The morning sun broke through the treetops as they followed the narrow, hidden path. Cold air bit at Iyisha's nose. Malcolm pushed the bike steadily ahead, wheels still thudding from the flat.
When the brush finally cleared, Iyisha saw them: massive wooden gates, nearly swallowed by foliage. Camouflaged. Fortified.
They creaked open.
She froze.
It wasn't just a house.
It was a fortress.
A two-story farmhouse with solar panels glinting on the roof. To the side, an old Jeep and a green ATV were parked under a metal awning. A barn loomed in the back. Beside it stood a long greenhouse filled with lush rows of plants. Barbed wire crowned the tall fencing that wrapped around the entire property.
"This isn't just a house," she whispered. "It's a fortress."
"Welcome to paradise," John grinned.
Grandma Jo chuckled, already tottering ahead. "My husband built all this. Said the world was going to hell, and I ought to have my tomatoes."
"He was right," Matt added.
They passed chicken coops, a small pen of goats, and even a few lazy sheep sunning in a fenced patch of grass.
Iyisha was speechless. It was the most life she'd seen since everything fell.
"How haven't you been overrun?" she asked.
Matt glanced at the tree line. "We're buried deep. Granddad picked this place for privacy. No neighbors, no roads in. Even Vultures don't know about us."
"He used to say: 'You can't trust people, Jo. But plants? They just grow,'" Grandma Jo added, then looked confused. "Did I already say that?"
They reached the barn.
It was large. Old wood, still intact, reinforced with metal braces. Padlocked, with thick chains across the doors.
Iyisha slowed. Her stomach tightened.
"I saw a movie once where the barn was full of walkers," she muttered.
John barked a laugh. "You watch too many horror flicks."
She stepped closer to Malcolm without thinking. He hadn't said a word since entering. Jaw tight. Shoulders locked. His eyes never stopped moving.
Grandma Jo giggled. "Go on, Matt. Show them the barn."
Matt stiffened. "No. We do not know these strangers."
Malcolm spoke for the first time. "We're leaving."
"Don't be rude," Grandma Jo said, her voice still sweet. Then in a sharper tone. "Matthew! Open the damn door!"
Matt cursed under his breath, stomped to the barn, and unlocked the chains. The doors groaned open.
Malcolm's hand brushed over his sidearm, thumb hovering near the holster. Ready for anything.
Iyisha moved in closer behind him, almost instinctively.
Inside, lit by soft shafts of sunlight through a cracked roof, were two massive metal tanks.
Gasoline. Diesel.
Shelves stacked with tools, welding equipment and supplies.
Matt turned, eyes cold now.
"Don't get ideas," he said. "Last group we trusted tried to take it all in the night. That won't happen again. I can kill you both before you take a single drop."
Iyisha froze.
Grandma Jo whacked him with her cane. "Stop scaring the girl."
John smacked the back of Matt's head. "They're guests, idiot. Try acting like it."
Malcolm didn't flinch. Still staring at the tanks.
"Well come on in," Grandma Jo said, waving a hand toward the house. "The outside is beautiful, but guests should be able to rest more."
Iyisha didn't leave Malcolm's side. They walked warily toward the front door, eyes scanning. Malcolm stopped at the threshold, studying the frame, the hinges, the lock.
He glanced at her. "What do you think?"
She looked at the polished exterior, the clean windows, the calmness of it all. It felt... wrong.
He looked back at the woods, then the house. "You can only protect something like this if you're ready to kill for it. Let's be careful before we go trusting them."
Inside, the contrast hit Iyisha like a punch.
The farmhouse might've looked rustic from the outside, but the interior was shockingly modern with polished floors, a working light overhead and walls free of grime. A wide table with a bowl of fruits set in the center. The hum of power—actual, steady current—buzzed faintly in the background.
Iyisha stood frozen in the entryway. It was the most normal place she'd stepped into in years.
They sat down at the dining table. Grandma Jo shuffled back out of the kitchen, proudly placing a fresh apple pie in front of them.
Iyisha reached out, eyes wide.
Malcolm squeezed her hand under the table before she could take a bite.
She paused. Understood.
John noticed the exchange and calmly cut a piece from her plate. He ate it slowly, eyes on Malcolm.
Malcolm gave a small nod.
She took a bite.
The flavor burst in her mouth.
She let out a small, involuntary moan.
Her cheeks flushed. "Sorry. I didn't mean to... It's just—it's been too long since I tasted apple pie."
Grandma Jo beamed. "Well, I'm making you both a roast pot for dinner. We'll really fill you up."
They ate while chatting lightly, but Iyisha was careful not to share anything important. Just vague answers and polite smiles.
At some point, John casually said, "If you're heading in that direction," he pointed the way they were going to. "The road ahead's a no-go. Vultures blocked it off a few miles down. You won't be passing through."
Iyisha glanced at Malcolm. Their eyes met.
Her stomach tightened.
"What are you two, anyway?" Grandma Jo asked, still smiling.
Before Iyisha could answer, Malcolm said, "She's my wife."
She hated how easily the lie slid out of her mouth. But Malcolm hadn't even flinched when he said it.
Did he even hesitate?
She didn't like how natural it felt to play along. But if it kept them safe, she'd play the part.
Iyisha smiled politely, leaning into the lie.
"Oh, well then," Grandma Jo chuckled. "Go freshen up. Matt, show them the guest bedroom."
Matt nodded. "Follow me."
He led them to a room at the end of the hall. When he opened the door, the scent of clean linen rushed out.
The room was beautiful. Sunlight touched soft quilts, a full bed, curtains that actually matched.
Iyisha touched the blanket, fingers sinking into it. Then she bounced lightly, half-laughing. "I forgot beds could feel like this."
Matt smirked. "Bathroom's yours too if you want to clean up."
He left, closing the door behind them.
Leaving her and Malcolm alone.
She felt safe—but at the same time, like something was wrong.
The silence in the room didn't settle. It pressed in.