WILLOW

Not all nights were peaceful.

Not even when I was a child. There were some nights, depending on where I'd been placed, where I would lay awake, blankets clutched beneath my chin, listening. Every little creak or thump would paralyze me. I was waiting then, just like now, for the unknown, for the worst, for more of the nightmare that was my existence.

But those nights were nothing compared to this. I didn't hear creaks or thumps or a foster father walking down the hall. I heard gunfire, far away. Croc was far away, and each round felt like the one. The one that stole him from me. Or the one that took Merle, leaving me an orphan once more. I pictured men scattered for miles, sacrificed in the name of something more. Something that could never be. I trembled, barely breathing, furiously wiping my tears with the thin throw wrapped around my shoulders. The children were asleep, and I was here, standing on the deck, staring off into the distance as if I were at a wake, tasked with the responsibility of staying up with the body. It felt like that. Like I was trapped in the smallest room, surrounded by the remains of everyone I loved, forced to sit and live and remember and miss.

Until the boom. It shook the Earth, and all my hope disintegrated in the fallout. A gust of wind blew through the trees, and the sky lit up with neon green northern lights. Beautiful. Absolute. I stared at them, my throat tight and dry. I couldn't draw a breath, no matter how hard I tried.

Footsteps echoed behind me, and I turned to find Ella, one of the mothers who had been hiding below deck. She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders too, and a steaming mug in each hand. She handed one to me, then sipped her own, staring off in the same direction I'd been. Her husband had chosen to go with them, and false hope coated her features. As if she were clinging to his corpse, waiting for him to breathe.

I sniffed the drink then took a sip. Unsweetened tea burned my tongue and warmed the rest of me. "It's quiet," I said, though I don't know how I spoke. I didn't sound like the person I'd become since I met him, because I wasn't. He was gone. I knew. It echoed in the silence: every conversation, every kiss, every smile. I saw his boyish grin as he played Marco Polo. I watched his body move through the canal as we swam in sync. But my heart didn't dance the way it had in my memories. Instead, it rotted inside my chest, like a piece of fruit lying at the base of a tree. Not quite dead but dying. The last apple on Earth, wasted.

"Clark said they planned for an explosion," Ella whispered. "So, that's good, right?"

She looked at me, her eyes pleading for the answer she wanted to receive.

I said nothing.

She took a shuddering breath, sipped her tea, looked back off into the distance. "I wonder how long it will take them to get back."

I had no business hating her, but I did. In that moment, I hated her for being so naive. For having so much hope. For still believing everything would turn out okay when I knew damn well things never did. But, mostly, I envied her. I wanted to be her, just for a second, to have a blessed break from the shattering.

I took another drink, closed my eyes, turning inward in search of strength. I didn't have the liberty of falling apart. No matter what, I had to move forward, to keep walking, keep doing, for however long I could make it. I swallowed and studied her. We were in the same boat, both literally and figuratively. We were mothers left with the task of keeping their babies alive after their men died fighting.

"If they don't come back," I said. "Where will you go?" It was the question I'd been asking myself for weeks, and I still hadn't come up with an answer. Maybe the swamp, somewhere deeper down the canal, where we could sleep in trees and have the gators to guard us. But the thought of being there without him felt like Hell on Earth, to constantly be reminded, to know we could have gone together had I just put my foot down.

"I don't know," she whispered. "Canada, I guess."

"What's in Canada?"

"Where we were headed, not much." She sighed. "But Clark says the harder it is to survive somewhere, the easier it is to go unnoticed. There's a small community in the arctic, mostly families. We were going to settle down there before. . ." She turned her face, swiping at her eyes. "Hopefully they'll make it back soon."

"Yeah," I breathed. "Hopefully."

We fell quiet after that, more than our cups going empty as we waited, watching the sun slowly rise over the horizon, and not one of our men returned.

* * *

CROC

One second, I was dying. The next, I was home, sitting on the edge of the dock, my legs dangling over the side. Cool water to my knees. Warm sun on my back. I sucked in a slow, deep breath, filling my lungs with fresh air and all my favorite smells. Familiar. I paused, sensing someone was watching me, and when I turned, I knew for certain that I had died.

Pappy sat leaned back on one of the kitchen chairs, his hands clasped loosely in front of him. He looked at peace, but also annoyed, his expression an odd mix of irritated adoration.

If he was here, then that could only mean. . .

"Am I dead?" I asked.

He scoffed, rocking back more in his chair, the two front legs lifting off the ground. "You're so tete dur! You never listen to Pappy!"

I swallowed, shrinking beneath the weight of his gaze. "I went past the line."

"I know, couyon!" He set the chair back down and leaned forward, resting his arms on his legs. He shook his head, his eyes dancing, and he smiled. "But, ga lee that's some big fish you caught, T Croc."

I jolted awake, dry heaving as pain burst through every part of me. Hands gripped my upper arms, hoisting me off the ground. Merle and Cecil supported my weight on either side, dragging me toward the shadow of Savannah below. Everything was moving too fast.

"Take cover!" Merle shouted to the prisoners running just ahead of us. "Get behind the buildings!"

The masses split, scurrying into hiding places like bugs running from a light. The world narrowed. Black sky. People screaming. Alarms blaring. Men's shouts.

"We ain't gonna make it," Cecil barked.

"We're gonna make it," Merle growled back.

"We should have left him."

"We couldn't leave him."

"He's goddamn heavy!"

"Will you shut the fu—"

Blinding light filled my vision, and a burst of power yanked me into the air and shot me like a bullet. I flew, arms flailing. Trash swirled around me, as if I were caught in the gale of a hurricane. I hit the ground hard, skidding face first across asphalt. Ringing filled my ears. Acid coated my skin. I tried to sit up, but only managed to roll onto my back. Neon green waves rippled across the sky, reminding me of the canal at night. I released a gargled sigh, as a roasting breeze blew over me. Little by little, the ringing ceased; the world fell silent. Like a baby reborn into a new reality, I coughed, clearing my lungs for my first breath of a new life.

A rustle sounded to my left, and I looked over to find Merle crawling across the debris, headed toward me. "Are you alive?" His voice was loud, as if he couldn't hear his own self speaking.

I nodded.

He slumped down a few feet away, his chest rising and falling like he'd swam a hundred miles. More rustles disturbed the quiet as people emerged from their hiding places. Prisoners and soldiers who'd sprinted not moments before, suddenly crept, blankly staring into the distance.

I strained upright, ignoring the pain as I fought to get a look at what they were staring at.

Tex, Fern, Sergio, and two prisoners were slowly walking down the hill. Behind them, the camp was gone, reduced to ashes. Trash and debris lay scattered across the ground, spreading out for as far as my eyes could see. The sun rose, casting it all in golden light, until it was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen.

"We survived," I rasped.

Merle reached over and gripped my hand. "Fuck yeah we did." He squeezed. His eyes were red, glassy, his expression warm. He heaved a harsh breath. "We fucking did it."

Quiet sobs echoed around us. Hysterical laughter lifted into the sky. The prisoners rejoiced, falling to their knees, lifting their arms, embracing one another, free from the disease that had stolen their humanity. Free Soldiers beat their chest, crowing like birds just learning to fly.

The daylight expanded as the men burst into celebration. The prisoners smiled, laughed, danced, like corpses just given a second chance at life. We'd faced the dark. We'd killed the monster, and we'd survived.

But, as I watched them, I remembered a different celebration. When the swamp had won its battle. More fighting would come, and we were barely breathing. I didn't think I could stand, let alone make it back to the ship, and I wasn't the only one.

There was still so much further to go.