As the group rode back to the chapel, the late afternoon sun filtered through the tree canopy. Birds scattered as hooves thudded across the dirt. Tail was the first to swing off her horse and push open the rusted chapel doors.
"We got food, y'all!" she called out, tossing her voice like a victory flag.
Inside, heads perked up. The dusty, makeshift shelter smelled like smoke and old wood, but the energy shifted with that one sentence. Marcus looked around quickly.
"Momma!" he cried.
From the back, Fiona ran toward him, dropping a rag she'd been using to clean. She wrapped Marcus in a tight hug, dropping to her knees.
"Oh my god—are you okay, baby?" she whispered frantically, touching his arms, cheeks, checking for bruises or cuts.
Marcus beamed. "I'm fine, Momma! I went and caught some fishes with Mr. Tail and Michael!"
Fiona smiled, hugging him tighter. "That's my little man."
Meanwhile, Michael strolled into the main room, wiping sweat from his neck with a rag and spotting Marcel seated in a corner, chewing something dry.
"How you holding up, my black friend?" Michael asked with a grin.
Marcel narrowed his eyes. "Just fine, you racist piece of shit."
Michael barked a laugh and gave him a playful slap on the head. "Relax, Marcel. I ain't racist—just messing with you."
Marcel smirked despite himself. "Yeah, well… fuck off anyway."
Michael turned to Luther, who was sorting through their ragged collection of medical supplies. "How's he doing?"
Luther glanced up. "Marcus? Fine. No fever, has lots of cuts. But if you're asking about the rest of the group, we're running low on medicine. Bandages, antibiotics—hell, even clean alcohol's a luxury now."
He paused. "Hopefully Mago and the others scavenge something useful."
"Fingers crossed," Michael muttered. "By the way… anyone here know how to cook fish?"
Fiona raised her hand. "I do. It's real simple. All we need is a fire pit and some sticks."
Tail nodded. "There's one over there, by the broken pew."
Marcus held up a stick like a sword. "And Momma, I found this one for you!"
Fiona took it with a grin. "Look at that, already my little provider. Good job, baby."
Tail dragged the bag over and dropped it with a loud thud. "Here's the full haul."
Fiona peeked inside. "Whoa… berries too?"
Heart sauntered over with arms crossed. "Alllllll me."
Tail didn't even glance at him. "And no one cares."
Heart rolled his eyes. "Well, fuck you too then, you dirty hoe."
She chuckled as if swatting away a fly.
An hour later, the scent of grilled fish filled the chapel. Smoke drifted toward the rafters. Everyone sat in a loose circle—eating, laughing, breathing like survivors on the edge of something better.
Heart wiped grease from his fingers and strolled over to Luther. "So, Doc… you got any idea where, how, or why the world went to hell?"
Luther raised an eyebrow. "You think I know the answer to that? I'm a doctor, not a philosopher."
"Then what good are you?" Heart scoffed.
"I can keep your dumb ass alive," Luther said flatly, "but if you're gonna act like I'm useless, I might 'accidentally' forget how to treat you."
Heart smirked. "Oh, my dear friend. It shall be you who needs treating soon."
Luther didn't even blink. "Try me."
Meanwhile, across the chapel, Marcel sat with a half-eaten fish in his lap, staring quietly at Marcus playing with sticks in the firelight beside Fiona. His expression was unreadable—until Michael eased down beside him.
"What'cha doing, Mr. Marcel?" Michael said low, smirking.
Marcel didn't look at him. "The hell do you want?"
Michael leaned in, voice low. "Don't worry. I ain't gonna speak loud. Just between us. You wanna explain why you're acting like an ungrateful son of a bitch? That kid smiles at you like you hung the damn moon, and you sit over here like he's a disease."
Marcel sighed. "…You remember that bar we raided? When we found Fiona?"
Michael nodded. "Yeah. Lot's of bodies. Ugly scene."
"Well, there were four black dudes in there. Like me. Fiona got pregnant three years ago… So, maybe that wasn't my kid."
Michael's brows knit. "You saying you think she was already pregnant when you, what, slept with her?"
Marcel hesitated. "…I was sixteen, she was seventeen. I just wanted to lose my virginity, y'know? I didn't think about consequences. I didn't think at all. I just wanted the suck-suck and some feel-good."
Michael blinked. "Classy."
Marcel shook his head. "I know I came inside her. But that don't mean she wasn't already in the birth stage, if you get me. So I don't know if he's mine."
Michael exhaled. "So her old group? A bunch of pedophiles?"
"Yeah. Real bastards. Treated her like property. So maybe… yeah, maybe I just added to the mess."
Michael rubbed his jaw. "You might be the father. You might not. But you're here. He's here. And he looks up to you. Whether he's yours by blood or not, don't mean you gotta treat him like trash."
Marcel looked away. "I ain't trying to be a deadbeat. I'm just—" He stopped. "Scared."
Michael softened a bit. "Look… I get it. But don't let fear turn you into the kind of man you hate. That kid needs someone. Might as well be the guy who helped bring him into the world."
Marcel stayed quiet.
Michael stood, brushing off his pants. "And hey… maybe next time, wrap it up, yeah? You out here raw-dogging in the apocalypse like we got Plan B growing on trees."
Marcel laughed under his breath. "Oh, shut up."
Michael grinned. "Hey—I said what I had to say. Anyway, try not to die, alright?"
Marcel looked up. "Yeah, yeah. I'll try."
Michael eased himself onto the creaky bench by the chapel wall. It groaned under his weight as he leaned back, stretching his legs, the warmth of the fire flickering across his boots. For the first time all day, there was calm. The air smelled of woodsmoke, fish grease, and old ash—peaceful in a way that felt unnatural.
Fiona approached, her steps soft, almost hesitant. She stood beside him for a moment, arms folded, eyes lingering on Marcus as he played by the fire.
"Hey," she said gently.
Michael glanced up. "Hey."
Fiona smiled, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "I just… I wanted to thank you. For putting a smile on Marcus' face. I don't know the last time I saw him look so… normal. Like a kid again."
Michael chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "That boy's something else. Got a sharp eye too. Hell, give him a few years and he'll probably be a better shot than all of us."
Fiona raised an eyebrow and laughed. "Oh no, no. Not while I'm still alive." She said it with steel under her voice. "That boy's gonna stay under my protection as long as I'm still breathing this Earth's air. He ain't picking up no gun until he's grown and grounded."
Michael nodded slowly. "Yeah. I know. And I respect that."
There was a beat of silence between them. The crackle of the fire was the only sound, and the way Fiona looked at Marcus made Michael glance that way too—watching the boy laugh as he poked a half-burnt stick into the embers.
Fiona sighed softly and looked back at Michael. "But still… thank you. Really. I appreciate you looking out for him. For both of us."
She leaned down and kissed him gently on the cheek—brief, but sincere. Her lips were warm, and the smell of smoke and berries clung to her skin. When she pulled back, she didn't meet his eyes. She just smiled faintly and turned away, heading back to check on the pot near the fire.
Michael sat there for a moment, unmoving. He brought his hand up, touching the spot where her lips had brushed against his cheek.
He let out a slow, tired breath and leaned back, staring up toward the cracked wooden ceiling.
"I hope you guys are okay up there," he murmured, eyes softening. "Mom… Dad… Mariana…And my beautiful daughter"
The fire popped.
Michael closed his eyes, folding his arms behind his head.
"Just lemme rest for a minute…"