Journal Entry

We missed Maggie's birthday.

I didn't know when it was or it wouldn't have happened. I guess that's on me for never asking.

Dr. Anderson figured it out a few days ago. Maggie turned sixteen weeks back and never said a word about it. I don't think she expected anybody to notice.

Maybe birthdays don't matter much anymore, but I think they do. The world has already taken enough from all of us. It doesn't get birthdays too.

So everybody got assigned a job, and for one day we're going to try and make Maggie feel sixteen again. If nothing else, I think that's worth the effort.

Maggie knew something was wrong the moment she woke up.

Not wrong exactly.

Suspicious.

The cabin was rarely quiet in the mornings. Between Harry and Jonas arguing over something ridiculous and Elliott somehow managing to trip over furniture before breakfast, silence was usually impossible.

This morning, however, there was whispering.

Lots of whispering.

She rolled onto her side and glanced at the clock beside her bed.

7:03.

Far too early for whatever nonsense was taking place.

The floorboards creaked outside her room.

A voice hissed something she couldn't make out.

Another voice immediately shushed the first.

Maggie pulled the blanket over her head.

Five seconds later somebody dropped something heavy.

A crash echoed through the cabin.

"Ow!"

"Keep your voice down!"

"I dropped it on my foot!"

"You weren't supposed to drop it!"

"I know that now!"

Maggie smiled despite herself.

Birthday.

It had to be.

She had honestly forgotten.

The realization hit her harder than she expected.

Sixteen.

Before the world ended, sixteen had seemed important.

Driving.

Dating.

School dances.

Future plans.

A hundred tiny milestones that no longer existed.

Now it was just another day.

At least, that was what she had thought.

Apparently the rest of the cabin disagreed.

By the time she made it out to the kitchen, chaos had fully taken over.

Construction paper covered nearly every available surface.

A banner hung crookedly across the fireplace.

The word birthday was missing at least three letters.

Harry stood on a chair attempting to tape another paper star to the wall while Elliott held the chair steady.

Poorly. Very poorly.

"You know that's crooked, right?" Maggie asked.

Harry nearly fell off the chair.

"You're awake!"

"I gathered."

"You're not supposed to be down here yet."

Maggie folded her arms. "It's my house too."

"Nope."

Dr. Anderson looked up from the kitchen table where he was arranging paper plates.

"It's definitely not your house."

"Okay, that's fair."

Maggie laughed and walked farther into the room.

The decorations were terrible.

Absolutely terrible.

Some stars were upside down.

Several streamers had already fallen.

One section of banner appeared to have been repaired with duct tape.

She loved every bit of it.

Her father's expression softened as he watched her looking around.

"We didn't forget this year," he said quietly.

The smile immediately faded from Maggie's face.

For a moment neither of them said anything.

The previous birthday had happened only a few weeks after the outbreak began.

The one before that felt like it belonged to someone else entirely.

Someone who still believed there would always be another birthday after the next one.

Someone who still had Ryan.

Dr. Anderson cleared his throat.

"Anyway," he said, forcing brightness back into his voice. "The decorating committee lacks supervision."

"I heard that," Harry called.

"You were supposed to, my boy!"

Breakfast took nearly an hour because nobody could stop talking.

Harry insisted birthdays required pancakes.

Jonas insisted birthdays required presents.

Elliott insisted birthdays required cake.

James, who had been suspiciously quiet throughout the entire meal, finally looked up from his plate.

"You know none of us have made cake in years, right?"

"We have ingredients," Elliott said.

"We have some ingredients."

"Good enough."

James shook his head.

"That's a dangerous attitude."

"It worked for the decorations."

Nobody could argue with that.

Maggie noticed James disappear shortly after breakfast.

At first she didn't think much of it.

There were always chores.

Repairs.

Fence inspections.

Camera maintenance.

A dozen things that needed doing.

But when lunch came and went and he still hadn't reappeared, she started paying attention.

Harry noticed too.

Mostly because Harry noticed everything.

"He's being weird."

Maggie looked up from the deck of cards she had been losing to Jonas.

"Who?"

Harry stared at her.

"Seriously?"

She sighed, "James."

"Thank you." Jonas said so matter of fact.

"He left right after breakfast." Harry pointed out.

"Okay." Maggie put her detective hat on.

"And he took a flashlight."

"Still okay."

"And he was covered in dust when I saw him earlier," Jonas added off handedly.

Maggie narrowed her eyes.

"When was that?"

Jonas immediately looked guilty.

"Maybe I wasn't supposed to tell you."

"Jonas."

"Fine. I followed him."

Dr. Anderson didn't even look up from the book he was reading.

"One of these days somebody is going to put a bell around your neck."

Jonas grinned.

"You'll never catch me."

James finally returned just before dinner.

The front door opened and a blast of cold air swept into the cabin.

Everyone looked up.

Maggie immediately understood why Harry had mentioned the dust.

James looked like he had lost a fight with a storage room.

Cobwebs clung to one shoulder.

Dirt streaked his jacket.

His hair somehow looked worse than usual.

Which was honestly impressive.

Harry pointed, "There he is."

James paused, "What?"

"You look terrible."

"Thank you."

"Where have you been?"

"Working."

"On what?"

James walked toward the kitchen.

"Things."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the answer you're getting."

Maggie caught the brief look that passed between him and Dr. Anderson.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Dinner stretched late into the evening.

The boys insisted on telling embarrassing stories.

Most of them were completely fabricated.

At one point Harry claimed Maggie had once cried because a squirrel stole her sandwich.

"That happened one time," Maggie argued.

"So you admit it happened."

"The squirrel came into the car."

"Still counts."

Dr. Anderson laughed so hard he nearly spilled his drink.

For a little while, the cabin felt different.

Lighter.

The dead stayed outside.

The empty roads stayed outside.

The fear stayed outside.

Inside there was laughter.

Inside there was family.

The cake looked terrible.

The cake tasted incredible.

Nobody questioned how both things could be true.

When Maggie finished blowing out the makeshift candles, everyone applauded anyway.

Jonas even stood.

Maggie bowed dramatically.

"Thank you. Thank you. You're all too kind."

"You've changed," Harry said solemnly.

"It's been ten minutes."

"Age does that."

Later, after the dishes had been washed and the remains of the cake had disappeared, James appeared beside her chair.

"Come with me."

Maggie looked up.

"Why?"

"Because."

"That's not a reason."

"It is tonight."

She narrowed her eyes.

"They're going to think we're..."

"They're going to think a lot of things."

The grin on his face made her suspicious immediately.

Which, unfortunately, was exactly why she followed him.

The moment James closed the bedroom door, somebody immediately hit it from the outside.

"Locked," Harry announced.

"We know," James called back.

"You locked the door."

"Excellent observation."

"We can hear you."

James rolled his eyes before turning toward the closet.

"Frankly, dear, I don't give a damn."

Maggie laughed.

"Did you really just say that?"

"Yep."

Then he opened the hatch.

The entrance to the bunker waited below.

She groaned.

"No."

"Yes."

"Do we have to?"

"The kids are already trying to figure out how to open the door. Give me as much time as possible."

A pause.

Then from the hallway: "We heard that too."

James pointed toward the ladder.

Maggie sighed.

"Fine."

The bunker was dark when they climbed down.

Then James flipped a switch.

Soft white lights sprang to life throughout the room.

Maggie stopped halfway across the floor.

Twinkle lights.

Hundreds of them.

They wound around support beams and shelves, casting warm light across the concrete walls.

The bunker suddenly felt less like a shelter and more like a hidden world beneath the cabin.

For a moment she simply stared.

"When did you do this?"

James shrugged.

"Couple days."

"The boys helped?"

"The crooked sections are Harry & Jonas's."

"That explains a lot."

A laugh escaped him.

"They have no concept of personal space," James mentioned.

"Jonas would live inside you if he could," Maggie joked, making them both laugh.

Then he pointed toward a stool sitting in the middle of the room.

"Sit."

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

"Again, not a reason."

"Just trust me."

Maggie rolled her eyes but sat anyway.

James disappeared through a doorway leading into one of the storage rooms.

She could hear boxes shifting.

Something falling.

Muffled swearing.

Then silence.

A minute later he returned carrying something wrapped carefully in an old blanket.

The shape was awkward and unmistakably fragile.

Maggie's curiosity immediately doubled.

"Close your eyes."

"No."

"Maggie."

"No."

"Maggie."

She laughed.

"Fine."

Closing her eyes, she held out her hands.

A moment later something rested gently across her lap.

Not heavy.

Just unfamiliar.

"Okay," James said softly. "Now."

She opened her eyes.

And forgot how to speak.

A guitar.

The wood was worn smooth with age.

One tuning peg had clearly been replaced at some point.

The finish showed years of use.

It was beautiful.

For several long seconds Maggie simply stared.

Her fingertips moved across the strings as though she was afraid it might disappear.

"James..."

"Happy birthday."

She looked up at him.

"Where did this come from?"

His smile softened.

"A dream long since forgotten."

Maggie blinked.

"What?"

James leaned against one of the support beams and folded his arms.

"When I was thirteen, I found it in storage and decided I was going to learn how to play."

"You?"

"I know. Shocking."

"You don't play."

"Nope."

"Then what happened?"

He laughed quietly.

"The apocalypse mostly."

That earned a smile.

A real one.

The kind that reached her eyes.

"I spent the last few days digging through every storage room in this place trying to find it again," he continued. "Then I had to find the books, figure out where somebody stashed the tuner, and spend way too many hours trying to remember how the internet said tuning guitars worked."

Maggie looked down.

Beside the stool sat three beginner books.

Chord charts.

Exercises.

Lessons.

Somebody had written notes in the margins years ago.

Tiny reminders and practice instructions.

A piece of another life.

Another person.

Another world.

"You fixed all of this?"

"Tried to."

"How many strings did you break?"

James looked away.

"That's not important."

"How many?"

"Four."

Maggie burst out laughing.

"Four?"

"In my defense, I had no idea what I was doing."

"Clearly."

The next hour passed with everyone crowded into the bunker.

Harry attempted to play.

Failed.

Spectacularly.

Jonas somehow managed something even worse.

Elliott insisted every wrong note was intentional.

The noise became unbearable.

Then hilarious.

Then somehow comforting.

For the first time in years, Maggie wasn't thinking about survival.

She wasn't thinking about tomorrow's chores.

Or next week's supplies.

Or winter.

Or loss.

She was simply sitting among people she loved while holding a guitar that represented a future someone had once planned for.

A future James had willingly handed to her.

Long after everyone else drifted upstairs, Maggie remained seated beneath the twinkle lights.

The guitar rested across her lap.

James sat nearby on an overturned storage crate.

Neither seemed in a hurry to leave.

Finally Maggie looked down at the instrument and ran her fingers lightly across the strings.

"I forgot what it felt like."

James glanced over.

"What?"

She smiled.

"To look forward to something."

The room grew quiet.

Not uncomfortable.

Just honest.

After a moment she added softly, "Ryan would've liked this."

James nodded immediately.

"Yeah. I think he would've."

No jealousy.

No tension.

Just simple agreement.

Maggie looked at him for a long moment.

Then back at the guitar.

And for the first time in years, tomorrow felt like more than something she had to survive.

It felt like something worth waiting for.