"This place can now live on its own," Gabriel said, puffing out his chest like a proud dad at a kindergarten science fair. Behind him, rows of kale, spinach, sweet potatoes, and carrots stood like leafy little soldiers swaying in the breeze. Some looked victorious. Others looked... like they needed therapy.
Tenorio, who was squatting nearby sharpening his machete with a rock that probably dated back to Moses, looked up. "Right. But maybe it's time we went out there again. See if there's more people. Supplies. Hope."
Translation: he's thinking about his son again.
Gabriel's smile dimmed—just a flicker. But everyone saw it.
Rafe, currently babying his latest weapon (a machete-katana hybrid he named "Razorbae" because of course he did), flexed a grin. "I'm in. This baby can slice a zombie in half and dice a tomato. Gourmet murder."
Meanwhile, Rico—elbow-deep in a junkyard radio—didn't even look up. "You guys go. I'm staying with my girl here. This radio's our only link to the old world. And Taylor Swift." He jiggled a wire like it owed him money.
Nestor waved his still-bandaged hand dramatically. "Nope. Done. I've walked more miles in the last two weeks than I did in my entire thirties. My hip said 'nah,' and my ankle said 'divorce.'"
Marga, braiding her hair like an exhausted Disney princess, chimed in. "I want to go. But someone needs to stay and help Brie. Between cooking, farming, laundry, zombie-dog-sitting, and giving Wild Man a beard intervention... it's a lot."
And on cue, everyone looked at Brie.
She was joyfully planting okra like she was in a Food Network competition called "Grow or Die Trying." Cecil trailed behind her with a water pail twice her size, mostly soaking her own shoes and occasionally screaming "I'M HELPING!" in pure chaotic toddler energy.
Then Tenorio turned to Xenia. "I want you to come with us."
Xenia blinked. Hard. Like someone had just suggested they all go skinny-dipping in zombie juice.
"Wait, what?"
"Seven days," Tenorio said flatly. "We've only seen a fraction of the island. And we need a thinker. That's you."
"But—"
"The Wild Man and his dog will guard the place."
"His name is Crater, not 'the dog,'" Xenia muttered, gently stroking the drooling potato baby in her arms. "Show some respect to the only being here with a soul untainted by sarcasm."
"Right, right. Crater. Whatever."
Rafe stretched with a groan. "I miss cardio that includes zombies. I'm ready."
"Why do you say that like it's fun?" Rico muttered.
"Because I look good in danger." He winked.
Xenia looked down at Rhys. Her baby. Okay, not technically her baby—but in a world full of cannibal corpses and broken toothpaste caps, emotional adoption was the least of her crimes.
She fed him. Sang to him (badly). Built him a bottle system with bamboo and a goat nipple. He was hers.
"I'll watch him," Anna said softly, hands folding with mother-of-two grace. "Go."
"I'll help too!" Cecil squeaked, waving a stick like it was a flaming sword. "I AM BIG NOW."
Xenia glanced across the clearing. Irah was staring at a leaf like it owed her rent. Clearly not babysitting material.
She sighed. Big. Dramatic. End-of-season sigh. "Fine. I'll go."
---
The Goodbye Montage™
Marga hugged them like a clingy older sister who didn't believe in personal space. "Don't get bitten. Don't get dramatic. Don't die."
Brie handed out hand-knitted survival bags, each embroidered with names and tiny sunflowers. Inside: food, water, weapons, a change of clothes, and—because Brie is Brie—a tiny jar of coconut oil.
"For morale," she said, like a cheerful apocalypse mom.
---
Into the Woods (Again)
As they hit the forest trail, Rafe immediately launched into the only topic he truly adored: himself.
"I was a professor," he said casually. "Exercise Science. Girls lined up just to ask about push-ups."
Xenia side-eyed him. "Pretty sure it was the fitted t-shirts."
"So you noticed?"
"No. I was in the library. Some of us didn't minor in 'thirst trap.'"
Tenorio, walking like a man whose patience was already on its third strike, sighed. "If you two keep flirting, I'm making you bunk in separate trees."
---
The Village of Eight Cabins
After what felt like twenty-five hours but was actually three, they reached an abandoned village. Eight cabins, all slumped like exhausted grandparents. Silence. Dust. Dread.
"I'm tired," Xenia whined, immediately collapsing into the shade like a fainting Victorian maiden.
Tenorio nodded. "Rest."
Rafe stood watch, spinning his blade like a boy band member auditioning for the role of "Bad Boy with a Sword."
Xenia curled into herself. "I miss my baby."
Tenorio didn't turn. "He's not your baby."
And just like that, boom. Instant heartbreak. Like someone kicked her in the attachment issues.
"But I feed him. Play with him. Love him." Her voice cracked. "He gives me a reason."
Tenorio snapped. "Focus. This isn't a telenovela."
Xenia hiccupped. "Well excuse me for crying in the zombie wilderness!"
Rafe plopped beside her and handed her a dried mango slice. "You cry prettier with snacks."
They laughed. Even Tenorio's face twitched suspiciously, possibly a smirk.
---
The cabins were mostly empty.
Old shoes. Rusted cans. Dusty furniture. And in one corner, a porcelain doll named Joyce, sitting in a rocking chair with a smile that said "I kill children in their sleep."
"Nope," Xenia said, backing away. "I've seen this movie. Joyce stays right there."
Rafe found a working can opener and a crowbar. "I can now open beans and brains."
They made a sad little dinner: rice, sardines, and a mango they stole off a tree. The four of them—Xenia, Rafe, Tenorio, and Rico (who kept muttering about radio signals like a haunted tech gremlin)—sat around the fire.
---
Xenia looked up at the stars.
"Do you think Rhys misses me?"
"Probably asleep. Or screaming," Rico replied. "Or pooping."
"That... sounds accurate."
Rafe put an arm around her shoulder. Warm. Heavy. Nice.
Tenorio glared. "If I hear one more flirt, I'm making you share a tent with Joyce."
Laughter. Crackling fire. Almost peace.
Then—
A howl.
Not Crater.
Not a wolf.
Not human.
A long, hollow sound that scraped against the sky like it was peeling it open.
The fire stilled. The wind shifted.
Rafe stood, blade in hand. "Guess it's not a sleepover after all."
Xenia stared into the woods. "Should've stayed and changed diapers."
Rafe smirked. "But then you wouldn't have me."
"Oh great. A six-pack of delusion."
He winked.
And Tenorio? Silent. Focused. Blade ready.
"Stay alert," he whispered. "Tonight might not be so peaceful."