The late morning sun filtered through the trees like it hadn't gotten the memo about the apocalypse. Golden. Soft. Rude, honestly.
Xenia adjusted the deer on her shoulder—dead weight, literal and emotional—and tried not to wince as the vine dug into her palm like a guilt bracelet. Tenorio held the other end, quiet and steady, as if they did this sort of thing every weekend. Gabriel walked behind them, unusually light on his feet, looking downright cheerful for a man whose front yard used to be a death trap.
As they broke through the treeline into Gabriel's clearing, it was immediately obvious that the cabin had entered its awkward puberty phase. Once a solitary fortress, now a halfway community center. There were tarps, ropes, crates, people. It looked like Pinterest met a war zone and decided to co-parent.
"There they are!" Brei's voice rang out like a bell that gossiped.
She and Marga were squatting over a particularly stubborn patch of grass, sleeves rolled up like they were preparing for culinary battle instead of gardening. Marga wiped sweat from her brow with the kind of flare that said, I suffer and you should notice.
"You better not drag that stinky thing inside," Marga warned, pointing her sickle like a teacher calling out a late assignment.
"No cabin deer," Gabriel promised. "Back table. Old-school style."
Xenia glanced at Tenorio. He gave her one of his rare not-quite-smiles. Like a secret handshake with his face. It made something small and fluttery twitch in her stomach, which she politely ignored.
They reached the butchering station—a sun-bleached table under a skeleton of beams that maybe one day would be a roof. Tenorio laid the deer down with quiet reverence. Gabriel rolled up his sleeves like someone about to teach a home ec class titled "How to Disembowel with Dignity."
Xenia didn't speak. Just sorted the tools, portioned meat, and did the mental math of how many days they could stretch this protein haul if no one got too generous.
Meanwhile, everything around them buzzed.
Rico and Rafe—now unofficially dubbed the "Twin Towers of Post-Apocalyptic Labor"—were out by the northeast line, hammering sticks into soil and measuring fence perimeters with the focus of two guys who took Team Project way too seriously. Rico was drawing lines in the dirt. Rafe was nodding like he could see the future.
Gabriel let out a low whistle, half awe, half how did we become HOA presidents overnight?
"This used to be silence and birds. Now it's hammering and unsolicited opinions," he said.
Tenorio didn't even look up. "Better than waking up with a zombie nibbling your toes."
"No argument here," Gabriel grunted, carving a joint with surgical precision.
Anna emerged from the cabin like a reluctant goddess from a smoke-scented shrine.
"There's soup on the stove," she announced, arms crossed like a judge. "Try not to let it burn while you're admiring your empire."
Gabriel perked up like a child hearing the word 'ice cream.' "You cooked?"
Anna leveled him with a look so sharp it could slice onions. "Don't make it weird."
"I'm just surprised it's not gauze broth."
"That's tomorrow."
Marga, from the weeds: "I heard that."
Xenia bit the inside of her cheek to avoid cackling. She focused on wrapping a venison slab with cloth, tying the twine tight, and—
Her brain wandered.
Caleb.
Charlie.
Conrad.
The untouched bubble they'd walked into. The eerie normalcy. The way Caleb had stood on that porch like a walking metaphor for "Things Might Still Be Okay."
It gnawed at her. That disconnect. That wrongness.
Gabriel noticed her zoning out and gave a low grunt. "Thinking about the garden boys?"
She scowled. "Not like that."
Tenorio didn't even pretend to play nice. "You like him?"
"Can we not?"
Gabriel smirked. "It's okay to have a crush. Even the end of the world can't kill hormones."
"I don't like him," she snapped, tying the cloth harder than necessary. "I just—he gave good fence advice."
"Hot," Tenorio deadpanned.
"Shut up."
But her ears betrayed her, pinking at the tips like treacherous little thermometers.
"They're vulnerable," she muttered. "And unprepared. And kind. That kind of combo gets you eaten."
Gabriel's humor dropped. "You're not wrong. But you did what you could. You told them."
Tenorio wiped his blade clean. "We'll go back in a few days. Just in case."
Xenia nodded. "They have time. But not much."
---
By the time lunch steam wafted from the cabin windows, the deer was butchered, packaged, and ready to dry. Xenia rose, wiped her hands on a rag, and made her way toward the new fence line.
Brie and Marga were now laying flat on their backs like war veterans. Brie was fanning herself with a leaf.
"Tell me again why I'm being paid in dirt rash and judgment?" Brie groaned.
"Because the end of the world killed HR," Marga said, passing a small jar of salve. "Here. Burn balm. You owe me your soul."
Xenia passed with a quiet smirk.
When she reached Rice and Rafe, they were deep in zone talk.
"We can anchor here," Rafe said, driving a stick into the soil.
"Then loop around that mango tree for visibility," Rice added, already measuring the next plot.
Xenia grabbed the other end of the cord without being asked.
"It'll give us 200 square meters more," Rafe said. "Enough for squash, beans, maybe root crops."
"Good," she murmured.
But her eyes drifted east. Toward the invisible line where the forest hid a cabin full of people who still thought the world was intact.
She hoped they'd listen next time.
Because next time… might not come with a warning.