Journal Entry

Dad says information is worth more than ammunition.

A bullet solves one problem, but information tells you where the next one is coming from.

Last night, I saw a light in the hotel across the lake. It lasted only a few seconds, long enough for someone to catch a fire and smother it again, but it was there.

Someone is alive.

I should probably be relieved.

I'm not.

James waited until breakfast to tell them.

He had spent the rest of the night on the roof, watching the distant hotel through the binoculars until the cold had settled so deeply into his hands that he could barely bend his fingers. The light never appeared again, but he no longer doubted what he had seen. There had been a brief orange flare behind one of the upper windows, followed by the unmistakable movement of someone trying to extinguish it before the glow escaped.

By the time he climbed down, the cabin had begun to wake beneath him. He returned to the bunker without speaking, removed his frozen coat, and lay on his cot until the others stirred, although he never came close to sleeping.

Karen noticed before he finished pouring his coffee.

"You look terrible."

James carried the mug to the table and sat beside Maggie. "Thank you."

"I wasn't insulting you."

"It sounded natural."

Karen ignored that and studied him more closely. "Did you sleep at all?"

"No."

John looked up from the skillet. "Nightmares?"

James shook his head. "I saw something."

The quiet change in his voice drew everyone's attention. Anderson lowered the medical notebook he had been reading, while Harry and Jonas stopped arguing over the last piece of toast. Elliott, who had been attempting to feed a piece of oatmeal to the stuffed bear beside her bowl, looked up as well.

Karen pulled out the chair across from him. "What did you see?"

"A light."

Nobody reacted immediately.

James wrapped both hands around his coffee, trying to warm the stiffness from his fingers. "I was on the roof with the binoculars, looking across the lake. There was a flash from one of the upper windows of the hotel. Orange, like someone struck a match or tried to light a fire. It only lasted a few seconds before it disappeared."

John turned off the stove and carried the skillet to the table. "Which hotel?"

"The unfinished one along the western shoreline."

"The one we talked about using for the playground?" Harry asked.

James nodded.

Karen's expression tightened. "That building has been empty for years even before the collapse."

"That's what we assumed."

"How certain are you?" Anderson asked.

James looked at him. "Certain enough that I stayed on the roof until morning."

"That isn't an answer," Karen said.

"It's the only answer I have. I saw a flame, Mom. There wasn't lightning, there weren't headlights, and there was nothing moving on the lake that could have reflected against the windows. Someone tried to light a fire and put it out almost immediately."

John crossed the room and pulled the folded regional map from the shelf beside the radio. He spread it across the table, forcing Harry and Jonas to move their plates out of the way, then pointed toward the shoreline.

"Here?"

James leaned over the map. "Farther north. The fire came from the side facing the lake, somewhere near the fourth floor."

Karen looked toward John. "It could have been glass catching moonlight."

"There wasn't enough moonlight," James replied.

She glanced at him but continued addressing his father. "Or something reflective moving behind a broken window."

"I watched the building for almost four hours. Nothing else reflected."

John traced the road leading from the cabin toward the hotel. "The main route is exposed."

"We wouldn't use it," Anderson said. "Not if someone's watching."

James sat back while the adults began discussing the building as though he and Maggie had disappeared from the room. Karen questioned the structural condition of the hotel, Anderson wondered whether the fire could have come from an upper maintenance room, and John began listing the roads that might still be passable after the snowfall.

Nobody asked James what he thought, even though he had found the light. Nobody asked Maggie, despite the fact that she had accompanied him on every patrol since lockdown began. The two of them exchanged a glance while the conversation continued around them.

Karen folded her arms. "Even if someone is there, approaching the building would be reckless."

John nodded slowly. "Ignoring it might be worse."

"We don't know who they are."

"That's exactly why we need to find out."

Karen looked down at the map. "And if there aren't survivors?"

"Then it's three against one," Maggie said.

The adults stopped.

Maggie remained seated beside James, one hand resting around her coffee mug as though she had merely commented on the weather.

Karen frowned. "What does that mean?"

"It means James goes in one vehicle while John and I stay hidden nearby. If one person comes out, then it's three against one."

"And if there's more than one?"

"Then we use the element of surprise and retreat," Maggie answered. "At least we'll know what we're up against."

Karen stared at her. "You've already planned this."

"No," Maggie said. "I started planning it when all of you began discussing James's information like he wasn't sitting here."

Anderson lowered his eyes toward the map.

John's mouth twitched, though he managed not to smile.

Karen looked at James. "You agree with this?"

"I wasn't asking permission."

The words came out calmly, but they landed hard enough to silence the room.

Karen's expression changed. "Excuse me?"

"I'm going," James said. "I'm asking for a gun and backup."

Nobody moved.

Elliott looked between her mother and brother with wide eyes. Harry had stopped eating altogether, while Jonas held his spoon in midair, apparently afraid that even setting it down might make too much noise.

Karen sat back. "You are asking permission if you intend to take a vehicle, a firearm, and two people from this family into an unknown situation."

"No, I'm telling you what I'm going to do and asking you to help me make it safer."

"James."

"I found the light because I've been sitting on the roof every night while everyone else sleeps. I've been checking the cameras, walking the perimeter three times a day, and watching for the man who tried to kill us. If there are people living that close to this cabin, we need to know how many there are and whether he belongs to them."

Karen's jaw tightened.

James kept his voice level. "You can keep discussing it like I'm twelve, or you can help us put together a plan. Either way, I'm going."

John answered before Karen could.

"He's right."

She turned sharply. "John."

"If we forbid him, he'll still go. He'll simply go without proper support."

"That is not an argument in his favor."

"No, but it is reality."

Karen pushed away from the table and paced toward the security monitors. For a moment, she stood with her back to everyone, staring at the camera feeds even though nothing moved across them.

James waited.

He had expected anger. A lecture. Maybe an outright refusal. What he had not expected was the fear he could see in the tight set of her shoulders.

When she finally turned around, her voice had softened. "The objective is information. Nothing else."

James nodded.

"You do not engage unless you have no other choice."

"Agreed."

"You do not enter the hotel."

"Agreed."

"You do not chase anyone into the woods."

James hesitated.

Karen noticed. "James."

"Fine."

"And the second John tells you to retreat, you retreat."

James looked toward his father.

John raised one eyebrow.

"Agreed," James said.

Karen looked at Maggie. "You stay with John."

Maggie nodded. "That was the plan."

Anderson folded the map back toward the hotel. "How exactly do you intend to draw them out?"

James looked down at the road, then toward the keys hanging beside the pantry.

"I'm going to bring them a surprise."

The planning lasted the rest of the morning.

They chose the smaller truck because it could move faster through the snow and was less valuable than the armored SUV. John inspected the engine, tires, fuel line, and spare battery while James checked the rifle Karen reluctantly issued him. Maggie packed extra bolts for her crossbow and a pistol she had no intention of discussing with anyone unless she needed it.

Karen marked three retreat routes on the map, then made James repeat them until she was satisfied he had memorized every turn. The primary route followed the main road past the hotel and curved back toward the cabin. The second cut east through an old service lane and rejoined the logging trail. The third was for emergencies only, a narrow maintenance road that might be blocked by snow but would place James close enough to the woods for John and Maggie to reach him.

They established radio phrases as well. If James said the road was clear, it meant one person had appeared. If he said the weather was getting worse, there were too many people to count. If he mentioned needing fuel, something had gone wrong and he required immediate support.

Elliott listened from the common table, trying to appear busy with her schoolwork. She managed for nearly ten minutes before abandoning the act.

"You're going to come back, right?"

James looked over from the rifle he was cleaning. "That's the plan."

"That isn't what I asked."

He set the cloth down and crossed the room. Elliott looked smaller when she was frightened, despite how hard she tried to hide it.

James crouched beside her chair. "I'm coming back."

She searched his face. "Promise?"

"I promise I'm going to do everything I can."

"That's not the same thing."

"No," he admitted. "It isn't."

Elliott wrapped both arms around his neck before he could say anything else. He held her for a moment, then kissed the side of her head.

"I'm not going alone," he reminded her. "Dad and Maggie will be close enough to help."

Elliott looked toward Maggie. "You bring him back."

Maggie met her eyes. "I will."

By early afternoon, the three of them were ready.

John and Maggie left first, using the woods to approach the hotel from the south. They carried snowshoes, radios, and enough ammunition to fight their way back if the operation went badly. Their job was to remain hidden along the tree line overlooking the parking lot, with John positioned near the access road and Maggie farther north where she could cover the hotel entrance.

James waited another forty minutes before leaving.

The road had not been cleared since the world ended, but repeated supply runs had packed the snow tightly enough for the truck to manage. He drove slowly at first, listening to the engine and watching for movement between the trees. The rifle rested across the passenger seat beside the radio, close enough to reach without looking.

Karen's voice came through the speaker.

"Radio check."

James lifted the handset. "I hear you."

"John?"

A burst of static answered before John's voice came through. "Positioned."

"Maggie?"

"Ready."

Karen hesitated. "James?"

"I'm still here."

"I know."

He waited for whatever else she wanted to say.

Nothing came.

James set the handset down and continued toward the hotel.

The building appeared through the trees several minutes later, a broad gray structure rising above the snow-covered parking lot. The unfinished sections looked worse up close. Several windows had never received glass, while others were shattered or covered from inside with plywood, curtains, or dark blankets. Abandoned vehicles sat crooked across the lot, many of them half buried in snow.

Nothing moved.

James slowed near the entrance.

The hotel looked dead.

He drove once around the outer edge of the parking lot, watching the windows and counting possible exits. There were too many for three people to cover, but he had expected that. The goal was not to trap anyone. It was to make hiding inconvenient.

He stopped the truck forty yards from the main entrance and left the engine running.

"Position?" John asked through the radio.

"In front."

"Any movement?"

"Nothing yet."

James rested one hand on the steering wheel and the other near the rifle.

Then he pressed the horn.

The sound tore across the empty parking lot and echoed against the hotel walls. Birds erupted from the roof and scattered toward the lake, but nothing moved behind the windows.

James released the horn.

Silence returned.

He waited ten seconds, then pressed it again.

This time, he held it longer.

The noise rolled through the trees, far louder than he had expected. Somewhere beyond the hotel, a distant scream answered, faint enough that he almost convinced himself he had imagined it.

Almost.

"James," John warned through the radio.

"I heard it."

"You have two minutes."

James leaned on the horn again.

Still nothing.

He checked the rearview mirror, then the side windows. Maggie and John remained invisible in the woods, exactly where they were supposed to be.

Another scream came from farther away.

Then a curtain shifted on the third floor.

James sat straighter.

A second curtain moved.

Someone appeared behind a broken window, then vanished before he could make out more than the outline of a head and shoulders.

"Road's clear," James said into the radio.

One person.

Then a door opened near the side of the building.

A man stepped outside carrying a rifle.

A second person appeared behind him.

Then a third.

"Correction," James said. "The weather is getting worse."

Karen's voice came through immediately. "Retreat."

James shifted the truck into drive.

More people emerged from the building, some armed, others carrying improvised weapons. They were thin, bundled in mismatched winter clothing, and moving with the cautious speed of people who expected every sound to be a trap.

Someone shouted at him.

James could not hear the words through the closed windows, but the meaning was clear enough.

Stop making noise.

He pressed the horn one final time.

The man with the rifle began running toward him.

James smiled despite himself.

"Got you."

He accelerated across the parking lot.

The truck fishtailed slightly before the tires caught, sending a spray of snow toward an abandoned sedan. Several of the survivors followed, shouting and raising their weapons, though none fired.

That surprised him.

People willing to shoot would usually do it first.

James reached the access road and checked the rearview mirror. Five people were still following, but they were already losing ground.

Then someone emerged from behind the hotel.

A woman.

She carried a rifle in both hands and moved faster than the others, cutting diagonally across the parking lot toward the road. A knit cap covered most of her hair, and a scarf hid the lower half of her face.

James watched her in the mirror.

Something about the way she ran bothered him.

Not frightened him.

Stopped him.

He eased off the accelerator.

"James," John said sharply through the radio. "Keep moving."

The woman raised her rifle.

James tightened his hand around the steering wheel.

She did not fire.

Instead, she waved one arm over her head and shouted something he could not hear.

The truck rolled more slowly.

"James, retreat," Karen ordered.

He barely heard her.

The woman pulled down her scarf.

James looked in the rearview mirror.

His entire body went cold.

There were faces a person forgot over time, even when they tried not to. Details softened. Voices changed inside memory. A smile became more about the feeling it had created than the exact shape of someone's mouth.

This face had changed.

It was thinner, older, and marked by years James had not witnessed.

He knew it anyway.

"No."

The word escaped before he could stop it.

Maggie's voice came over the radio. "What?"

James hit the brakes.

The truck slid several feet before stopping crooked across the road. He shifted into park so quickly that the gear caught between positions, forcing him to shove it forward again before the engine stopped complaining.

"James," John said. "What are you doing?"

He opened the door.

The woman stopped running.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Snow drifted between them. The survivors behind her slowed, confused by the sudden change, while James stood beside the truck with one hand still gripping the open door.

Her rifle remained raised, although the barrel had dropped toward the ground.

James could not breathe.

He had imagined finding her too many times.

Alive.

Dead.

Sick.

Angry.

Relieved.

He had imagined what he would say, how he would explain the years between them, and whether she would forgive him for leaving when there had never been another choice.

Now that she stood in front of him, every prepared word disappeared.

"Abby?"

Her face folded.

The rifle slipped from her hands and landed in the snow.

James ran.

He left the truck door open and the rifle on the passenger seat, ignoring the voices shouting through the radio and the armed people still moving around the hotel. Abby ran toward him at the same time.

They met in the middle of the road.

James wrapped both arms around her, and Abby struck him hard enough that the force nearly knocked them both into the snow. She clung to him with her face buried against his shoulder, her hands twisted into the back of his coat as though loosening her grip might make him disappear again.

James held her just as tightly.

For one impossible moment, the hotel, the scout, the cabin, and the years between them vanished.

Abby was alive.

He had found her.

Or she had found him.

For that single moment, it did not matter which.