If someone had told Xenia two weeks ago that she'd be spelunking for clay while cradling a mud-slick dog like it was a newborn, she would've laughed, choked on her cold brew, and deleted her apocalypse prep Pinterest board out of shame.
But here she was. In a cave. With minerals, murder potential, and a trembling furball pressed against her chest like a cursed Build-A-Bear. Welcome to zombie hell, now featuring geology.
"Please don't have rabies," she whispered as the dog licked her collarbone like a wine mom greeting her first Chardonnay. "I'm barely surviving motherhood as it is."
Behind her, Rico was stuffing clay into a satchel like a kid shoving frosting into his pockets, Gabriel had a stick of basalt over one shoulder like it was Excalibur, and Rafe—of course—was shirtless now.
Not fully shirtless. Just sleeveless and annoyingly sculpted. Which was illegal in a cave setting. Honestly, cave glisten was a whole new level of hormonal war crimes.
"Dog okay?" he asked, stepping beside her, arms gleaming with both sweat and spite. And maybe a bit of survivor's guilt, but Xenia wasn't emotionally stable enough to psychoanalyze right now.
"Yeah. Limping. Smells like swamp and abandonment. Fits right in."
He smirked. "Name him yet?"
"Not until I make sure he doesn't bite."
"Same rule you used for me?"
"Oh, you've already bitten—my patience."
Gabriel stifled a laugh from behind them. Rico groaned. "If you two flirt any harder, the cave's gonna collapse from tension."
"We're not flirting," Xenia said automatically, too fast.
Which, of course, made it worse.
---
By the time they emerged from the cave, the sun was already throwing moody orange streaks across the trees like it was painting a sad breakup album cover. The walk back was quiet, each of them carrying packs of stone, clay, or dog… depending on emotional baggage and muscle tone.
At camp, the mood shifted the second they returned. Kids rushed out first—Cecil nearly tripped over her own feet when she saw the dog.
"You brought a puppy?! Is he magic?"
"Define 'magic,'" Xenia said, peeling the dog off her sweater. "Because he led one man to a cliff, a group to clay, and me to another identity crisis."
Anna immediately stepped in with bandages. "We'll clean him. I have boiled water. What should we call him?"
"Crater," Xenia replied without thinking. "Because I met him in a hole, and I'm emotionally in one too."
Crater barked. Once. Like he approved. And honestly? That was more emotional validation than she'd received all week.
---
Tenorio greeted them with a grim nod. "Perimeter's clean. But I saw fresh tracks. Not animal. Not ours."
Xenia stiffened. "Walkers?"
"Maybe. Or raiders."
"Perfect," she muttered. "Nothing spices up resource management like roving murderers."
Marga tossed her a strip of dried fish. "Eat. You look like you argued with gravity again."
"I did. And gravity won, as usual."
She chewed. It was salty. Like her mood. And Rafe, who was watching her too closely.
---
Later that night, as stars blinked into the sky like hesitant hopes, the group circled the fire.
Nestor showcased the clay lumps with pride. "Once we dry these, we can patch leaks. Maybe even mold a few pots."
Rico showed off his stone haul like a weird fantasy dwarf. "If I can get this radio circuit soldered using volcanic heat, we might just get signal."
Gabriel laid out rough sketches of the cliff cave, charcoal lines clean and sharp. "We could build storage there. Reinforce the mouth. It's stable. Naturally protected."
It was weird.
For a moment, they weren't just surviving.
They were… planning.
Dreaming.
Rebuilding.
It felt dangerous.
Because hope was fragile. Hope got bitten. Hope walked back into camp with cloudy eyes and bloodied hands.
Still.
Xenia looked around. At Brie handing out stew. At Marga braiding Cecil's hair. At Crater, curled up beside Rafe, finally asleep. At Rhys, whose tiny fingers gripped the edge of her blanket with stubborn life.