The sky had shifted from navy to ash. Thin streaks of light filtered through the treetops, catching on Malcolm's face as he stared upward.
They'd been stuck here too long. They couldn't just stop in the middle of the road—not with the light creeping in.
Now, in the growing dawn, they saw them clearly: nails. Scattered across the asphalt. Rusted, bent, and exactly what had shredded the tires.
"Why are there nails here?" Iyisha asked.
Malcolm's eyes darted over the tree line, jittery. "We need to go," he muttered.
He gave the bike a shove. "Push."
She did—hands braced, shoulders straining. The flat tire in front made it clumsy and loud, the sidecar cluttering awkwardly with every uneven roll. It was hard to push and even harder to steer.
"Can we… fix it?"
Malcolm didn't look at her. Just shook his head once, hard.
"We're not fixing shit out in the open."
The trees were too thin here. Too spaced. No solid cover, just scattered trunks and patches of frostbitten brush. She heard birds somewhere beyond the trees. The soft, eerie sound of morning.
Nothing moved on the road.
A crack of twigs snapped through the quiet.
Iyisha froze.
Malcolm didn't. His hand went to drew his gun. Beside him, Iyisha mirrored the movement, pulling hers with both hands.
He turned smoothly, shoulders low, eyes scanning.
Two figures emerged from the brush. Young. Barely in their twenties. Both had rifles slung over their backs. One of them, lean, fair-skinned, maybe a little too clean, raised his hand casually.
"Whoa—easy. Just hunters."
Malcolm didn't lower his hand.
"Then hunt quieter."
The guy chuckled. "Fair."
"I'm Matt," he added. "That's my cousin, John. We hunt around here. Deer always pass through around dawn."
Iyisha glanced at Malcolm, then back at the strangers. They weren't twitchy. Not like the usual survivors they ran into.
John nodded toward the bike. "That's not going anywhere. You hit something?"
Malcolm didn't answer.
Matt stepped closer.
Malcolm raised his gun. "Don't even think about it," he warned, voice low.
"Wooah," Matt muttered, both hands up but John's hands went to his rifle, raising it halfway in a mirrored motion.
"Easy," John added. "We're not looking for trouble."
A soft voice called from behind the trees.
"Is that a girl's voice I hear?"
They turned.
An elderly woman was making her way up the trail. Thin, hunched, nearly blind from the way her cloudy eyes searched the space ahead. A warm shawl wrapped around her head and shoulders. Her boots crunched lightly on the frost.
"Just some wanderers, Mama!" John shouted, not taking his eyes off Malcolm and Iyisha. "You wait there and don't move."
He glanced toward them again, tense. "You kill us, you kill our grandma. She has cataracts. She can't even see you."
"Go away," Malcolm said flatly, gun still raised.
Iyisha blinked, unsure why he was being so harsh. Slowly, she lowered her gun.
His head snapped toward her. "Raise your weapon, Iyisha."
She hesitated, then raised it again, jaw tight.
"Is there a girl?" the grandmother asked, smiling faintly. "Been years since I heard a girl's name."
"Grandma, why did you follow?" John shouted, sounding more nervous now. "I told you not to move."
The old woman kept walking. Stepping closer.
And she was heading straight for a big, jagged piece of metal sticking up in the frost.
"Shit," John muttered, dropping his rifle and rushing forward.
He caught her gently, steadying her with both arms.
Iyisha looked at the old woman. Then at the boy holding her. The tension in her chest didn't go away—but the dread didn't feel aimed at them either. She exhaled slowly.
She let out a breath and lowered her gun.
She looked at Malcolm. "Put it down," she said softly, watching the old woman.
He didn't move.
"No," he said — not to her, but to the world, to the idea of trust.
"You two look run ragged," she said, voice gentle. "Our home's just past those trees. Nothing fancy but warm beds and clean water."
Her smile landed on Iyisha, then lingered on Malcolm. "Can't see much," she said with a chuckle. "But you look big—like my husband used to be."
Iyisha turned to Malcolm.
He wasn't moving. His eyes stayed on the woods. Watching. Waiting.
But the sun was rising. Their breath was visible now. So were they.
Finally, he gave a tight nod.
"One night. Just one."
Matt grinned and lifted the back of the bike with ease. "You'll like it. Been a long time since we had company."
They followed the woman into the trees. The path was narrow, but clear. Too clear, Malcolm thought.
Iyisha glanced back at the road.
Something in her gut twisted.
She let it go.
Malcolm couldn't.