Time: 2:57 A.M.
Status: Deranged.
Xenia's eyes snapped open for what felt like the eighty-seventh time that night—though her brain confirmed it was just the third. Close enough. Rhys was whimpering again. Not screaming exactly, just doing his tiny-human version of passive-aggressive existential dread.
She blinked at the candlelight, dim and judgmental, and turned to face the burrito-sized baby beside her.
I am not emotionally prepared to be someone's mom. I haven't even finished all my college trauma yet.
She reached for the rice water she'd boiled earlier like a broke witch doing baby alchemy. No formula, no milk, no boobs. Just vibes, desperation, and boiled carbohydrates.
"I know, I know," she whispered to him, rocking him gently. "I'm tired too, little guy. I look like the back of a rice sack and smell like fear."
Rhys gurgled. Probably in agreement. Or judgement. Hard to tell with babies.
By Morning:
She was a cryptid. Bags under her eyes so deep, they had their own zip code. Her shirt: wrinkled. Her hair: a ponytail massacre. Her spirit: shredded like wet tissue.
And yet, she stood like a queen of chaos, Rhys wrapped to her chest with a rag-turned-sling, addressing the group like an underpaid apocalypse manager.
"Okay… assignments." Her voice was basically sandpaper dipped in coffee.
"Brie—garden. Water it, sing to it, threaten it, I don't care. Keep it alive."
"On it." Brie saluted with a rusty trowel like a plant-themed knight.
"Anna—you're on kitchen duty. Make the last three cans of sardines feel like a buffet."
"Always," Anna said, already cracking her knuckles.
"Cecil, you're still on knitting. But you get storytime breaks because you earned that book yesterday like a true champion."
Cecil smiled wide enough to crack hearts.
"Rico. Nestor. I need a wheeled box. Like a pushcart but with Mad Max energy. We need something to haul supplies without breaking our backs."
Nestor grunted. "Finally. Engineering over babysitting."
"And me?" Xenia glanced down at Rhys. "I'm going to see Conrad."
"Alone?" Anna asked, brows rising.
"Nope. Rafe's coming. And Rhys." She inhaled sharply. "Because I have a weird feeling this baby might not be as 'random miracle' as we think."
Location: Conrad's Ranch, aka Doomsday Disneyland
By the time they arrived, the sun was aggressively bright—like, eye-of-God judgmental—and the goats were living their best lives under the shade of a mango tree. Fences were intact. The crops were thriving. And Caleb…
Oh no.
Caleb was shirtless. Again. Carrying a basket of vegetables like an anti-zombie Hercules. His skin was bronze. His arms were sin.
Xenia choked on her dignity and looked away. Focus. Baby. Apocalypse. Goats. Not muscles.
But Caleb wasn't looking at her. He was looking at Rhys.
And something changed in his expression. A flicker of recognition. A wince of guilt. A flash of… emotion?
Rafe noticed it too. His jaw clenched so hard Xenia could hear it.
Charlie, the only person with any customer service left in the world, waved them in from the well.
Inside, Conrad was cleaning a shotgun with the calm of a man who's either prepping for battle or relaxing. Could go either way.
"You again," he said, not looking up.
"I need answers," Xenia said. "The village near the east ridge—it's full of infected. What happened?"
Conrad didn't stop polishing. "Bitters overran it. I warned my boys to stay clear. It was a massacre."
"Maybe if we worked together—" Xenia tried.
"I am allied with Gabriel," he cut in. "But I don't do camps. I don't do people. People lie. People steal. People scream when they should run. You trust someone, and suddenly you're cleaning up your brother's intestines with a garden spade."
Well then.
He leaned back. "There was a lab once. I was deployed on a remote island. Saw it firsthand—humans being turned. Not infected. Engineered. This virus isn't nature. It's war."
Xenia's stomach dropped. "Weaponized?"
"Worse. Targeted. But we're not talking about that today, are we?"
He finally looked at Rhys.
Rafe stepped in. "Do you know anyone in that village who had a baby?"
Conrad paused.
"Eva," he said softly. "She had a son. Lived in Cabin Four."
Xenia's arms tensed. "Do you think… this is him?"
Conrad stood. Walked slowly toward them. He stared at Rhys like the baby had punched him in the chest.
"I think so. Yesterday, I saw her. Bleeding. Running. Holding something. Biters behind her. She fell off the cliff. I thought she and the baby were both… gone."
"You didn't try to help?" Xenia whispered.
"I was too far. Rifle range. By the time I reached the cliff, there was nothing."
The silence that followed was dense. Caleb had stepped in, pale now, hands clenched at his sides.
"I thought the baby was lost," Conrad said. "But you saved him."
"He's Rhys now," Xenia said gently. "And I want him to live."
She straightened her spine. "We came for help. We need goats. Milk. He can't live on rice water and regret."
Conrad studied her. Then, slowly, he nodded.
"Caleb. Two females. Two males. Help them bring them back."
Caleb blinked. "Yes, sir."
"I didn't expect—" Xenia started.
"You're trying to build something. That's rare. Come winter, you'll need every advantage."
She bowed her head slightly. "Thank you."
Caleb grabbed a rope, slung a rifle over one shoulder, and moved toward them. "I'll escort you. Safer that way."
Rhys squirmed and reached a hand toward Caleb's chest, tiny fingers clutching at his shirt. Caleb stopped. Looked down. Stared. Something unreadable passed through him.
Rafe saw it. And didn't like it. Not one bit.
The glare he gave Caleb could've burned a hole through a tank.
Caleb just smirked. Looked away.
Xenia, oblivious to the sudden tension war erupting behind her, cooed to Rhys. "Let's get you some milk, little guy."
And with that, they started the long walk back—two men, four goats, one baby, and one woman too tired to notice that her adopted son might have just started the weirdest love triangle of the apocalypse.