Night in the Waystation

They stayed in the building.

The upper floor was more intact than the ground level. One room still had most of its walls and a door that could be braced. Emma and Sydney cleared it carefully, then settled in with the minimum of light. No fire. Only the small oil lamp shielded behind a broken cabinet so it would not show through the windows.

Sydney took the first watch, sitting near the door with the Glock in her lap and the machete close at hand. Emma sat against the opposite wall, rifle across her thighs, listening to the wind move across the snow outside. Neither of them slept deeply. Every creak of the old structure brought both of them to full attention.

Nothing came during the night.

At first light they moved again.

The Second Pack

The snow had hardened overnight into a crust that cracked under their boots. They followed the old road inland, keeping to the treeline where possible. The coordinates for Site B still lay several hours ahead.

The second pack found them in a wide, shallow depression where the road curved between two low ridges.

There were more of them this time — at least eight, maybe ten. They came from both sides at once, moving faster and with less hesitation than the group at the waystation. Emma got off one clean shot with the Remington before the distance closed too much. Sydney put two arrows into the nearest runners, then dropped the bow and went to the machete and Glock as the fight turned into close work.

They were being forced backward toward the open centre of the depression when the new gunfire started.

Controlled, rapid, and precise.

A figure in modern combat armour came over the northern ridge at a dead run, rifle already up. The armour was scarred and dirty but still clearly advanced — plated vest, helmet with a cracked visor, tactical webbing. The rifle was a modern carbine, not scavenged civilian hardware. She fired in short, accurate bursts, dropping three Ravagers in the space of a few seconds.

“Down!” she shouted, voice sharp and carrying.

Emma and Sydney dropped without argument. The newcomer moved through the remaining pack with brutal efficiency, using the rifle until it ran dry, then transitioning to a sidearm without slowing. When the last Ravager closed on her she met it with a combat knife and a short, violent struggle that left the infected on the ground and her still standing.

Silence returned, broken only by heavy breathing and the soft settling of snow.

The woman turned toward them, keeping the sidearm lowered but ready. She was tall, athletic, and clearly exhausted beneath the armour. Dark skin, sharp features, and a presence that belonged to professional soldiering rather than scavenged survival. She looked them over once, assessing.

“You two are not from any unit I know,” she said. Her accent was British, clipped by fatigue. “And you’re a long way from anywhere safe.”

Emma slowly rose, keeping her hands visible. “We’re from the island. Scouting mission.”

The woman gave a short, humourless breath. “The island still exists. That’s new information.”

She lowered the sidearm fully and reached up to pull the damaged helmet off. Short dark hair was plastered to her head with sweat despite the cold.

“Corporal Lashana. V Corp. Or what’s left of it.” She glanced at the bodies around them. “Comms have been dead for months. Battalion is gone. I’ve been moving alone since the last perimeter collapsed.”

Sydney still had the Glock in her hand, though she kept it pointed at the ground. “You just saved our lives.”

Lashana gave a tired shrug. “You were making enough noise that I couldn’t ignore it. And I don’t like leaving people to get torn apart if I can help it.”

She looked inland, then back at them.

“You’re heading deeper. That’s either brave or stupid. Maybe both.”

Emma met her eyes. “We have coordinates. A possible research site. Suppressant trials.”

Something shifted in Lashana’s expression — not hope exactly, but interest.

“Then you’re either the luckiest people I’ve met in a year,” she said, “or the most doomed. Either way, you’re going to need more than a hunting rifle and a bow if you want to reach it.”

She reloaded her sidearm with practised hands.

“I can help you get further. After that we decide if we still like each other.”

The wind moved across the frozen depression, carrying the last of the gun smoke away.

For the first time since leaving the island, they were no longer only two.