Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The hunter’s cabin held until morning.

For a world that had already collapsed, it almost sounded like a small miracle. No infected slammed against the door, no looters followed their footprints from the stream, no engine stopped outside and no human hands tried to open the window. There was only the light rain that fell for most of the night, the wooden floor holding onto the cold, and the forest moving slowly beyond the walls as though it were breathing with something that had not yet shown itself. Occasionally, branches scraped across the roof. Occasionally, the cans Jude had set up as an alarm shifted in the wind, making both of them wake with weapons in their hands before realizing no one was there. Safety, Gavi was beginning to understand, no longer meant peace. Safety only meant nothing had managed to get inside yet.

He woke with the knife still trapped in his palm and the rough blanket covering half his body. The stove flame had long since died. Gray morning light entered through the gaps in the boards over the window, enough to reveal dust, dirty clothes, and empty bean cans near the table. The wound along his side throbbed when he shifted position, not a sharp pain but a dull heat that made his entire body remember drainage water, the looter’s knife, and far too many movements an injured person should not have made.

Jude was still sitting in the chair near the door.

His position was almost the same as when Gavi had fallen asleep: back against the wood, the metal rod between his legs, head slightly lowered. But his eyes were open. His face was pale, the bandage around his arm was faintly red again, and there was something too rigid in the way he held himself.

Gavi watched him for several seconds before his irritation found a way out.

“You didn’t sleep.”

Jude lifted his eyes. “A little.”

“In the chair?”

“Yeah.”

“With your eyes open?”

“Not the whole time.”

Gavi pushed the blanket away and stood. The world tilted for a moment, but he caught the table before his body could visibly sway. Jude immediately moved to get up.

Gavi pointed at him. “Sit.”

Jude stopped halfway to standing. “You nearly fell.”

“I stood too fast.”

“That’s the definition of nearly falling.”

“You didn’t sleep all night. We can argue over who’s more stupid until the infected come and choose.”

Jude stood anyway, although his movements were slow. “I was keeping watch.”

“No one asked you to.”

“You were sleeping.”

“And?”

“If we both sleep, we won’t wake up if someone comes in.”

“I didn’t tell you not to sleep at all.”

“I slept.”

Gavi stared at his pale face. “You’re a bad liar.”

Jude almost said something, but Gavi had already taken the remaining bottle of water. He shook it. Not much left. Maybe three or four mouthfuls. He handed it to Jude.

“Drink.”

Jude looked at the bottle, then at Gavi. “You first.”

“I already did.”

“Lie.”

“You want to die of thirst just so you can win an argument?”

“You need it too.”

Gavi stepped closer and pressed the bottle against Jude’s chest. “Drink half. I’ll take the rest. Don’t turn something simple into a moral test.”

Jude kept looking at him as though he were trying to understand something Gavi had no intention of explaining. Eventually, he opened the bottle, took two drinks, then handed it back. Gavi immediately finished the rest before Jude could change his mind.

“Satisfied?” he asked.

“No.”

“You have many problems.”

“Your bandage.”

Gavi looked down. The edge of the cloth around his stomach was slightly damp. “Still attached.”

“That isn’t a good standard.”

“Yours is worse.”

“Then we change both.”

“You sound very domestic for someone who nearly passed out in a stream last night.”

Jude tilted his head slightly. “Domestic?”

Gavi regretted the word as soon as it left his mouth. “Shut up.”

Jude did not smile, but the corner of his mouth moved very slightly.

Damn him.

Gavi took the thin medical bag and dropped it onto the table. There was not much left inside: a quarter bottle of antiseptic, two rolls of cloth, several unmarked tablets, and a small pair of scissors with rust beginning to form at the tips. They could not keep changing bandages as though the old world still had a pharmacy on every corner. Every strip of cloth used now was something they would not have tomorrow.

“Your arm first,” Gavi said.

“Your stomach first.”

“I said it first.”

“That isn’t a medical system.”

“It is now.”

Jude looked at him for several seconds, then sat again. “You touch too hard.”

“Because you complain too much.”

“I barely complain.”

“Your face complains.”

Gavi removed the bandage from Jude’s arm. The cloth had stuck to the dried blood, pulling at the skin around the wound as he peeled it away. Jude made no sound, but the muscle in his jaw tightened. Gavi noticed. He did not say it was allowed to hurt this time. The sentence had passed between them too often and was beginning to sound softer than he could handle that early in the morning.

The machete wound did not look good, but it was no worse than the night before. There were no long red lines, no pus, no excessive heat when touched. Gavi poured some of the remaining boiled water onto a cloth and cleaned away the blood with slow movements. Jude watched him.

“Don’t look at my hands,” Gavi said.

“I’m looking at the wound.”

“The wound is on your arm.”

“And your hands are near it.”

“Do you always have an answer?”

“No.”

“When?”

Jude was silent for a moment. “When you came out of the drainage tunnel and I didn’t.”

Gavi’s movements stopped.

The small wooden room suddenly felt too quiet. The rain had stopped, leaving no other sound to hide the words. Gavi remembered those few seconds outside the tunnel, when the air had felt too large and Jude had not appeared. He remembered how his body had risen before he could think, how he had shouted Jude’s name, how Mara had tried to hold him back and Gavi had nearly pushed her down. Then Jude had crawled out alive, covered in mud, and Gavi had pulled him as though the whole world depended on the front of his shirt.

He returned to cleaning the wound.

“Don’t do that again,” he said.

“Do what?”

“Be the last one.”

“Someone has to be last.”

“It doesn’t always have to be you.”

Jude did not answer immediately. “You want to be last?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“If it isn’t me, then who?”

Gavi lifted his eyes. “Do you really think every door has to be held shut with your body?”

“I think if I can hold it longer than a child or an injured woman, I should.”

“And if you die?”

The question came out faster than he wanted. Too sharp to sound ordinary, too close to fear to be dismissed as anger.

Jude looked at him. “They still get out.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“It is.”

“It’s a bad answer.”

“I didn’t say it was good.”

Gavi pulled the fresh bandage slightly tighter than necessary. Jude winced.

“Good,” Gavi said. “Means you’re still alive.”

“You did that on purpose.”

“Prove it.”

He tied the knot, then released Jude’s arm. Jude examined the new bandage with a small movement. Gavi turned away, intending to clear the dirty cloth, but Jude caught his wrist.

Not hard.

Only enough to stop him.

Gavi immediately tensed.

Jude let go as soon as he realized. “Your stomach.”

“I can do it myself.”

“I know.”

“Then?”

“The angle is difficult. You’ll tie it too loosely so you can move.”

Gavi looked at him suspiciously. “You’ve thought about this?”

“You move like the wound isn’t there. I have to.”

The words have to made something inside Gavi want to fight, but Jude did not say them like an order. More like a burden he had already taken without asking permission. That should have made Gavi angrier. Instead, it felt more difficult.

He sat in the chair and lifted the bottom of the flannel just enough. “Quickly.”

Jude crouched in front of him, then stopped before touching the bandage. “Can I?”

Gavi stared at him.

“Don’t start a strange habit.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“If you couldn’t, I wouldn’t be sitting here with my shirt lifted.”

Jude gave a small nod and began removing the old cloth. His fingers were steady, but his movements slowed whenever the bandage stuck to the skin. Gavi’s wound had opened slightly along the edge, probably from crawling through the drainage tunnel and running down the slope. The dirty water had been cleaned away the night before, but the surrounding area was still red and bruised. Jude looked too serious.

“Don’t make that face,” Gavi said.

“What face?”

“Like I’m going to die from a scratch.”

“That isn’t a scratch.”

“Every wound is a scratch if it doesn’t kill you.”

“That isn’t how wounds work.”

“You’re a doctor now?”

“No. I have eyes.”

Gavi snorted. “Stealing my line.”

“You said you liked facts.”

“I like facts when they benefit me.”

Jude cleaned the wound. The antiseptic made Gavi’s side burn sharply. His hand automatically gripped the edge of the chair. Jude stopped.

“Keep going,” Gavi hissed.

“You’re tense.”

“Because it hurts, not because of you.”

Jude lifted his eyes. “I didn’t say it was because of me.”

Gavi felt his face grow hot and hated that Jude could make him lose simply by not accusing him of anything. “Finish it.”

Jude continued. Once the clean cloth was in place, he wrapped Gavi’s stomach more tightly, but not enough to restrict his breathing. His hands only touched Gavi through the fabric, yet Gavi was still intensely aware of every movement, the warmth of Jude’s fingers whenever they brushed bare skin, and how close Jude’s head was to his chest. He looked at the window, at the table, anywhere except down.

When he finished, Jude did not stand immediately. He checked the knot and pressed gently against the side of the bandage.

“If it’s too tight, say something.”

“It isn’t.”

“You haven’t moved yet.”

“Still isn’t.”

“Gavi.”

“Jude.”

The name came out again, lower than before. Jude looked up at him from where he was crouching. For one second, both of them stayed quiet for too long. There was no growling, no gunfire, no sound of a door breaking open to save them from the moment. Only the wooden cabin, the smell of antiseptic, and two names that had begun to sound different every time they were used without mockery.

Jude stood first. “We need to go.”

Gavi lowered the flannel. “Finally saying something sensible.”

They packed everything still useful. Three cans of food went into the bag, along with matches, rope, the small pot, a kitchen knife, and the radio with dead batteries. Gavi wanted to leave the radio because it only added weight, but Jude said they might find replacement batteries. Gavi complained that they were not collecting electronics. Jude packed it anyway. They filled two bottles with rainwater from the barrel behind the cabin, then boiled them one at a time in the pot. It took time, but drinking untreated water in a world without doctors sounded like too embarrassing a way to die.

Before leaving, Gavi picked up the Barcelona jersey he had folded the night before. The fabric was still damp, covered in blood and mud. He almost put it into the bag, then noticed how much space it would take. Food or cloth. A knife or a memory. The new world always forced choices that should never have needed comparing.

Jude was folding his Madrid jersey on the other side of the table.

“You’re taking it?” Gavi asked.

Jude looked at the white fabric that had turned gray. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

Jude did not answer quickly. “Because it’s still mine.”

A simple answer.

Enough.

Gavi placed his own jersey at the bottom of the bag. “If the bag gets too heavy, I’m throwing yours away first.”

“You’re not carrying mine.”

“I can take it when you pass out.”

“You sure you won’t carry me?”

Gavi stared at him sharply. “I’ll drag you by the feet.”

Jude opened the door slightly and checked outside. “Worse for your stomach.”

“I’ll find a more painful way.”

The forest welcomed them with cold, damp air. The rain had stopped, but drops were still falling from the leaves and the roof. There were no fresh tracks in front of the cabin. The cans used as an alarm remained in place. The path between the trees looked empty. But empty no longer meant there was nothing there. Empty meant anything could be waiting behind the next trunk.

They left the hunter’s cabin before the sun rose too high, closing the door and fastening the chain as well as they could. Not for the owner. The owner was probably dead long before they had arrived. Only so the infected would not enter easily and the place might still be useful to another human being. Gavi did not say goodbye. He did not want to develop a habit of saying farewell to every building that gave them one more night alive.

The monastery lay to the north, according to Mara’s map. They had lost the path while drawing the pickup west, but the stream gave them a rough direction. Water flowed down from the mountains; if they followed the opposite bank and then cut north, they should find the old road leading to the monastery.

Should.

The word was just as bad as maybe, only dressed more neatly.

The forest slowly swallowed them. The ground was soft, the roots slippery, and the low fog shortened their visibility. They walked without speaking much, not because there was nothing to say, but because every sound now had a price. Gavi took position slightly ahead when the path narrowed. Jude watched the rear. Every few minutes, they stopped at the same time to listen. There were almost no birds. Even the insects were scarce. All that remained was the sound of running water, fabric rubbing, and their own footsteps.

After almost an hour, they found tire tracks.

Gavi crouched. The marks cut across a narrow dirt road from east to north. The mud along the edges had not completely filled with water yet.

“Fresh,” he said.

Jude looked in both directions. “Pickup?”

“Narrower.”

“Jeep.”

“You’re an expert on tires too?”

“Madrid has a car park.”

Gavi stared at him. “Barcelona has one too.”

“I didn’t say it didn’t.”

“You made it sound like that.”

Jude pointed at a broken branch on the side of the road. “Vehicle went north. Maybe toward the monastery.”

“Follow it?”

“From the forest, not the road.”

For once, Gavi did not argue. They moved parallel to the tracks, protected by the trees. Around two hundred meters later, the road curved downward and the vehicle appeared through the fog: an old green jeep, its front end crashed into a low tree. The engine was off. The driver’s door stood open.

No movement.

Jude signaled for Gavi to take the right side. Gavi circled through the bushes with his knife ready. The smell of blood reached him first. In a shallow ditch near the front wheel, a man lay on his side. He was probably in his fifties. Hunter’s jacket, boots, one hand still gripping a key. There was a gunshot wound in his back. Not a bite. The blood had partly dried, but the body was not fully stiff yet.

Gavi stopped several steps away.

Not infected.

A human killed by another human.

Somehow, it felt worse.

Jude crouched on the other side and checked the body without touching too much. “A few hours.”

“South Gate?”

“Don’t know.”

“His weapon is gone.”

“Wallet too.”

Gavi looked at the key in the dead man’s hand. “Does the jeep still work?”

“Maybe.”

“You can drive?”

Jude looked at him. “Can’t you?”

“I asked you.”

“Yes.”

“Of course. England gives driving licences to people who are too tall too?”

Jude ignored him and inspected the vehicle. The tank was a quarter full. The windscreen was cracked, but the tires were intact. In the back were an empty fuel can, a blanket, a toolbox, and two unopened bottles of water. Too valuable to leave behind.

Gavi was still looking at the body in the ditch. “We’re taking a dead man’s car.”

Jude stopped beside the door. “Yeah.”

“You don’t feel bad?”

“I do.”

“Doesn’t sound like it.”

Jude looked at the man. “If we leave it, the people who killed him might come back for it. Or the car will rot here. If we use it, maybe we reach Mara before they move again.”

Gavi knew that.

He still did not like how a correct reason could make a bad action necessary.

He walked to the body, crouched, then opened the man’s fingers from the key one at a time. The cold hand did not release easily. Gavi did not look at his face.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

Jude heard.

Said nothing.

They pulled the man’s body farther from the road and covered him with the blanket from the back of the jeep. There was no time to dig. The ground was too wet, they had no shovel, and the sound of the engine could attract anything nearby. Even so, leaving him exposed felt wrong. Gavi placed two stones at the edge of the blanket so the wind would not uncover him.

Jude stood behind him. “Ready?”

“No.”

Jude waited.

Gavi looked at the blanket one last time. “Go.”

The jeep started after three attempts. The sound was too loud in the silent forest. Gavi immediately regretted it, but once the vehicle moved, a distance that would have taken hours began disappearing much faster. Jude drove with both hands on the wheel, focused on the muddy road. Gavi sat in the passenger seat, knife on his thigh, the window slightly open so he could hear any other engines. The seat belt did not work. The dashboard was cracked. The radio produced only static.

“Slow down,” Gavi said when the jeep hit a hole.

“If we go too slowly, we’re easier to follow.”

“If we go too fast, my stomach opens.”

Jude immediately reduced his speed.

Gavi turned toward him. “I didn’t tell you to go this slowly.”

“You just did.”

“I said slower, not drive like a grandmother.”

“Are you ever satisfied?”

“Rarely.”

Jude kept his eyes on the road, but Gavi saw the corner of his mouth move.

They did not drive directly to the monastery. Around one kilometer before the coordinates on the map, Jude switched off the engine and hid the jeep behind a collapsed agricultural shed. Branches and an old tarpaulin were pulled over part of the vehicle. If they needed to escape quickly, they still had a chance. If South Gate found it first, at least it would not be visible from the main road.

They completed the rest of the journey on foot. The road toward the monastery climbed through an overgrown olive grove and past low stone walls. The air carried a faint smell of smoke from the south. There were no bells. No prayers. The old monastery slowly appeared through the fog: a two-story stone building with a dark roof, a small tower, and an iron fence that had partly collapsed.

There was a white cloth on the western fence.

Gavi saw it from a distance and immediately quickened his pace.

Jude caught the back of his bag. “Wait.”

“That’s Mara’s signal.”

“Someone else could have placed it.”

“Who would know?”

“Someone following them.”

Gavi knocked Jude’s hand away, but did not immediately move forward.

Damn it.

He knew Jude was right.

The white cloth was tied on the inside of the fence, just as Mara had promised. But on the stone beneath it, there was a dark brown stain.

Dried blood.

The hope that had just appeared immediately felt cracked.

They approached through the trees rather than using the gate. Jude pointed toward a lower-floor window. Broken. Gavi studied the ground: many footprints, some small, leading toward the building. Other prints, larger and heavier, came from the road and then left again toward the north.

“The children went inside,” Gavi whispered.

“Yeah.”

“Then armed men.”

“Maybe.”

Gavi looked at Jude.

Jude corrected himself. “Heavy boot prints. More than four people.”

“South Gate.”

“Could be.”

“One day I’m going to kill you because of that phrase.”

“As long as it isn’t today.”

They climbed over the collapsed part of the fence and entered the monastery grounds. There were no bodies outside. No sound from within. The main door stood slightly open, but Mara had warned them not to use it. They circled the building toward the western fence and found a small service door beneath climbing plants. The lock was broken rather than carefully opened.

Gavi touched the blood on the handle.

Dry.

Jude held the door before Gavi could push it. “I go first.”

“No.”

“Narrow corridor.”

“We’ve discussed this.”

“And the result was you behind me.”

Gavi wanted to argue, but there was something in Jude’s face that left no space. Not empty dominance. Calculation. Jude was larger, the metal rod had greater reach, and Gavi could move more easily from behind if something attacked.

Annoying.

Still correct.

“If you stop suddenly, I’ll stab you in the back,” Gavi said.

“Noted.”

They entered.

The inside of the monastery smelled of dust, damp cloth, and blood. The narrow corridor led into a main hall filled with the remains of a shelter: blankets on the floor, empty water bottles, food wrappers, strips of bandage, and bags abandoned in a hurry. There was no one there. One table had been overturned. Near the wall lay a broken axe.

Mara.

Gavi recognized the handle.

He picked it up and looked at the blood on the blade. “They fought.”

Jude crouched near the floor. “Not much blood.”

“For who?”

“Don’t know.”

Gavi tightened his hand around the broken handle. “Don’t say you don’t know.”

“I’m not going to choose an answer just because it sounds better.”

“I didn’t ask for better.”

“You’re asking for certainty that isn’t there.”

Gavi turned sharply. “And you’re always comfortable with that?”

Jude stood. “No.”

“You look like you are.”

“Because if I panic every time I don’t know something, we never get this far.”

“You think I’m panicking?”

“I think you’re five seconds away from running into every room without checking the door.”

Gavi stepped toward him. “If the children are here—”

“Then making noise won’t help.”

“If South Gate took them—”

“We find out where.”

“What if we’re too late?”

Jude stopped. His jaw tightened. “We’re not too late yet.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No.” Jude looked straight at him. “But neither do you.”

Gavi wanted to shove him. Wanted to hit something that could hit back. But in the empty hall, their own voices were already too loud. He turned away, drew a breath, and looked at the wall near the small altar.

There was writing in charcoal.

The letters were large, rushed, but readable.

DO NOT FOLLOW THE RADIO.

Below it:

THEY TAKE THE STRONG ONES.

Then one final line, smaller:

CHILDREN NORTH. WATER HOUSE.

Gavi moved closer. He touched the final letters with the tip of his finger. The charcoal was not completely dry. The message had been written not long ago.

“Mara,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“They’re alive.”

“Some of them, at least.”

Gavi turned. “You really can’t let one piece of good news stand on its own?”

“I don’t want us to let our guard down.”

“Sometimes you’re allowed to stay quiet.”

Jude gave a small nod. “They’re alive.”

This time, nothing more.

Gavi looked at the writing again.

Water house.

Another place he did not know.

A new direction.

Children north.

The teenager in the Barcelona hoodie wearing Jude’s jacket might be with them. Mara might be injured but still moving.

Enough.

It had to be enough.

The sound of footsteps came from the front corridor.

Both of them immediately froze.

Not infected footsteps.

Too regular.

Two people, perhaps three.

Radio static followed.

Jude pointed toward the overturned table. They moved without speaking, hiding on opposite sides of the hall. Gavi positioned himself behind a pillar near the service door. Jude crouched behind a collapsed wooden shelf.

The footsteps came closer.

Two South Gate men entered the hall.

Black jackets, pistols, one radio.

Unfamiliar faces.

One of them kicked an empty bottle.

“Place is empty.”

“Tracks north?”

“The other team followed them.”

“Boss wants the players, not church people.”

“Strong ones still go to the depot. Children are useless unless they’re leverage.”

Gavi felt his grip tighten around the knife.

The man with the radio walked toward the charcoal writing. “Water house.”

The other laughed. “They think messages like this don’t get read?”

“Could be a trap.”

“Who’s making traps? Church mothers?”

Jude was visible through a gap in the fallen shelf. Their eyes met.

Two men.

Firearms.

They needed the radio.

They needed information.

No gunfire if it could be avoided.

Jude gave a small signal: wait.

Gavi hated waiting.

The first man walked past the pillar.

Close.

Too close.

Gavi could smell cigarettes and sweat on his jacket. The man stopped to inspect a bag on the floor.

Bent down.

Now.

Gavi stepped out from behind the pillar, covered the man’s mouth with one hand, and pressed the knife against his throat. The man immediately struggled, driving his elbow into Gavi’s stomach.

The wound flared hot.

Gavi’s grip nearly broke.

On the other side, Jude lunged at the man with the radio. The metal rod struck his armed wrist, the pistol fell, but the radio was thrown to the floor too. The man headbutted Jude in the face. Jude stepped backward.

The first guard managed to free his mouth and started to shout.

Gavi struck him in the temple with the handle of the knife.

Not enough.

The man twisted and threw Gavi onto the floor.

Gavi’s stomach struck the stone.

His vision flashed white.

The man reached for the fallen knife.

Before his hand could touch it, Jude’s foot slammed into his ribs from the side.

The man rolled over.

Gavi rose angrily, grabbed the knife, then pressed his knee against the guard’s chest.

“Move again and I’ll open your throat.”

The man stared at him, breathing hard. “Gavira.”

Gavi froze for a fraction of a second.

Recognition turned into an ugly smile on the guard’s face. “Boss was right.”

Gavi pressed the knife closer. “Who’s the boss?”

Jude had already knocked the second man down and tied his hands with a curtain cord. He picked up the radio and checked it.

“Don’t speak too loudly.”

The guard beneath Gavi laughed quietly. “You’re worth a lot.”

“How much?” Gavi asked. “I want to know if Madrid costs more.”

Jude turned as though he could not believe that was the sentence Gavi had chosen while holding a knife against someone’s throat.

The guard grinned. “The English one alive. The small one too, if he isn’t too damaged.”

Jude moved closer.

Very slowly.

His face lost every trace of an almost-smile.

“Where are the people from the monastery?” he asked.

The guard looked at Jude, then Gavi. “Too late.”

Gavi pressed his knee harder. “Wrong answer.”

“The strong ones were taken to the train depot near the cement factory. The elderly were left behind. The children escaped when one of the vehicles was attacked by infected.”

“Who was taken?” Jude asked.

The guard shrugged as much as he could. “Didn’t see names.”

“Players?”

“If there were any, yeah.”

“Pedri?” The name left Gavi without permission. “Pablo Torre? Trent? Vini?”

The man narrowed his eyes. “There were many players at the stadium.”

Gavi almost lowered the knife into his skin.

Jude caught his wrist.

Gavi turned sharply.

“He doesn’t know,” Jude said.

“He knows something.”

“And if you cut him, we lose the chance to hear the radio.”

“I’m not going to kill him.”

The guard beneath him laughed again. “Very convincing.”

Jude looked at the man. “Quiet.”

His tone was low, but the guard actually stopped.

Jude picked up the radio from the floor. Static, then a transmission came through.

“Monastery unit, report.”

Neither of them answered.

“Monastery unit?”

The second man, tied near the shelf, looked at Jude. Jude pressed the radio button and imitated the rough voice as closely as he could.

“Empty. Tracks north.”

Static.

“Do not follow too far. Team Two has already swept the water-house route. Return to the depot. New prisoners just arrived from the stadium sector. Two athletes, one medic, several technicians.”

Gavi looked at Jude.

Two athletes.

Pedri, maybe.

Trent.

Vini.

Too many names crowded together at once.

The radio continued.

“Soler wants all high-value assets separated before dark. No marks on their faces unless they resist.”

Soler.

A new name.

A bad one.

Jude pressed the button. “Children?”

“Not priority. Except the stadium child mentioned. The small one. Leo.”

Gavi’s entire body froze.

Jude immediately switched off the microphone before Gavi could grab it.

The radio was still speaking.

“Repeat, Leo is wanted alive. Possible medical link. Report immediately if found.”

The transmission ended.

Gavi rose from the guard’s chest too quickly. He walked two steps, then turned around again as though he did not know where to send his anger.

“They know Leo’s name.”

Jude tied the first guard with a bag strap. “Yeah.”

“Medical link?”

“Don’t know.”

“Don’t say you don’t know.”

“I really don’t.”

“His mother was in the suite. Maybe she was a doctor. Maybe she had a badge. Maybe—”

“Gavi.”

“What?”

“We’re not working that out here.”

Gavi looked at him. “We’re going to the depot.”

“Not directly.”

“Two athletes were taken from the stadium.”

“Could be anyone.”

“Pedri could be there.”

“Yes.”

“Trent could be there.”

“Yes.”

“Leo is being hunted.”

“Yes.”

Each yes sounded like a blow.

Gavi stepped closer. “Then we go to the depot.”

“We find the water house first.”

“Did you hear the same radio?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you standing there like we have time?”

“Because the depot is guarded, we have two pistols with an unknown number of bullets, you’re injured, I’m injured, and we don’t know the layout.”

“We can scout it.”

“After making sure Mara and the children aren’t being chased in another direction.”

Gavi laughed harshly. “There’s always a reason to wait.”

“There’s always a reason not to die for nothing.”

“Don’t talk like I want to die.”

“I’m talking like you want to run into an armed place just because Pedri’s name might be there.”

The words struck exactly where they were aimed.

Gavi shoved Jude’s chest.

Not very hard.

But clearly.

Jude stepped back half a pace.

Did not retaliate.

“Don’t use him to make me look stupid,” Gavi said.

“I didn’t say you were stupid.”

“It sounded like it.”

“I said you’re afraid.”

Gavi shoved him again.

This time, Jude caught his wrist.

Did not twist it.

Did not hurt him.

Only stopped him.

“Let go.”

Jude did.

Gavi stared at him, breathing heavily. The South Gate guards on the floor watched far too eagerly, as though the argument were free entertainment.

Jude lowered his voice. “I want to know who they took too.”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“Because if I look panicked, you think that helps?”

“At least it would be honest.”

“I am being honest.” Jude stepped closer, enough that the next words could not be heard by the men on the floor. “If Trent is at the depot, I want to go now. If Vini is there, I want to go. If Leo is being hunted, I want to find him before they do. But if we go in without a plan, we don’t save anyone. We only add two more athletes to their list of assets.”

Gavi clenched his jaw.

Jude continued, “The water house has Mara. Maybe someone who knows the depot routes. Maybe weapons. Maybe information. We go there. We make a plan. Then we find them.”

“What if we’re too late?”

Jude held his gaze. “We move as quickly as possible without making our final move.”

Not a promise.

Gavi knew that.

But in this world, promises already sounded like lies in expensive clothes.

Direction was more useful.

He looked at the charcoal writing again.

CHILDREN NORTH. WATER HOUSE.

“What if the water house is empty?”

“We turn toward the depot.”

“What if South Gate is already there?”

“We watch from outside.”

“What if Mara refuses to help?”

Jude almost gave a small smile. “You shout until she gives in.”

Gavi stared at him, then let out a rough breath. “Your first good plan.”

They took the guards’ pistols, two magazines, the radio, an additional knife, a rough map, and water bottles from their bags. Both guards were tied to a pillar, their mouths covered with cloth. Gavi wanted to leave them with nothing, but Jude placed one bottle of water on the floor where they could reach it if they worked together to move it.

“You’re very kind,” Gavi said flatly.

“They’ll die if infected get inside.”

“They wanted to sell us.”

“And now they can’t.”

“Do you always have to be the better person?”

Jude placed the magazines into the bag. “No. I just don’t want to choose death when I don’t have to.”

Gavi did not answer.

He did not fully agree.

But he did not take the bottle back either.

They left the monastery through the western door. Before going, Gavi took Mara’s broken axe and placed the handle in the bag. It was not very useful, but it was proof that they had reached the place. Proof that Mara had fought. Proof that not everything had to be abandoned without a name.

The group’s trail led north, smaller and more difficult to follow after it crossed rocky ground. Pieces of cloth were tied low around branches—marks visible only if someone was looking for them.

The first cloth was white.

The second blue.

The third was a piece of a red-and-blue hoodie.

The Barça hoodie teenager.

Alive.

Gavi touched the cloth and quickened his pace.

Afternoon was beginning to fade when they heard movement in the bushes ahead. Jude raised the pistol. Gavi took position beside a tree.

Small, quick footsteps.

Then stillness.

“Come out,” Jude said.

No answer.

Gavi saw the end of an iron pipe behind the bushes. “We can see your weapon.”

A young voice answered, “You first.”

Gavi vaguely recognized the voice, but was not yet certain. “If I come out, don’t hit me. I’m in a bad mood.”

A teenager slowly emerged from behind the tree. His Barcelona hoodie was still there, but Jude’s jacket, the one Gavi had given him, now covered most of his body. His face was covered in mud. An iron pipe was in his hand.

Nico.

The moment he saw them, the tension in his shoulders dropped.

“You’re alive.”

Gavi looked at the jacket. “Unfortunately.”

Nico almost smiled, then his eyes moved to the blood on their clothes. “Mara thought you were dead.”

“Mara is too pessimistic,” Gavi said.

Jude lowered the pistol. “Water house?”

Nico nodded. “An old pumping station in the valley. Some of us made it. Not everyone.”

Gavi stopped himself from immediately asking for names. “The children?”

“Most of them.”

“The old woman?”

“Alive.”

“Mara?”

“Wounded in the shoulder, but alive.”

Gavi exhaled. “The others?”

Nico looked at the ground.

A bad answer.

“South Gate found the monastery a few minutes after we left,” he said. “They took several people who stayed behind to help the injured. Two trucks headed toward the train depot.”

“Players?” Jude asked.

“I didn’t see clearly. But people from the stadium had been taken before we reached the monastery. Mara said they might have come from another group.”

Gavi tightened his hand around the knife. “Pedri.”

Nico did not dare agree. “Maybe.”

Normally, Gavi would have hated the word.

Now he was too tired.

“Leo?” he asked.

Nico shook his head. “Not with us. But people said a little boy had left signs along the market road. Vini might be taking him east.”

Maybe again.

But this time, maybe meant alive.

Gavi took it.

Nico looked at the radio in Jude’s hand. “You got that?”

“Two guards,” Jude said. “The depot is near the cement factory. Strong prisoners are taken there.”

Nico swallowed. “The water house has someone who used to work at the depot. Andrés. He knows the drainage system and the back fence.”

Jude looked at Gavi.

He did not need to say I was right.

If he did, Gavi might still hit him.

Nico continued, “South Gate is sweeping the main routes. We have to move before dark. Mara told me not to come back alone, but I saw the cloth on the monastery fence had moved and thought it might be you.”

“You left the water house alone?” Gavi asked.

Nico lifted his chin, trying to look older. “I can handle it.”

“Bad answer.”

Nico looked at him, confused.

Jude said, “He says that often.”

“Shut up.”

They began moving toward the valley. Nico led them along a deer trail that was almost invisible, cutting away from the main road and descending between rocks. The sun disappeared behind the clouds, making the forest darken faster. Gavi walked in the middle, Jude behind him. Several times he wanted to move faster, but the wound in his stomach had begun to throb more sharply. Jude said nothing, only kept close enough behind him.

Gavi knew.

He allowed it.

After almost an hour, they saw a low concrete building in the valley from the top of a ridge, half buried in the earth and surrounded by an iron fence and old pipes. There were no large lights. Only one small glow covered by cloth in a northern window.

The water house.

“How many people?” Jude asked.

“More than twenty,” Nico said. “The children are in the lower pump room. There’s water, but not much food. Mara wants to move again if South Gate gets close.”

Gavi looked at the building, then toward the south, where the depot lay beyond the city and the smoke. Pedri might be there. Trent might be there. Leo and Vini might be moving east. Every direction held someone he wanted to pull back. Every direction also held guns, infected, and distance.

His body wanted to turn immediately toward the depot.

He did not.

That might have been the hardest thing he did that day.

Jude stood beside him. “Water house first.”

Gavi did not look at him. “I know.”

“Doesn’t mean you like it.”

“I don’t like almost any of your decisions.”

“But?”

Gavi finally turned. “But this time we need someone who knows the depot.”

Jude nodded.

Not victorious.

Not satisfied.

Only accepting.

Nico started down first. Gavi followed, then stopped after several steps when Jude had not moved. He turned.

Jude stood on the ridge, looking toward the city as darkness began to settle over it.

“What?” Gavi asked.

Jude lifted the stolen radio. Static sounded from it, followed by a short voice.

“High-value transfers complete. Signal room secured.”

Signal room.

Gavi felt his blood turn cold.

The radio crackled again.

“Englishman and Gavira still missing. Soler wants them alive. Increase patrols around water routes.”

Jude turned off the radio.

Nico looked panicked. “They know about the water house?”

“Not yet,” Jude said. “They’re searching every water route.”

Gavi looked at the concrete building below. The place where Mara, the children, and the church survivors were hiding. They were bringing a South Gate radio, injuries, and wanted faces.

Their presence could become protection.

It could also become a signal.

“We can’t stay long,” he said.

“No.”

“We take the depot map. People. Weapons. Then leave.”

“Yeah.”

Gavi raised an eyebrow. “Don’t agree too easily.”

“You’re right.”

“Save this moment.”

Jude almost smiled. “No camera batteries.”

Gavi snorted and started down again.

Jude walked beside him, not behind.

The path was narrow, making their shoulders almost touch several times.

Neither of them moved very far away.

Night fell as they approached the water-house fence. Nico made a small birdcall. From behind the concrete wall, the same signal answered. The service door had not opened yet, but Gavi could see shadows moving inside.

Mara.

The church survivors.

Maybe answers.

Maybe only more questions.

He tightened his hand around the broken axe handle inside the bag.

The hunter’s cabin was far behind them.

The monastery stood empty.

The church had burned.

The depot waited to the south.

And for the first time, Gavi began to understand that survival did not always mean running directly toward the person he wanted to save. Sometimes survival meant holding back the guilt long enough to arrive with a plan instead of simply becoming another body that could be captured.

The iron door of the water house slowly shifted open.

Mara stood behind it, her shoulder bandaged, her face covered in mud, but alive.

Her eyes moved from Nico to Gavi, then Jude.

For one second, the woman only stared.

Then she said, “You took long enough.”

Gavi let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “We stopped to find a car.”

Mara opened the door wider. “Get inside before I regret being happy to see you.”

Gavi stepped in.

Jude right behind him.

The iron door closed again, and the night swallowed the valley