The morning sunlight leaked through the blinds in narrow strips, cutting across the floor like prison bars. I sat at the edge of the bed with my boots still on, elbows resting against my knees, staring at the hardwood as if it could give me answers. Sleep had come in fragments, an hour here, ten minutes there, always broken by the same thought circling back: the container on my desk.
That thing was no bigger than a lunchbox, but to me it was heavier than anything I had carried in my service years. I'd smuggled it back with me after last night's run. It didn't matter that no one else knew what it was. I knew. And knowing meant I couldn't stop thinking about it.
A knock came just after nine. Joel didn't wait long before letting himself in. He leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, scanning the room the way men like us always did out of habit more than curiosity.
"You were out late," he said. His tone wasn't sharp, but it wasn't casual either.
I kept my voice steady. "Couldn't sleep. Went for a walk."
His gaze flicked once to the desk where the container sat. He didn't ask about it, though I knew he wanted to. Joel had the kind of eyes that asked their own questions and left the answers hanging.
"Tommy says you've been seeing things. Animals acting strange."
"I've seen enough to know we should be careful."
He gave a slow nod, the kind that meant he was filing it away, not dismissing it. Joel wasn't the kind of man who dismissed anything. We stood in silence for a while, both of us too stubborn to speak first. Eventually, he just muttered, "Fair enough," and turned toward the door.
Before he left, Sarah peeked in, holding up a drawing on a wrinkled piece of paper. Stick figures. Joel with broad shoulders, Sarah smiling beside him, and off to the side, me drawn taller, with a flat, straight-line mouth.
Joel chuckled. "Looks just like him."
I bent down and took the picture. "You've got talent. Better than most artists I knew overseas."
"Overseas?" she asked, blinking curiously.
I smiled faintly but didn't answer. Joel caught the pause. His jaw tightened a fraction, but he didn't press.
The rest of the day I buried myself in work. Not work in the way most folks would call it, but the kind I knew best. Preparation.
Two old fifty-gallon drums sat in the corner of my garage, forgotten beneath a tarp. I dragged them out, scrubbed them down, filled them with water, and rigged a simple filter. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than nothing. After that, I started on the windows, moving furniture into place, hammering boards in where I could. Every nail I drove in seemed to echo through the quiet street, like a warning I didn't want anyone to hear.
By midafternoon, sweat soaked through my shirt, and that's when Tommy showed up. He carried a case of beer under one arm and wore that easy grin he was known for.
"Looks like you're settin' up for the end of the world," he said.
"Better to look crazy now," I told him, tightening a bolt on the doorframe, "than desperate later."
Tommy cracked a bottle and leaned against the railing, watching me work. "You sound like Joel. Man's been wound up tight since… well, since before you got here. You two are cut from the same cloth."
I didn't answer right away. I just kept working, measuring the frame and checking the angles. Eventually, I said, "Maybe that's not such a bad thing."
He chuckled, took a long drink, and shook his head. "Maybe. Or maybe it means trouble follows you around like smoke."
When the sun dipped low, I finally sat on the porch with him, accepting a beer. The quiet between us wasn't uncomfortable. He talked about work, about Sarah, about Joel acting stubborn. I let him talk. Listening was easier than speaking, and besides, my mind was still on the container upstairs.
Later that night, after the neighborhood lights blinked out one by one, I found myself back at the desk. The container sat there like it had been waiting all day for me. The system's faint glow edged into my vision.
Test blood samples. Early immunity protocol available.
I clenched my fists and forced the screen away. Not yet. Not when Sarah was still laughing in the backyard. Not when Joel still believed tomorrow would come without change. For now, the world pretended it was whole.
But I knew better.