“Company eight.” Jed shook his head. The firelight in David’s tent cast dark shadows over Jed’s face, making his cheekbones look even more hollowed than usual. “We won’t see you.”

“But at least you’re going.” Susan smiled at David and Grace, her black curls bouncing in spite of the thick air. “We’ll meet up again at the Sanctuary.”

David had his doubts about that. He could see from the way Jed’s eyes shot his direction, from the tightness of his lips and the furrow in his brow, that he did also. But David didn’t argue. “Yes. At least we’re going.” He reached into his dinner tin and pulled out salted meat and several crackers. He’d gone with Amari to get their dinner rations, and when she grabbed two, he realized with a flash of understanding she was retrieving for her grandmother also.

“I’ll see you in the morning?” he’d said, trying again to offer an olive branch between them. Something.

But she’d shot him a look of disgust before running off into the darkness.

He shoved her from his thoughts now. She was capable of taking care of herself. “How are we making the journey? Do they have camper cars for all of us?” It could be quick, and comfortable, if they did.

“They haven’t said, but I don’t think so. You haven’t met with your company yet. They anticipate it taking three weeks.”

“Three weeks?” David’s jaw dropped. “Are we walking?”

Jed shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Walking. David let out an exhale, reconciling himself with the idea. How else would they move so many people? “What are we going to do for food? They said to bring what we have. Like we have extra tucked away somewhere for a rainy day?”

Jed placed pieces of meat on his crackers and ate one like a miniature sandwich. “Earlier they told us each company will bring a ration of food from the camp for the duration of the journey.”

“And maybe there will be food along the way.” Susan hadn't lost her positive attitude, or her perpetual smile. “Maybe can find wild game.”

“Real meat, not this processed stuff.” Jed tossed his tin at the fire. “What I wouldn’t give for an apple.”

“Peaches,” David said. He remembered orchards overflowing with ripe peaches in his aunt’s orchard in Georgia, the scent of them wafting on the wind. “I can almost taste one now.”

“Tomatoes,” Susan said.

“Which ones are peaches?” Grace asked.

Her words dropped like a bomb on the light-hearted conversation. David looked at her, a pit forming in his stomach. She’d been seven when the Disasters happened. She didn’t know what it was like to have fresh food available. His eyes trailed over her knobby elbows, her stick-figure legs. “Yellow and pink round fruits, Gracie.” He ruffed the top of her hair. “At the Sanctuary, they grow fruits on bushes. There are greenhouses with rows and rows of trees. We’re going to spend an entire day tasting all of them.”

“Really?” She settled herself on the sleeping bag, pushing her tangled hair out of her face. “They really have that?”

He looked at her bright eyes, the flush on her face. He’d created a fairy tale, but she’d believed it, and he’d never seen her so excited.

He would make it come true. “Really.”

Jed stood, pulling Susan to her feet also. “David, we should get to our tent. We’ll be stumbling along as it is.”

The smile dropped from David’s face, and he stood up. “Take a light.” Jed’s tent was about twenty feet away, but in this cold wind, ash, and darkness, that may as well be a mile.

“I’ve got my lighter if we get lost.” Jed pulled it from his pocket, flicking it on briefly.

“But you don’t know if there will be oil refills on the journey. Save it.” David gathered a handful of starter branches. He dipped them into the flickering coals and waited until they caught fire, then held the make-shift torch out to Jed.

“Thank you.” Jed’s eyes locked on David’s. “If we don't see each other tomorrow, have a safe journey.”

David nodded, affection for the older man catching in his throat. “You too.”

“Good night, Grace,” Susan said, giving her a hug and a kiss. “Night, David.”

The two of them stepped out. An arctic wind blew in from the flap, and David snatched it, tying it to the other side and then covering the opening with extra canvas to keep out as much cold as possible.

Tomorrow he would take his blushing bride and leave this hellhole.

“Are you working tonight?” Grace asked, her eyes on him as he turned from the tent flap.

He hesitated. Not working—but he had an errand to run.

She couldn’t know the truth.

“Just for a little bit,” he said, coming over to wrap her blanket around her. Then he sat cross-legged beside her legs. “I’ll wait until you fall asleep.”

By the time he’d removed the hot rocks from the fire and wrapped them in rags to place next to her feet for warmth through the night, she was out.

He turned to his own bundle of blankets and bedding and shoved his hand into the bottom of his pillow case, his heart racing as he felt for the spiked flask of whiskey.

There. He shoved it into his coat pocket and took a moment to make sure the fire was contained and dying before slipping into the cold darkness.

The camp always smelled worse at night—burnt rubber, cold ash, the stink of too many people surviving too close for too long. David walked like smoke through it, quiet and thin, his coat drawn tight around him. The metal in his pocket thudded against his thigh with each step. Inside, the liquid, laced with a sleeping agent, sloshed, invisible and lethal in its own way.

He hadn’t hesitated when he’d stolen the sleeping agent from the sick house. Just a quick glance when the nurses had their backs turned, a lifted syringe, and he was gone. But his pulse had thrummed like he was sprinting. Not from guilt. He didn’t feel guilty. Not really.

If anything, he felt… detached. Like he was moving his body from the outside, remote-controlled. Every choice narrowed to one truth: Grace needed that weapon. She needed it more than Kip needed to stay awake tonight. More than the camp needed another power struggle. More than David needed to stay clean.

He ducked past the latrines, gravel grinding beneath his boots. Kip’s favorite meeting spot was just beyond the half-collapsed wall—far enough from the main quarters that no one would overhear, close enough for Kip to run if things went south. Predictable, like always.

Kip was already there, crouched like a gargoyle on a rusted barrel, cigarette glowing red in the dark. That familiar grin curled up as he saw David approach.

“You’re late.”