The moment the transmission ended, cut short by the speaker on the other end perhaps conserving their battery, the silence returned, but it was a different kind of silence—a silence charged with terrifying possibility. We quickly packed the walkie-talkies, descending the creaking fire tower steps with a frantic energy we hadn't possessed moments before. Back in the cabin, huddled around the faint glow of the oil lamp, the map was spread out instantly.
"Humboldt Mountains," Jesse murmured, tracing a rough line north and east of our current position. His hand shook slightly as he did so, betraying the shock we all felt. "That's a full seventy miles as the crow flies, maybe four or five days of hard travel from here. They are moving south, which means they're aiming for warmer weather or perhaps a rumored community we haven't heard of." His pragmatism was vital now, anchoring our soaring, chaotic hope. Lexi and I stared at the map, trying to calculate the odds of interception.
Lexi leaned in, her eyes sharp, already calculating supplies. "They didn't sound desperate, which is a good sign. They sounded cautious and organized. They knew not to give coordinates. But they also asked if we had supplies, which implies they might be running low themselves." Her focus immediately shifted to logistics. "If we leave now, we can make up some time, moving under cover of darkness. We need to reach a high-visibility, defensible point on their projected southern route, maybe near the old mining roads."
The risks involved in changing our route were immense. We were low on water, our legs were exhausted, and we had promised ourselves we would turn back south tomorrow. Yet, none of us entertained the idea of going home. The sound of that voice was a beacon too bright to ignore. I ran my hands through my short black hair, trying to think clearly past the adrenaline rush. "We cut due east, then follow the old highway north towards the Humboldts. It's longer, but the highway, even broken, is faster than the wilderness. We stop only to sleep, and we use the walkie-talkie sparingly—only to confirm their location once or twice a day."
Jesse pulled out our remaining rations, meticulously portioning them into three equal piles. "We have enough dehydrated food for four more days if we stretch it thin, but water is the problem. We cannot afford to carry any more than we have. We will have to rely on finding a source near the highway—a broken reservoir, or a natural spring that hasn't dried up yet." He was clearly worried, and his worry was always well-founded. Lack of clean water was the fastest killer in the post-Rot world.
We also discussed the inherent danger of meeting another group. What if they were bandits? What if they were organized, but hostile? We agreed on a strict protocol: we would approach their designated rendezvous point concealed, observe for at least twelve hours, and initiate contact only if we felt absolutely certain they weren't a threat. Lexi and I checked our rifles again, making sure they were loaded and functioning perfectly. The hope we felt was now laced with a potent fear, the knowledge that we were moving directly toward an unknown confrontation.
As we prepared to leave the fire tower cabin, Lexi placed her hand on my shoulder, making me stop. The lamplight caught the seriousness in her long brown hair and eyes. "James," she said softly, her voice low, "this isn't just about finding other survivors. This is about finding us again, finding a purpose beyond scavenging. But promise me one thing: if they are hostile, we don't hesitate. Our lives—yours, mine, and Jesse's—come first. Always." I met her gaze, seeing the fierce, desperate love for survival that defined her. I nodded, squeezing her hand tightly. The bond between us, formed in shared hardship, felt like the strongest weapon we possessed. We were heading into the unknown, driven by a sliver of sound, ready for either rescue or a fight to the death.