Chapter 30: Wake up call

My boots crunched underfoot as I followed Peter through the camp, the noise swallowed by distant laughter and the low murmur of voices drifting between tents. The sun was sinking fast now, light slanting through the trees in dull orange bands, catching on hanging beads and bits of metal that chimed softly as we passed.

Peter walked a few steps ahead of me, shoulders hunched, hands buried deep in his jacket pockets. He didn’t look back once.

We stopped near the edge of the camp where the trees pressed in tighter, shadows pooling thick and dark between their roots. Peter reached out and pulled open the flap of a small tent.

Inside, a single sleeping bag lay unfurled on the dirt. It was old— faded green, the fabric worn thin in places. An orange stain ringed the edges, dried and uneven, like something had soaked in and never quite washed out.

I stared at it for a moment.

I’ve slept in worse places.

I ducked inside and dropped my bag with a dull thud. The sound felt heavier than it should’ve been, like it carried the weight of the last few days with it. I rolled my shoulders, muscles protesting as the tension finally bled out of me. My body felt loose and hollow all at once.

“This is it, man,” Peter said.

He didn’t meet my eyes. His gaze stayed fixed somewhere over my shoulder, already halfway gone.

I frowned, dragging a hand through my hair as he turned to leave.

“Hey,” I called. “—Peter, was it?”

He paused at the edge of the tent and glanced back, nodding once.

I exhaled, slow. “I’m sorry about one of our camp members attacking your wife. She’s… she’s misunderstood. We don’t have any intentions of causing you trouble.”

For the first time, he really looked at me.

His eyes were tired. Not angry. Not defensive. Just worn down, like someone who’d seen enough bad days that one more didn’t even register. He lifted a hand and scratched at his goatee, thinking.

“Don’t sweat it, man,” he said quietly. His voice barely carried past the tent flap.

I blinked.

This was, without a doubt, the first timid redneck I’d ever met.

Something about that— about how small he suddenly seemed— made my chest tighten. And before I could second-guess myself, before the caution in my head could shut me up, I spoke.

“Hey—” I hesitated, then pushed on. “I know it’s crazy for me to ask this, but… do you guys know anything? Any areas, people—anyone who knows more about the infected. How they work. Why they—” I gestured vaguely, frustration creeping into my voice. “Why they’re like this.”

The words tumbled out faster than I meant them to. Desperate. Clumsy.

For a second, Peter just stared at me.

Then something shifted.

Not much. Just a crack. But I saw it.

His eyes lit up—just a little. Like I’d said something he’d been waiting to hear.

“Well,” he said slowly, glancing over his shoulder toward the deeper parts of the camp, “depends on what you mean by ’know.’”

My pulse ticked up.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice even further, like the words themselves might draw attention.

“Them infected ain’t just pop outta nowhere,” he said. “It… it built up slow. Couple weeks back. Maybe more.”

I frowned.

“Started small,” Peter continued. “Stabbings on the news. Shootouts in places that ain’t never had ’em. College teachers snapping, killing students in class. Husbands turning on their wives for no damn reason.”

My eyes widened despite myself.

I’d never seen any of that on the news before the surge.

But then again… I hadn’t really been watching.

My mind jumped back through the last few weeks— early mornings, late nights, studying, training, running until my muscles screamed, drowning everything else out. I’d been so wrapped up in myself, in wanting to get that full ride scholarship, in staying ready, that I hadn’t noticed the world fraying at the edges. Chaos had been bleeding into everyday life long before it finally spilled over.

Before the sirens.

Before the screaming.

Before everything broke.

Peter watched my expression change, like he could tell the realization had landed.

“There’s folks out there who noticed,” he went on quietly. “People who didn’t write it off as random violence or bad luck. They’ve been watchin’ ’em longer than most.”

He paused, letting the weight of that settle.

“Watchin’. Studyin’. Tryin’ to figure out what the hell went wrong before it was too late.”

My stomach tightened. “Where?”

Peter hesitated. The light flickered across his face as a torch flared somewhere behind us. For a moment, the camp noise seemed to fade, like the world was holding its breath.

“South west from here.” he said. I frowned, mind racing.

Texas.

“Old facilities. Places people were told not to go, even before everything really went to shit. Some of ’em think the infected ain’t just sick. That they’re… changin’.”

A chill crawled up my spine.

“Changing how?” I asked.

Peter shook his head. “That’s where it gets messy. Patterns. Memory. Behavior that don’t make sense if they’re just mindless.”

My thoughts jumped immediately to Lila. To her eyes. To the way she’d looked at me before everything went wrong.

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

“Have you guys ever thought about going?”

Peter slowed, just a fraction. He didn’t turn at first. The campfire glow caught the side of his face, carving deep lines into his cheek.

I pressed on, my voice low. “You know… actually going. Finding the truth about what’s been happening.”

He finally looked at me then, eyebrow lifting.

“It won’t change nothin’,” he said after a beat. “Knowing more don’t fix the world.” His gaze drifted back toward the camp. Toward the tents. Toward the people laughing too loud because silence scared them. “All it’d do is put our folks in jeopardy, travelin’ that far out.”

I frowned. My boots shifted against the dirt.

“But if you knew—” I started.

“And we don’t,” he cut in gently, “have the manpower for somethin’ like that.” He shook his head. “Or the weapons. Or the stomach.” A humorless breath escaped him. “Just a bunch of hippies with guitars and hobos who barely trust each other. They wouldn’t even make it past the first town.”

Something twisted in my chest.

“We can help you.”

The words were out before I could weigh them.

Peter’s eyes widened— just a hair.

“Our people,” I said quickly, the idea gaining momentum as I spoke. “We’ve got weapons. manpower, numbers, Everything that you—”

“You even know how to use a gun, son?”

The question hit harder than a shove.

My mouth opened. Closed.

The air between us went stale, heavy. My fists clenched at my sides, nails biting into my palms. Images flashed through my mind—hands shaking around cold metal, the heaviness of the rifle i carried suddenly felt like it was still there.

Silence stretched.

Peter didn’t look smug. He didn’t look cruel. He just looked… honest.

I swallowed. “Please,” I said quietly, forcing the word past my pride. “Just think about my offer.”

He studied me for a long moment, then rubbed his goatee once.

“I’ll sleep on it,” he said.

I let out a shaky breath as Peter’s footsteps faded, the camp noise swallowing him whole. The tent felt smaller once I was alone.

I crawled onto the sleeping bag and lay flat on my back, staring up at the thin fabric ceiling. Shadows shifted as firelight danced outside, shapes bleeding into one another until they stopped meaning anything. I couldn’t close my eyes. Every time I tried, the past crept in—Chicago, the sirens, the blood—and right behind it, the future, heavy and undefined, pressing down on my chest.

Time passed.

The tent flap rustled.

Lila slipped inside without a sound, like she’d always known where I’d be. She didn’t ask. She never did. She just smiled and lay down beside me, warm and solid, like an anchor. One arm draped over my chest, her elbow propping her up as her fingers traced slow, absent circles through my shirt.

“I was so close to ripping that bitch’s hair out for you,” she said lightly, like she was talking about the weather.

I huffed a weak breath through my nose but didn’t answer.

She tilted her head, eyes glittering in the dim light. “Seriously. What even gave her the idea to say that shit anyway?” Her fingers pressed a little firmer, possessive. “You’re obviously with me.”

The words hung there.

Silence stretched between us, thick and uncomfortable. I frowned up at the ceiling, my jaw tightening.

Lila felt it.

Her smile faltered for a fraction. “Right, Adrian?” she asked, softer now.

I rubbed my eyes with both hands, exhaustion crashing over me all at once. “Lila…” My voice came out tired. Careful. “What you and I have is—”

The words died in my throat.

Her expression fell, something wounded flashing across her face so fast it almost hurt to see. Guilt punched straight through me.

I swallowed. “What we have is complicated,” I said quietly. “Alright? But I’m working on it. I am.” I turned my head to look at her. “I’m gonna fix you. Then… then we can get back together.”

For a moment, hope bloomed across her face like sunlight breaking through clouds. It was almost enough to make me believe it myself.

“I don’t need fixing,” she said with a soft laugh, nudging my chest. “You silly goose. I’m okay like this.” Her fingers slid higher, resting over my heart. “I wasn’t able to protect you back then…but I can now. Don’t you think?”

The question wasn’t playful.

It was earnest.

The tent felt colder.

I rolled onto my side, turning my back to her, staring at the seam where the tent wall met the ground. It was a coward’s move. I knew that. But if I spoke, I was afraid of what I’d say— or what I wouldn’t be able to take back.

Behind me, I felt her tense.

Then she shifted, turning away as well. The space between us filled with silence again, heavier than before.

We lay there back to back, inches apart, pretending sleep would come.

As i struggled to close my eyes, I couldn’t help but feel eyes watching me through the tent.

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