stop answering for her."
Dylan's jaw tightened. "I ain't answerin' for her. I'm tellin' you what happened."
"No," Lucas said, stepping forward, his voice rising. "You're covering for her. That sword didn't come off a corpse."
"She saved our asses," Dylan snapped. "Or did you miss that while you were busy playin' hero?"
Lucas's eyes flared. "You don't know what she is."
"And you do?" Dylan stepped in, chest squared. "You wanna start pointin' fingers, do it somewhere else. She's with us."
"She's hiding something," Lucas growled. "And I know you're in it too!"
Dylan took another step, fists clenched. "Say that again."
"Alright, that's enough!" David barked, stepping between them, his voice sharp and commanding. "You two wanna beat the hell outta each other, do it after we're not surrounded by corpses."
Yve grabbed Dylan's arm, holding him back. "Don't," she said quietly.
Lara moved in beside Lucas, hand on his shoulder. "Back off, both of you. We've got bigger problems."
Ethan stood nearby, watching it all unfold with a tense frown. "Guys, maybe we save the civil war for after we're not standing in a bloodbath?"
Lucas stepped closer to Dylan, his boots crunching softly on the blood-slick pavement. He didn't look at him—his eyes were locked on Yve. "We're not done yet," he said, voice low but firm.
Dylan didn't respond. His jaw flexed, but he held his ground.
A few feet away, Ethan crouched beside Emily, offering her a steady hand. "Easy," he said gently. "You good?"
Emily nodded, still catching her breath. "Yeah… I think so." She took his hand and stood, wobbling slightly. "Thank you."
She turned, gesturing to the woman who had been firing at the shriekers. "This is my sister. Ava."
Ava stepped forward, brushing a streak of blood from her cheek. Her voice was calm, but her eyes were still wide with adrenaline. "Thanks. All of you. We wouldn't have made it without you."
Ethan gave a small smile. "We've all been there."
Yve didn't say anything. She gave a brief nod—barely more than a glance—and turned away, walking down the street without a word.
Lucas watched her go, his gaze sharp, calculating. He didn't move, but his eyes followed her every step.
Then Dylan turned and followed, his boots falling into rhythm behind hers.
Lucas finally tore his gaze away from Yve and Dylan, turning back to the two girls. His voice was steady, but there was a rough edge to it. "What were you two doing here?" he asked. "You live in this town?"
Ava shook her head. "No. We were just scavenging for supplies. Food, water—anything we could use."
Lucas nodded slowly. "The man back there… was he with you?"
Emily's face fell. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Yeah. That was our uncle."
Ava looked down, jaw tight. "He was trying to hold them off so we could run."
No one spoke for a moment. The weight of it settled over the group like a fog.
Lucas gave a small nod, his voice quieter now. "I'm sorry."
Emily didn't respond. She just stared at the ground, her hands clenched into fists.
Ethan stepped forward, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a folded handkerchief—worn but clean—and offered it to Ava with a small, sheepish smile. "You've got some blood on your cheek," he said gently.
Ava blinked, then touched her face, her fingers coming away red. "Oh… right." She took the handkerchief with a quiet "Thanks," and began wiping the streaks away.
David, standing a few feet back, gave Ethan a knowing grin. "Smooth," he muttered under his breath.
Lara, arms crossed, let out a long sigh and rubbed her temples. "Seriously?"
Ethan glanced at her, then shrugged. "What? It's just a handkerchief."
Lara didn't answer. She just shook her head, muttering something about priorities.
The group began making their way back toward the parked convoy, boots crunching over gravel and broken glass. Ethan asked Ava, glancing over at her. "You two could come with us," he said. "We've got gear, food, some medical supplies… just no place to stay yet."
Ava looked down at Emily, then back at Ethan. "You sure?"
He nodded. "Yeah. We don't leave people behind."
Ava gave a small, grateful smile. She reached down and took Emily's hand, squeezing it tight. Emily looked up at her sister, eyes still wide, but calmer now.
As they reached the convoy, Derek stepped out from the van, wiping his hands on a rag. "How'd it go?"
Lucas answered, his voice even. "We found two survivors. Brought them back."
Derek's eyes flicked to Ava and Emily, then gave a small nod. "Glad you did."
Lucas scanned the area, his brow furrowing. "Where's Yve and Dylan?"
Derek raised an eyebrow. "Wasn't they with you?"
Lucas's jaw tightened. "They walked off. I need to talk to her."
Derek watched Lucas disappear down the road, then turned back to the others with a shrug. "They'll be back," he said. "Best we just wait."
The group settled near the vehicles, some sitting, others standing guard. The tension hadn't fully left, but for now, it was held at bay.
A few blocks away, in the quiet corner of Hillsview Town, Yve sat alone on a rusted swing in the overgrown playground. Her sword stood upright in the grass before her, its blade sunk into the earth like a sentinel—silent, unmoving. She stared at it, her hands resting in her lap, her expression unreadable.
Dylan approached slowly, boots crunching over gravel and weeds. He didn't say anything at first. Just stood there, watching her. Then, softly: "What's wrong?"
Yve didn't look at him. Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper. "I don't think I can keep hiding. Or lying."
She finally turned her gaze to him, eyes heavy with guilt. "Because of me, you keep getting into fights. Especially with Lucas. You're always defending me… and I'm the reason things keep getting worse."
Dylan frowned, stepping closer. "Yve—"
But she looked away again, her fingers tightening around the swing's chain.
Dylan crouched down in front of her, resting his arms on his knees. His voice was low, steady. "If you're ready to tell 'em," he said, "I won't stop you."
Yve looked at him, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. "I'm still scared," she admitted. "What if I scare them? What if they look at me like I'm… something else?"
Dylan gave a small shrug, the corner of his mouth twitching into something like a smile. "Then screw 'em," he said. "We'll walk. Just you and me. I'll take you on a world tour."
She blinked, caught off guard. "A world tour?"
"Yeah," he said, eyes glinting with dry humor. "Grand Canyon. Niagara Falls. Maybe Yosemite if it ain't burned to the ground. Hell, we'll find the northern lights if we gotta hike to Canada."
Yve let out a soft laugh, the first in what felt like days. "That… actually sounds nice…But what about your family?" she asked, her voice quieter now. "You'd leave them?"
Dylan's smile faded, replaced by something harder, more honest. "If they can't accept the person who's been feedin' them when we were all starvin'… then maybe they ain't worth callin' family."
Yve looked down, her fingers brushing the edge of the swing seat. Dylan stood, offering her a hand. "Whatever you decide," he said, "I'm with you."
Lucas finally spotted them near the edge of the playground—Yve sitting on the swing, Dylan standing close, his posture protective. Lucas hadn't heard what they were saying, but he could see it in their body language: Yve looked… dimmed. Not broken, but blue around the edges. And Dylan—he was doing something Lucas rarely saw him do.
He was comforting someone.
Lucas stopped a few paces away, torn. The leader in him screamed for answers. The man in him—who'd seen too much, lost too much—just wanted to keep everyone safe. But how could he do that if someone in the group was still hiding something? He took a breath, then called out gently, "Hey."
Both Yve and Dylan turned. Yve's eyes met his. "Lucas."
Dylan didn't say a word. He just looked away, jaw tight, still simmering from their earlier clash.
Lucas stepped closer, his voice softer now. "Can we talk?"
Dylan glanced at Yve, his expression unreadable. She gave him a small nod—quiet, steady. It's okay. Dylan exhaled through his nose and stepped back, folding his arms but staying close enough to listen if things went sideways.
Yve stood slowly, brushing her hands on her jeans. "Sure," she said. "What is it?"
Lucas stood a few feet from Yve, the wind tugging gently at his jacket, he took a deep breath, steadying himself before speaking. "I know you're a good person," he said, voice low but firm. "I've seen it."
Yve looked at him, guarded but listening.
"You've started to become one of us," he continued. "Part of this family. And I don't say that lightly."
He paused, his eyes flicking toward the distant convoy—toward the kids, the others, the fragile thing they were all trying to hold together. "But I'm not just a friend out here. I'm the one who has to keep this group safe. That means making hard calls. That means knowing what I'm dealing with."
He stepped closer, his voice softening. "I'm not asking to judge you. I'm asking because I have to. For the group. For the kids."
He looked her in the eye, and for a moment, the weight of everything he'd carried since the world fell apart was written all over his face. "Please, Yve," he said. "Whatever it is you're hiding… just tell me."
The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was full of choice.
Yve stood still for a moment, her eyes locked on Lucas's. Then she let out a long, heavy sigh—her shoulders dropped, as if a weight she'd been carrying for lifetimes had finally begun to lift. She looked at him, her voice quiet but steady. "How about I just show you."
Lucas's brows furrowed. "Show me—?"
Before he could finish, Yve stepped forward and wrapped her fingers around the hilt of her sword. She closed her eyes for a breath, then tilted the blade downward.
And then— It began to melt.
The metal shimmered, softened, and collapsed into liquid right before his eyes. It wasn't blood. It wasn't oil. It was water—pure, clear, and impossibly alive. It streamed down the blade, dripped from the hilt, and fell to the earth in glistening droplets. The grass drank it in, and within seconds, the sword was gone.
Lucas took a step back, eyes wide. "W…what just—" He couldn't finish. The words caught in his throat.
Yve looked at him, her voice soft but unwavering. "I'm not human, Lucas."
He stared at her, stunned.
"I'm a siren," she said. "Born from the ocean. I've lived beneath the waves longer than I can explain. But I always wondered what it was like up here. On land. Among people."
She took a breath, her gaze distant now, as if remembering something far older than the world they stood in. "And then I found Dylan. He helped me. Protected me. Got me this far."
She looked back at Lucas, her voice tightening. "So don't be mad at him. He didn't lie to you. I did."
Lucas stood frozen, his chest rising and falling. Staring at Yve as the silence stretched between them. But behind his eyes, something was shifting—clicking into place.
He started to remember.
The little things.
The odd things.
That evening at the watch tower, when Dylan spilled a cup of coffee and it should've shattered—but Yve caught it mid-air.
The time she helped Taylor and Elena cooking and dumped an entire salt jar into the soup. Everyone gagged. She didn't even flinch. Just tilted her head and said, "It's perfect."
She never knew anything about manmade objects. She didn't even carry a flashlight—just moved through the dark like she could see in it.
And the way she presented herself— she spoke like someone who'd read every book in the world and lived through half of them. Like someone who'd seen empires rise and fall and still didn't quite understand why humans cried when they laughed.
She looked young. But she didn't feel young. And the kids— They adored her. Tyler once said she "sounded like the ocean when she hummed." Lily always ran to her first when she was scared.
And Dylan— Every time he went out scavenging, he came back with fish. Not canned. Not dried. Fresh. Even when the rivers were dry and the lakes were still. He never said how. Just shrugged and said, "Just skills."
Lucas's breath caught.
He looked at Yve again—really looked at her.
And for the first time, he didn't see a stranger.
He saw someone. Someone aching. Someone trying so hard to belong. "…Jesus," he whispered. And for once, he didn't know if it was a curse or a prayer.
Lucas stared at her, the weight of realization still settling in his chest. "Now suddenly everything makes sense," he whispered to himself.
Yve looked down, her voice trembling. "I'm sorry I lied. I just—"
But she didn't finish. Her breath hitched.
Then again—sharper this time. She staggered, one hand clutching her chest.
"Yve?" Dylan was at her side in an instant. She gasped, her knees buckling. Dylan caught her before she hit the ground. "Hey—hey, look at me," he said, panic rising in his voice.
Lucas stepped forward, alarmed. "What's happening?"
"She needs water," Dylan snapped, already lifting her into his arms. "She's drying out."
Yve's skin was pale, her lips cracking, her breath shallow and ragged. Dylan didn't wait. He turned and started running—fast, focused, carrying her like she weighed nothing.
Lucas ran beside him, heart pounding. "What exactly does she need?"
"Just tell 'em to start the damn vehicles," Dylan barked. "And if there's a river, a lake, anything—tell them to find it."
Lucas nodded and sprinted ahead, he burst into the clearing where the convoy was parked, breath ragged. "Start the vehicles—now!"
David stood up from where he'd been checking supplies. "What's going on?"
Lucas turned, pointing behind him as Dylan came into view, sprinting toward them with Yve limp in his arms. "She needs water. An ocean, a lake, a river—hell, even a tub."
Ava's eyes widened. "We have water. At home."
Lucas stepped toward her. "Where's home?"
"Just seven minutes from here," she said quickly. "Northwest. Past the old train yard."
Dylan reached them, his voice sharp and furious. "Then why the hell are we still standing here?! Start the damn vehicles!"
Lara didn't waste a second—she yanked open the van's side door. Dylan climbed in and gently laid Yve down across the back seat, her skin pale and clammy, her breathing shallow.
Elena rushed over, checking Yve's pulse, her hands trembling. "She's burning up," she muttered. "What's happening to her?"
Ava stood nearby, watching with wide eyes. "Maybe it's a heart attack," she said. "Our dad—he's a doctor. He might be able to help."
Engines roared to life as Derek jumped into the driver's seat, the others piling into their vehicles. Ava climbed into the passenger seat of the van, pointing ahead. "Go straight, then left at the broken billboard. I'll guide you."
In the back, Elena and the kids hovered close to Yve, whispering to her, trying to keep her awake. Dylan mounted his SilentHawk, riding alongside the van, his eyes never leaving the window where Yve lay.
The convoy peeled out of Hillsview Town, tires kicking up dust and gravel.
And for Yve.
Time—is running out.