The walking dead Fanfiction

Chapter 1:Suburban streets in Texas were as quiet as any other afternoon. Lawns were freshly cut,mailboxes lined up at the very end of long driveways, and cicadas' humming on hot afternoonslingered in the air. A gentle wind blew leaves on the concrete pathway, dispersing them like awhisper of an almost utopian world. Children played in front yards, and mothers chatted behindfences, trading platitudes about school happenings or local news. Everything was so. normal.There was something odd about Sam and Jonah, though. Not in their clothes or in the way theywalked, but in the way they looked at the world. Jonah's red eyes blinked rarely as he stood inthe corner of their street, looking out to the far horizon, as if seeing something the others couldnot. By his side, Sam paced restlessly, his cap low over his eyes, concealing the otherworldlyglint that tended to flash when he was thinking. He kicked at a rock, and it rolled off thesidewalk, then appeared to glance around as if it was waiting for someone to catch it."You're gawking again," Sam said, his tone frosty, bordering on anger. He sensed Jonah's gazeeven when Jonah never spoke a word.Jonah didn't reply right away. He never did. His lips barely moved as he spoke, "There's nothingwrong with looking."The reality was, it wasn't only their worldview that was diferent—it was the way they got throughit. Most children their age were obsessed with video games, proms, and causing mischief. NotSam. Not Jonah. They had mastered faking it with everyone else, but the real reality alwayssimmered beneath the surface, a reminder of the lives they left behind. They didn't recalleverything that had been left behind in the world, but they recalled enough to realize that theydidn't belong here, in this life, among these humans."Why do they always look at us like that?" Sam complained, observing a woman on the streetscowl when she waved at them, confused by their presence. "Like we're not. like them."Jonah's lips pressed together into a near-smile. He sensed Sam's fury, but he knew why theywere weird to others. They weren't children from another world—They were byproducts ofsomething no one could even comprehend, and even they weren't always certain what that was.So it didn't matter. Not really. What they saw in the other person's eyes was all that counted."We don't have to be like them," Jonah told him, glancing at Sam for the first time. His voiceswere calm, unrufled, always identical. "We don't have to fit in."Sam snorted, hunching up his shoulders. "I know. But it's frustrating." He jammed his hands intohis pockets and moved away, annoyance boiling beneath the surface. "Let's just pick up thegear and split. I don't want to be here any longer than we have to be."Jonah was behind, looking at Sam walking ahead of him, his footfalls solid and determined.Even there, in this world, Sam understood how to walk through it, how to fit himself into it andbend the space around him. Jonah himself hung there for a second, his senses feeling a tug adistance away, something amiss. A breath of air. A change. He could not quite explain it, butsomething was amiss about this day.Frank Williams stood against the kitchen counter, a half-caf cofee clutched in one hand, and hisother hand on his sore lower back. The sun was still low outside, casting long shadowsthroughout the room, but that didn't matter. The work never ceased. He had just returned fromthe barn, mud on his boots, calloused fingers from a day of repairs. The farm never content,never still, but he managed anyway. He had to."Are you okay?" Grace's voice cut through the fog of fatigue. She stood at the stove, stirringsomething in a pot, her back to him. Her movements were smooth, practiced, but the fatigue inher shoulders was real, the burden of a nursing shift bearing down on her."I'm fine," Frank snarled, his voice raw but gentle. He hadn't meant the hurt to appear, but afterall those hours working on the house, it was dificult to conceal. His eyes wandered over to theback door, where Jonah and Sam were just out of range. They would open and close the doorperiodically, talking, or perhaps practicing listening—his boys didn't 'play' like children. They hadtheir means of bridging the silence, bridging the gaps which no one else appeared tocomprehend.Grace swiveled, a look that told him that she didn't believe he was speaking the truth. Herred-rimmed, weary eyes paled, and for a fleeting moment, she looked older than she was. "Youdon't have to do everything by yourself," she said, putting down the spoon and stepping towardswhere he was standing. She put a hand on his arm, her fingers warm against the cold of themorning.He waved it aside, not brusquely—he never did with her. "Someone's gotta do it. Can't keep thisplace going without it."Grace sighed, her mind's weight crushing her down. She had wars and battles of her own, herown battles, but never showed them to them like Frank did. She'd always been the one to calmthe boat, to ofer the gentle voice when Frank's was too harsh. "We've got the boys now.Perhaps we can give them more work. They're big boys now, Frank. They can do more."He sat there, his hands clenching their grip on the cofee cup, but his eyes still fixed on the backdoor. Jonah and Sam remained there, flitting between the shed and the woods, as if they had todemonstrate something. They always did. They had burst into their lives like a storm, placid onthe surface but something bubbling away beneath. Frank was not blind to it. He observed theway the boys moved, as if they were older than they ought to be, as if they had already learnedhow to get by. Or perhaps he was dreaming. Perhaps he was imagining things that did not exist."Sure," he growled finally, capitulating. "I'll let 'em get more done. But you know how they are.They don't require hand-holding."Grace smiled at him, and for a moment, the world seemed a little lighter. She knew Frank. Sheknew how hard he tried, how much he loved their boys, even if he couldn't always say it outloud. "They don't need hand-holding. They need guidance. And that's what we're here for,Frank. To give them that."Frank nodded, his eyes softening as he looked at her. Then, without another word, he pushedhimself off the counter and turned toward the door. "I'll go see what they're up to."Outside, the boys were just where Frank had known they'd be: in the woods. Jonah stood backagainst the tree, tense but relaxed in his body, and Sam led the way ahead of him, his browcreased in consideration. Frank found himself observing them for a moment, studying them.They walked like soldiers, like they were perpetually prepared for something, eyes scanning theenvironment, always on the lookout."Boys," Frank shouted, his voice over the wind.Sam turned first, giving Frank a look that can reasonably be termed calculating. His lips pulledinto a thin smile. "What's up, old man?"Jonah just sat there, but he never did that. He looked over at Frank through Sam, and then hedid nod a little once, as if he was nodding to Frank without words. He always was soquiet—silent, but observing everything.Frank folded his arms over his chest and looked at them both. "You two gonna help around hereor just ridin' around like you're the owners?"Sam raised an eyebrow. "We're helping," he said, his tone almost too casual. "Just. doing thingsour way."Frank wasn't sure whether he should scold or laugh at him. He knew that Sam enjoyed pushinglimits, testing how close to being in trouble before he actually was. It was a test, one Franknever really was sure if he was going to pass. Jonah, though, he just sat there in silence. Frankcouldn't even start to get in the head of that kid."Alright," Frank said, nodding. "You want to help? Then get your hands dirty. We're fixing up thebarn before the rain hits."Jonah's gaze flickered for a second, and then he gave a slight nod. Sam rolled his eyes butfollowed suit, already moving toward the barn without another word. Frank didn't expect much,but he appreciated their efort. They were his boys, for better or worse.Grace's voice came from behind him as Frank wiped the sweat from his forehead. "You'reworking too hard again."Frank didn't answer right away. His hands were full, holding a hammer and nails, poundingaway at the fence post. There was something rhythmic about it—the steady strike, the deepthud of wood splitting under the force of the hammer. He wanted to lose himself in the motion,forget about the weight on his shoulders, but Grace's presence was a steady pull, alwaysgrounding him. He could hear her footsteps on the gravel, soft, careful, and before he knew it,she was beside him, standing quietly with a bottle of water in her hand."Take a break," she said, ofering the water. "I'll finish this part."Frank took the bottle with a grunt but didn't sit down. His fingers gripped the cold plastic, and fora moment, he stared at it, the urge to ignore her suggestion fighting with the sense ofexhaustion creeping in. He could feel his muscles protest, but his pride kept him moving, kepthim focused. "I'm fine," he muttered, unscrewing the cap and taking a long swig. His gaze slicedover to Jonah and Sam, at the far side of the yard, piling wooden blocks into the truck bed. Theyworked steadily, not a sound spoken, but professional, as though already the job was secondnature to them.Grace watched him for a moment, then she relaxed and wrapped her arms around herself."They're not going to quit just because you wear yourself out.""I know." Frank's voice was a little gentler, but his eyes didn't leave the boys. Sam was swinginga ginormous beam, his muscles bulging with efort, and Jonah was pushing from the oppositeend, expertly maneuvering it. They weren't like those two. Sam, hard and stubborn, andJonah—silent but immovable. Frank couldn't help but sometimes wonder if they even realizedhow much they made him think of himself at that time, when everything had seemed like it wasgoing to go around him and he could only hold on.Grace followed his look, a question mark between her brows. "They have their own way. Younotice it too, don't you? The way they walk.""I do," Frank growled. "But we can't just stand by and let them do everything themselves.They're only children, Grace."She smiled, but not a smile that laughed—there was something beyond it. She knew. Grace hadalways known something that Frank couldn't quite put his words to. She cut through the trash,got to the heart of what counted. "They may be kids, Frank. But they're not just kids. Notanymore."He didn't answer, but the importance of her words sat like a stone between them. He lookedover at Jonah once more, who was now speaking to Sam, gesturing off in the distance, mostlikely showing him how to stack the wood. Frank had no idea what, if anything, Jonah hadspotted at that time, but how he spoke, even-keel and confident, indicated the boy was loadedwith more than he indicated. That stillness of understanding, that knowledge of things aroundhim—it wasn't usual in a 10-year-old."Do you ever wonder about what comes after that?" Grace asked, speaking more to him than toherself.Frank stilled, his eyes on the hammer in his hand, his fingers wrapping tighter around it. He didnot wish to consider what came after—that wasn't yet something he wished to consider, not withthe rest of the world beyond this farm still so distant. But the question clung to the rim of hismind, gnawing. "Every day," he said to himself, his eyes scanning out towards the horizon, tothe narrow line of road that wound into town. He didn't know what was going to happen to them,to the boys, to Grace. There were days when he couldn't bear the weight of it, days when hewondered whether it was enough.Grace reached out, her hand brushing against his arm, and he looked down at her, surprised byhow small and fragile she seemed next to him. "We'll figure it out. Together."Frank remained silent, but the gentle firmness of her tone calmed something inside of him. Theuniverse might be disintegrating, strand by strand, but for this second, this—this—is all that hehad. And he'd fight to maintain it. At any cost, even if that means laboring until his fingers bled."Okay," he growled, inclining his head slowly. "Let's get on with it."Grace's smile was gentle but real, and she went back to whatever she'd been doing. Workingalongside him, Frank couldn't help but see how seamlessly they worked together, how their liveshad mingled into each other in a way that, while dificult, had built something real. Something tograsp.The barn door creaked open, hinges grumbling, but Frank and Grace did not blink. The boyshad completed their morning work, and the quiet now was more a pause than a finish. Jonahstood against the fence post, arms folded, observing Sam throw an old rope into the bed of thetruck. He said nothing, as always, but his eyes followed every move Sam made with anunfeeling keenness that did not altogether belong to his age."That's all for today," Frank announced, shifting and removing the perspiration from his foreheadwith the back of his hand. There was a brusqueness to his voice, but a finality in it that neither ofthe boys dared call in question. He left them no room to debate it with him—it wasn't a day fortesting limits. The sun was already setting behind the trees, and the heat was finally releasingits hold. Grace waited with him for a moment, then looked over at the boys, a gentle smiledeepening the lines at the corners of her mouth.Jonah didn't stir at first. Never did. Only lowered his head a fraction, eyes moving briefly to Samand then out again to the faraway horizon. Always observing, working things out in his head.The farm was a place where he could just go on working things out quietly, although Franksometimes wondered what was passing behind that stationary face.Sam, on the other hand, straightened up, shooting a glance at Frank, then at Jonah. His smirkwas almost imperceptible, but it was there, the quiet pride of someone who didn't need to betold twice. "We're done then?" he asked, his voice sharp but with a touch of somethingunderneath—something that only Frank understood. It wasn't arrogance, but a quiet hunger formore.Grace's hand rested on Frank's arm for a fraction of a second more before she let it fall andwalked toward the truck where Sam had begun loading gear into the bed. "You did good today,"she said to him quietly, her voice blowing over the rumble of wind through the grass. "Both ofyou.".Jonah stepped off his feet but did not respond. Something in the softness Grace used when shespoke to him—softer than his own voice to himself after his first lengthy swim, almostcomforting, as if she were saying he was home—stopped Jonah, fingers clenched on the cuff ofhis jacket. But it was fleeting, lost again beneath the pressure of his next thought.Sam yanked his cap lower over his eyes, hiding the flicker in his face. He sounded farawaywhen he answered, "We did what needed doing."Frank nodded, watching him for a beat longer than usual. There was something in Sam's tonethat spoke to more than just the task at hand. It was something deeper—something Frankwasn't sure he was ready to face. But he let it go. "You're right," Frank said simply, ofering hima nod of acknowledgment.Grace touched Jonah then, putting a hand on his shoulder, a familial touch rarely ofered butalways gratefully received. She was one of the few people who knew how to touch him when hedidn't notice, how to bring warmth without uttering a word. Jonah, for his part, stood rigid for aninstant, then relaxed infinitesimally under her hand. He dismissed her with a refusal to evenglance her way, but the slightest angle of his head revealed it all. Grace never lost patience forhim, not even when he withdrew—particularly when he did.The boys hung around a moment longer, looking at each other silently, before Frank motionedthem in. "Dinner's ready," he said this time with a softer voice, and without letting them answer,he walked towards the house. The beat of their day was shattering, and though there alwayswas a straining tension that seemed to hum beneath everything, it was, for a while, suficient.The barn remained. It was completed. And, for a few seconds, there was peace.Jonah sat in the back of the room, his chair leaning ever so slightly toward the window. His gazewas on something far beyond the glass—trees swaying in the distance, leaves rustling that noone else appeared to hear. He wasn't pondering, but simply in a place of quiet awareness,absorbing the small changes that surrounded him. The hum of words, the stomp of feet, theoccasional hackle—it all persisted, ticking like clockwork, anticipated and ordinary. But Jonahdid not let his mind stray; his eyes darted to the clock, then to his instructor, Mrs. Ellis, as shewas scribbling down equations on the board, her voice a dull drone that barely reached him."Jonah?" Mrs. Ellis snapped, her voice cutting into his reverie. "Would you care to answer thequestion?"He blinked, the tone of his name jarring him back to the moment. For an instant, he faltered, aflash of anger flickering through his head—why on earth did she even speak to him? Theanswer was always so pat, the question so simple. But he could sense the eyes of hisclassmates, some eager, some agitated. Such an odd phenomenon, the manner in which theywatched him all the time. As though awaiting him to do something.Jonah sat upright, supporting his back against the seat as he slowly lifted his hand. He didn'thave to think about the solution; it had presented itself to him from the very instant she asked.But he wasn't in a hurry. He never was. "The solution is 72," he declared on a low, even note,his eyes flashing into hers without blinking.Mrs. Ellis smiled, the approval in her face. "Right, Jonah. Thank you."Some of the students complained, nodding their heads, others rolling their eyes. Jonah didn'tcare. His head was already facing back towards the window. He wasn't here for their attention orapproval. He was here because it was the only thing that made the days go by. For some,school was a place to hang with friends or to see how they measured up on the court. ForJonah, it was simply another hurdle to get over, another place to maintain his low-key reign overthings.Sam didn't seek the quiet or the domination. His gaze was already roaming the room, searchingfor his next opportunity to make an impression. As the teacher wandered over to assist anotherstudent, Sam reclined in his chair, hands clasped behind his head, looking much toocomfortable. He was a master at getting attention drawn to him without having to yell once. Hedidn't mind if people liked him. He didn't mind anything as long as he was the one people staredat."You're a piece of work, you know that, Sam?" Troy's voice sliced through the gentle murmur oftalk. Sam didn't have to turn around to recognize who it was. Troy had been attempting to getunder his skin for weeks, ever since he'd made a thoughtless comment his way down thecorridor. Not helping was Malik, who stood next to him with a smile on his face as if he waswaiting for something to occur.Sam's smile came before his mouth, so keen that it could have sliced through glass. Not evenglancing back over his shoulder toward Troy, he said, "I don't know, Troy. I'm only trying to helpyou see your place."Troy's expression contorted, but he said nothing. He never did. Sam could make others feelsmall even when he wasn't addressing them directly. It was a game—one he played withoutrealizing it. He had been the focus of attention at school since they arrived. His quickness andarrogance won him allies and enemies. But it wasn't his popularity he was interested in—it wascontrol. And presently, he had it."I guess Troy's just mad he's too stupid to know any better," Sam continued, his voice stillcasual, as if he were talking about the weather, as if Troy weren't practically sitting on top of him."Right, Malik?"Malik laughed behind him, the sound too loud to be real. Troy remained stif, but spoke not aword. Sam possessed an ability for making people think they were the problem and he was theone taking the hits.Jonah looked over at Sam briefly, his face tightening by the width of a hair. He hadn't beensurprised by the fight; he'd seen it a mile down the road. But he didn't act. He didn't often. Samnever made him, and for his sake, Jonah didn't want to intrude. They both fought their own warsand long ago learned how to do things on their own. Jonah just observed, seeing the way Troycurled his fists into his flanks, the way Malik shot wary glances between them. The room stayedquiet. Strain had entered the periphery, unnoted by anyone but those who actively pursued it."You might want to be careful what you say next time, Troy," Sam continued, voice dropping,just slightly, so that it would be a threat by implication. But there wasn't anything to it, just cold,calculating control Sam seemed to at will.Troy shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes blazing with anger, but he remained silent. Notnow. Sam didn't require him to. The resulting silence was heavy, heavy with the knowledge thatTroy had lost—without ever having landed a punch. Sam had a knack for making it seem like itwasn't even a contest. That victory was a foregone conclusion.Jonah's eyes returned to the window, the noises of the classroom receding into a hum in thedistance as he once more disappeared from view into the passing shadows of the trees. Hecould feel the other humans, their eyes shifting in his direction from moment to moment, but hereacted not at all. He was elsewhere, perhaps far away—past this world and the school that wassupposed to hold it. He could hear Sam grumbling something in the seat behind him, theoccasional snorting laughter or muted sneer, but he blocked it out. He was too absorbedlistening to the world outside, where everything appeared so much more in hand than theturmoil of the one in the classroom.Lilia sat two rows ahead of him, her hands folded daintily on the desk, but never still. She wasn'tlooking at him, not directly anyway, but there was something in the way that her eyes would flickover to Sam every so often that raised the hairs on the back of Jonah's neck. She wasn't doing itin an obvious way. In real life, she was reserved, as if she realized how much spotlight Samalready received, and she might not have wanted to call more attention to herself. But Jonahcould see.Lilia's hair was drawn back behind her ear, one strand loose against her cheek. Her eyes neverrested in any one place for too long, always darting back to the front of the room when Sam'ssnapped onto hers. But occasionally, with Sam's back to her, Jonah caught a glimpse ofsomething spurring in her face—a question, maybe, or something else. He couldn't quite identifyit.Sam, though, had seen through. He always did. He was sensitive to those about him, as keenas a predator sensing the presence of a hundred eyes upon him all around. He adjusted hisposition in the chair, one hand slung over the back of the chair, as though he were perfectly atease. But his eyes—their icy, analytical sharpness—gave him away. He wasn't deceived by thesnatched glances. He was accustomed to surveillance. But Lilia. Lilia was not. She did notregard him in the same open reverence as did most others. Her eyes regarded him withcalculation, too cautious to be innocence.Jonah observed the flash of tension between Sam and Lilia when their eyes briefly met. Therewas a gentle flash of amusement in Sam's eyes—a fleeting humor—as if he found it nearlyamusing. Lilia hastily glanced away, her lips curling into a line of annoyance, as if she werecaught doing something she shouldn't be. Jonah couldn't help but speculate about what shewas thinking but didn't bother asking. He wasn't sure he even wanted to know.The class bell clanged out, a clear ring that cut into the tension momentarily and reminded all ofreality. The students started packing up—books stufed into bags, papers covering desks. ButJonah saw that Lilia did not get up right away. She lingered, her hand still on the strap of herbag as she looked up to see Sam stand up and stretch, his body gliding in fluid motion, as ifanything he did was by intention.Lilia's gaze held him for a fraction of a second too long. When Sam strode by her desk, shedidn't avert her eyes in time, hesitating there as if she were waiting for something—a cue,maybe, to permit her to move or respond. But Sam didn't notice her. He never did. He wasalready halfway through the room, his eyes elsewhere, no doubt planning what he would donext in order to demonstrate his supremacy. He had that one down pat, as all of the others.But Lilia wasn't done. As she stood up from her chair, her eyes followed the moving back ofSam, and there was something in the way that she was glancing at him—her head cocked tothe side, her mouth open a fraction—that curled Jonah's stomach. He had seen that expressionon others' faces before. But this was diferent. This wasn't attraction. This was something more,something malicious.Jonah narrowed his eyes, but didn't respond. He swung his bag over his shoulder and followedSam out of class, his step light but decisive. The rest of the students quickly followed them outinto the hallway, badgering each other and laughing as they flooded the corridor. Lilia waited bythe back of the room for another minute or two before falling in with the group. But Jonah wascertain: she was diferent from the others. She was seeing Sam in ways that everybody elsewas not. And the idea did not sit well with him.For that brief moment, as Lilia dissolved into the hallway behind him, Jonah gave himselfpermission to wonder how much longer it would take Sam to realize.The hallway was crowded with students, the warm press of footsteps and sounds in the air asthey exited classrooms and flowed into the central hallway. Sam navigated through the crowdwith ease, his strides even, a hunter flowing through its prey. Jonah trailed several steps backfrom him, his gaze sweeping the hallway, seeing the small motions within the clusters ofstudents moving around him. He never sought out trouble, but trouble would always come andfind him. Today, though, it was peaceful—too peaceful, almost.Lilia fell back a step or two, hanging at the end of the hallway, observing them both. Her eyesdarted back and forth between Sam and Jonah, the flash of recognition on her face. Jonahdidn't have to glance over his shoulder to know she was still looking. He could sense it, ashadow on his shoulders that had not been there previously.He did not especially mind being watched, not at all. But there was a peculiarity about Lilia'sgaze. It was diferent from the rest. It was piercing, analytical, as though she were attempting todecipher a puzzle that was slightly of. It did not irritate him—at least, not immediately. But hisstomach twisted at something, an intuition that this was not to be ignored."Make it less noticeable," Sam said to him across his shoulder, his tone low but clear. Jonahdidn't have to ask what Sam meant. He didn't have to. Sam always knew things. Naturally, he'dpicked up on the way Lilia lingered, but he wasn't worried. He never was. Sam was good at thegame—he was always thinking five steps ahead, even when he was acting like he was beingcareless.Jonah, despite all his close watching, had come to trust Sam's instincts in cases such as this.But that didn't mean he endorsed them all. Occasionally Sam's game was too risky—too skillfulat skating through situations, too confident he could get away with anything. Jonah's mindflashed back to those kids from a while ago—Troy, Malik—and he wondered whether Sam hadany idea how far he could push it before something broke.The slamming of lockers brought him out of it, and he caught up to Sam, keeping pace with him.The other students who lingered around them began to break apart to class or stand in groups.Sam didn't even look at them. He was already moving on to the next thing. Jonah did keep hiseyes open, observing it all, still so caught up in Lilia and how she just stood there so silentlywatching Sam.They reached the rear of the school building, light spilling out through the doors as they left it. Itwas sweltering heat, Texas heat clurking and heavy over everything, but Jonah didn't even feelit. He was already planning his next move, his thoughts thinking their way along as they had atendency to do. Sam, however, didn't seem to notice anything. He was already scrolling throughhis phone, his eyes fixed on something Jonah couldn't make out."Let's go," Sam had said, voice still steady, descending the concrete stairs and out onto thesidewalk going in the direction of the parking lot. Jonah trailed after him, his thoughts stillelsewhere. Not yet. Something in the day had reached out and touched him—something little,something he couldn't quite place.They silently walked, but always not strained between them. It never was. Jonah was used tothis: Sam, introspecting. Him, watching. It was their rhythm. They'd learned years ago how to read the other's silence. And today there was a small catch in Jonah's chest that he couldn'tshake of.It wasn't school. It wasn't Troy and Malik's drama. It was something else—something that hadbeen building. Jonah couldn't help but wonder that whatever was happening with Lilia, it hadonly just begun.The night was still, a temporary calm before the storm of the day and the abyss of night tocome. The home was dark, illuminated only by the soft light of the TV in the living room corner,where Grace worked through a pile of papers. Frank had gone into his garage to complete thework on an old rusty car. Outside, the crickets were chirping, but in here, it was quiet—too quiet.Sam rested back against the wall of the corridor, his attention attracted to the clock tickedsteadily over the door. The minutes were crawling, each one bringing him nearer to the timewhen he could get up.Jonah's unshod feet made almost no noise on the wooden floors as he drew near, so quietlythat he would have been unseen had he been a ghost. He did not speak, he simply stood for amoment, his gaze wandering over his brother's motionless body. Sam was alreadyplanning—always planning, always thinking, always ready to think several steps down the road."Ready?" Sam's voice was quiet, the word a statement and not a question. He didn't requireJonah's response; he knew the response before. Jonah also nodded, once, a small nod, beforeexiting with Sam into the kitchen. The house, home, was a series of subdued noises—Gracehumming in another room, Frank's deep curses growled under his breath as he did whatever hedid—but it was all far away, muted, as if nothing could pass there.Sam's eyes scanned the counter, searching for anything that could be used. Too simple, and hewas certain of it. His skill at disappearing from sight was just right for this. He was a snap of hisfingers away from making the room quiet, not a whisper or a footstep to be heard. He movedlike water, sliding between shadows, out of sight, out of hearing. Jonah kept behind, justsuspected, but close enough to observe what was happening. Sam was an artist, a master atevading detection. Jonah couldn't help but be amazed in a sort of reverence as Sam worked theroom, moving stealthily from object to object, grabbing bottled water, canned goods, someeveryday tools, and stufing them into the storage pocket concealed within the walls of thehouse.Jonah knew where Sam was going. He'd seen it a thousand times before. The stack of suppliesthat Sam stored in the hidden room was increasing, a little mountain range of supplies thatwould last them weeks, months, when they needed it. The fact that no one else appeared torealize it all was bordering on the ridiculous. Sam wasn't merely talented at this; he wasflawless. He had learned to catch a glimpse of the smallest detail, a creaking door too loud or amovement of the shadow in the corner. His head was diferent—quicker, faster—and it made allthe diference. He was already reaching for more supplies when Jonah came over, his eyesregarding in wordless intensity."I think it's enough for now," Jonah said softly, eyeing the stack of supplies with a mix of prideand fear. He wasn't Sam—he didn't have the same fun as his brother—but he understood thenecessity. The world was not what it seemed. Jonah knew that for many years. He had noticedthe signs, the little things about their world changing—whispers on the radio, odd news storiesthat flickered in and out, disease spreading quicker than anyone could keep up.Sam's swift, acrid smile came and went on his face as he stood beside Jonah. "For the timebeing," he replied, his tone never once betraying the flash of humor. "But one can never havetoo many." His gaze met Jonah's, a moment of unspoken understanding moving between them.Jonah could feel it—the silent understanding that the world was shifting, that something wasimpending. Sam had had it longer than he had, but Jonah was catching up. His own preparationstarted, inching at first, but speeding up as he saw how little prepared the rest of them were.Jonah's hand went into his pocket, his fingers tracing over the credit card Sam had shoved intothem before. He'd already spent some money—flashlights, a first-aid kit, a new tent—but it wasnowhere near enough. It would never be. There was always going to be something else to pickup, something else to arrange for. He wasn't quicker or cleverer than Sam, but he had his ownstrengths—he was more reliable, more grounded, and that was right for this. Keeping thingsorganized on the administrative front, ensuring nothing was overlooked. Sam handled the bulkof the work, but Jonah was there to keep everything running smoothly, to make sure theirpreparations didn't get out of hand."Think we've got enough to last us a while?" Jonah asked, his voice low as he moved closer tothe storage space. Sam didn't answer right away, his focus on a bottle of vitamins he wascarefully inspecting. Jonah's eyes wandered toward the door, to listen for the creak of the step,the intake of the coming, any indication that their parents were coming. He didn't think they'dnotice, but then sometimes Sam's low-flying was consistently terrible."Almost," Sam finally replied, his voice still calm, though there was a note of something elsebeneath it—something darker, more calculating. He let the vitamin bottle fall into the hiddencompartment before turning to face Jonah. "We just need to be ready. No more distractions." Hestepped closer, his hand briefly resting on Jonah's shoulder, a rare gesture of understandingbetween them. "We're the only ones who see it coming."Jonah nodded once more, the burden of those words in his chest. Their world was dissolving,and they were about to do something that no one else yet seemed to comprehend. It wasn'treally about the supplies anymore—it was survival. And, for good or ill, they were ready.The bell rang out around the school grounds, ending lunchtime. The frenzied wild grab for bagsand books erupted as the students streamed through the corridors. Sam remained leaningagainst the lockers, arms folded, a thin smile dancing on his lips as he observed the kidsstreaming past him. His eyes darted back and forth between Troy, Malik, and the rest, catchingthe way they glared at him nervous, black looks when they thought they were unobserved. Hewasn't rushing—he never rushed.Jonah pushed his way through the crowd with professional finesse, weaving past the studentsand giving each of them a quick look, his gaze only brevity lingering on the ones alreadyenrolled behind him dishing gossip. His wordlessness was always more forceful than anythingSam could ever say. He didn't need to speak to be heard; it was just this softer push against theair, a soft threat people were better off ignoring. He wasn't truly the peacemaker—never hadbeen—but someone needed to be there to prevent it from boiling over. Sam was not the kind ofman who mattered about being polite. His smile, as fast as it was, could leave others withnothing, and that was what he liked. It was how he'd pin them down, with words as knives,always a cut ahead of the rest. Troy and Malik, the boys, were thin-skinned. They'd been glaringat him out in the yard for weeks now, joking when they thought Sam wasn't listening. Jonah sawit in Sam's eyes: the hot anger, the urge to shove. Sam liked people to expose their vulnerableside. He liked to expose them. Jonah did not want it to go further. He was already listening tothe words—scurrilous insults, crude shoves. He could sense the tone change, the point wherethings would get out of hand. Sam might make others do what he wanted them to do, but Jonahdid not want it to reach such extremes. He stared at Sam when he came into his territory, hisvoice deep but firm. "Let go, Sam. It's not worth it."Sam picked up no emotion. His eye never swerved from ice to fire. His smile widened, and hewalked slowly towards the group of boys a few paces away. Jonah could feel the heat of Sam'sapproach, the way he closed the distance with purpose. But there was something else aboutSam's posture—his pride was not only defensive, it was a weapon. He knew he had power overthem as long as he existed. It was a matter of pushing one too hard to see if he would snap."Take it easy, Jonah," Sam's voice was barely audible, but it was thick with threat. He shifted hishead enough so that Jonah could hear what he was saying. "You think they'll back down on theirown?Jonah's jaws clamped tight, muscles twisting. He could feel the pull, the tug-of-war between thething he understood and what Sam was capable of doing. He watched the wheels turning inSam's head, crunching numbers, calculating probabilities. Jonah did not. Jonah did not playSam's game. But he understood. He always did.Suddenly, without warning, Sam stepped forward again, his gaze on Troy. He did not speak, butthe challenge behind it was unmistakable. Jonah's hand lashed out and grabbed his arm as hestepped forward again. Sam stared at his hand, then at Jonah, his face a mask. There was atension between them, tight but unspoken. Jonah did not release him, his fingers claspedaround Sam's wrist with a vice-like grip. "Sam, don't. Please."Sam's lip twisted, the fastest flash of humor passing over his face. "Don't tell me what to do." Hepulled his arm free with a smooth motion, his gaze locked onto Jonah's. For a fleeting moment,Jonah saw the thinnest glimmer of something else—something sinister, the barest speck ofimperfection in Sam's typical mask. But it vanished as fast as it was seen. Sam didn't seemangry, as Jonah knew he should be. Instead, Sam was remote, the cold in his eyes moreserious than Jonah had ever seen.Jonah hesitated, his heart thudding against his ribs. This is how it was sometimes—like twopoles meeting, each attempting to dominate the other. Sam was always testing limits, pushingthem to determine if Jonah would stand firm. And Jonah? Jonah no longer knew. He did notknow how long he could keep Sam away from wrecking everything in sight. The words hewanted to tell her were clogged in his throat, and he swallowed them. Sam would not evenlisten.The bell rang once more, and Jonah came back to reality from his daydreaming. The studentsstarted returning to the school building, their chatter getting louder in the corridors as theatmosphere changed. But Jonah did not budge, his gaze still on Sam. Sam shot him a fleetinglook back, the silence between them hanging like an unwanted burden that neither could dispel.Sam broke the stare, shoved off the lockers and headed for the door. Jonah walked behind hima few steps, his footsteps soft. The tension between them still lingered, a held breath, but Jonahcouldn't measure whether it was drawing them closer or pushing them apart.He did not ask Sam about it. He did not need to. Sam's moods were as unpredictable as theweather—shifting, without warning. But Jonah would be there. He always was. Even if thatmeant holding himself back when he wanted to yell, even if it meant staying in the spacebetween them.Jonah rested against the cold brick wall outside the classroom, the hum of voices fading. Hisarms were loosely crossed, but his fingers jammed deep into the sleeves of his coat. He neededto have something hard in contact, something to anchor him before he went back in. He felt thesound of the familiar tread coming toward him, quiet but unchanging. Sam was never one tohurry, drifting along in his own way, but soon he was standing alongside Jonah, a space of onlya few inches between them. Sam didn't say a word, but the thick presence of his standing therebeside him was like a thunderhead brewing on the horizon. His gaze drifted up into Sam's face,where he saw the repressed laughter that never quite left his eyes. It was like Sam was alwaysobserving, always planning, even when nothing was apparently occurring. Jonah breathed in,his chest constricted, but he could not ascertain whether it was due to the silence or the loosethread before."Jonah," Sam's voice cut through the quiet, almost too soft, too casual. He didn't look at himwhen he spoke, his focus still somewhere beyond Jonah, probably already on the next thing thatwould keep him entertained. "You're getting soft. It's pathetic."Jonah's eyebrows furrowed, but he didn't say anything. He'd heard it before, the same superiortone, the same stinging words. Sam didn't get it—or perhaps he did, on his own level—thatJonah wasn't always fighting. That he wasn't attempting to win every fight. Sometimes, it was amatter of holding back, observing, ensuring that things didn't shatter until they had to. Jonahwas simply. waiting. But Sam didn't get that. And maybe, in a way, Jonah wasn't sure if hewanted him to."I'm not soft," Jonah finally muttered, his voice quieter than he wanted. It felt weak, too small forthe kind of fight he was facing, but he knew Sam would hear it. His eyes flicked to Sam's face,waiting for a reaction.Sam's smile stayed. He did not need to fight; he did not need to argue. He was already walkingdown the hall from Jonah, slipping into the room as though he had not just uttered somethingthat should have rocked the earth beneath their feet. Jonah stayed there, frozen, as the bell andthe running footsteps rang down the hall.It wasn't that Sam didn't care. Jonah was certain of that. But Sam's concern was askew, cutting.It was couched in a desire to control, to press against boundaries to test just how far peoplewould go before breaking. Jonah wasn't sure how much longer he could keep going likethis—maintaining the calm, maintaining the peace when it was getting more and more dificult toascertain where the boundary lay between them and everyone else.The classroom door shut gently behind Sam. Jonah didn't immediately follow. He stood there amoment longer, his hand still on the rim of his jacket. Perhaps he was waiting forsomething—waiting for the perfect moment, the perfect words, but none came. Instead, heturned and followed Sam, the world already seeming smaller to him.The room was packed to capacity with kids, each of them talking, the sound barely mufled bythe walls. Jonah leaned on the wall near the door, taking in the room. There was a brief flash ofconnection between his eyes and Lilia's on the far side of the room. She was near the window,her eyes between her book and the spot where Sam occupied the back of the room. Sheglanced up when she felt Jonah's eyes on her, and then looked away again.Jonah didn't respond to her. He didn't need to. But something in the way that she wouldn't quitelook at him made him wonder if Sam was the only one who was keeping secrets. Jonah had atalent for reading people, and Lilia was far less subtle than she thought she was. He couldn'tquite figure out what was happening with her, but there was something there. Something hecouldn't put his finger on.As the teacher entered, the room was quiet once again and the school day unfolded as usual.But Jonah could not shake the sense that things were shifting, incrementally, that the world waschanging. He tried to dispel the notion, instead concentrating on the class to come. But as hecaught sight across the room of Sam, his brother's head jerked towards him, as if he could feelthe tension, and their eyes clashed for a half second. No one spoke, but in that one glance,Jonah sensed something: Sam was by no means finished with this fight. Not by a long shot.And when class started, Jonah's eyes never left Sam, the quiet murmur of the room barelyenough to suppress the thoughts reeling in his mind. He knew that whatever the future held, itwould be no easy ride, but one thing he was sure of: he wouldn't be alone to deal with it. Notwhile Sam was around.