Day 15
Xenia's eyes fluttered open for the third time that evening, the distant whimpering of Rhys piercing through her sleep. She blinked blearily at the flickering candlelight and the silhouette of the tiny bundle beside her. It was only 2:57 a.m., but the baby's cries made it feel like 5 a.m. every day of her life.
She had already boiled rice water earlier in the night, anticipating this. They had no formula, no milk, and obviously, she couldn't breastfeed. She was 23, single, and biologically unprepared for this. But Rhys didn't care—he just cried, kicked, and reached for warmth and food.
"I know, I know," she whispered, rocking him gently. "I'm tired too, little guy."
By morning, Xenia was barely holding it together. The bags under her eyes looked like she had packed for a week-long trip to hell. Her messy ponytail sagged, her shirt was wrinkled, and she had spit-up on her collar. Still, she stood before the others, Rhys now calm and swaddled at her chest.
"Okay… assignments," she rasped. "Brei, you're in charge of the garden. Water, prune, check for pests. Anna, you're on cooking duty. Stretch our supplies."
Anna nodded, already rolling up her sleeves.
"Cecil—you'll help with knitting. But you're also allowed story time, okay? You earned that book."
Cecil grinned, hugging the paperback Rico had found.
"Rico and Nestor, I want a wheeled box—like a pushcart. Something we can use during scavenging. Our duffel bags get full too fast."
Nestor grunted in approval. "Finally, something useful."
"And me…" Xenia sighed, glancing down at Rhys. "I'll go see Conrad."
"Alone?" Anna asked.
"No. Rafe's coming. And so is Rhys. I have a feeling Conrad's place hasn't been overrun yet… and I need to know if he recognizes this baby."
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The sun was high when they made it to Conrad's isolated homestead, deep in the heart of SilverMoon Cay. The place was pristine by apocalypse standards—neatly lined fences, vegetable plots, and two goats grazing under a shady tree. As they arrived, Xenia caught sight of Caleb.
He was shirtless, hauling baskets of fresh vegetables. His bronzed skin glistened under the sunlight, his muscles taut and glistening with sweat. It was almost obscene.
Xenia's cheeks flared crimson. Oh my God. She quickly looked away, pretending to check Rhys's wriggling arms.
Caleb turned, his usual serious expression faltering into wide-eyed shock when he spotted the baby.
Beside Xenia, Rafe narrowed his eyes. He saw it. The way Caleb stared—not at him, not even at Xenia, but straight at the child with a flicker of recognition. And something else—longing?
Before any words were exchanged, Charlie—always the friendly one—ran up from the well, abandoning the pump to escort them inside.
Inside the cabin, Conrad was cleaning a shotgun. His demeanor was sharp, focused, not unlike a soldier prepping for an ambush.
He looked up, stern as always. "You again?"
"I need answers," Xenia said. "Do you know what happened in the nearby village?"
"Bitters," Conrad muttered, polishing the barrel. "Whole place swarmed. I told my boys to stay clear."
"Are you sure staying isolated is the right choice? What if you joined forces with Gabriel's group?"
Conrad raised a brow. "I am allied with Gabriel. But I don't do camps. Not anymore. I've been burned. Too many people equals too many lies. You trust someone, and they turn around and bite you—literally or figuratively."
Xenia nodded slowly, understanding the bitterness beneath his words.
"I was deployed before," he continued. "On a remote island. There was a lab. Saw monsters being made—men turned into things. This virus, or whatever you call it, isn't natural. It's weaponized. It's here now, but I've trained my boys to handle it."
"Well… if you ever need help, we're just one call away."
"I'll remember that." His tone softened just slightly. "But it's not the danger that bothers me. It's people. One coward lies, and the whole camp dies."
Then Rafe stepped forward, gently shifting the conversation. "Do you know anyone in the nearby village who had a baby?"
Conrad's eyes flicked to Rhys.
"I… yeah. Eva. She had a son."
Xenia tensed. "Do you think this is her baby?"
Conrad stood slowly, walking over to them. He stared at the infant for a long time. His jaw clenched.
"That's him," he said quietly. "I didn't notice earlier, but yes—he looks just like her. Yesterday, I saw Eva. She was bleeding, carrying something. Zombies were on her heels. She fell off a cliff near the forest edge. The biters followed her down. I thought they were all gone."
Xenia gasped. "You didn't try to help her?"
"I couldn't. It happened fast, and I was too far with the rifle aimed. By the time I reached the cliff, there was no sign of her."
A heavy silence hung in the air. Even Caleb, now standing in the doorway, looked pale.
"I thought the baby had died with her," Conrad whispered. "But… you saved him."
Xenia bit her lip. "His name is Rhys now. That's what I'm calling him."
Then she stepped forward. "We came for a favor. We need goats. A mature female, if possible. We're trying to give Rhys something to survive on. He won't last on rice water forever."
Conrad gave her a long, assessing look. Then, to Xenia's astonishment, he nodded. "Caleb. Two females. Two males. Give them what they need."
Caleb blinked. "Yes, sir." And then, to Xenia, "I'll help you carry them back."
Xenia blushed. "That's too much. I didn't expect—"
"You need it more than we do," Conrad interrupted. "You have too many mouths to feed, and it's spring now. Come winter? You'll need every advantage."
Xenia bowed her head. "Thank you. Truly."
Caleb stepped forward again, now with a rifle slung over one shoulder. "I'll escort you back. Safer that way."
As they exited the cabin, Rhys squirmed in Xenia's arms, his small hand grabbing at Caleb's shirt. Caleb looked at the baby for a long moment, something unspoken settling in his chest.
Rafe, behind them, noticed the shift in Caleb's eyes. The way he looked at Xenia—no, at Rhys—and something flared in him. Protective. Possessive. Dangerous.
He shot Caleb a glare. One that said: Back off.
Caleb, aware of the stare, simply smirked and looked away.
Xenia, oblivious to the tension, looked down at Rhys and whispered, "Let's get you some milk, little guy."
And with that, the strange caravan headed back toward camp—with four goats, a guarded truce, and a baby who had just become the thread tying all their fates together.