Day 23
The cave was quiet except for the gentle rustling of leaves outside. A soft wind blew through the entrance as if paying its own respects.
The group had turned a small portion of the cave into a resting place for the dead. It wasn't much, just a patch of earth softened by their efforts and marked with makeshift epitaphs carved into wood and stone. Tenorio's gun, bloodied and cracked, was buried alongside him, wrapped in fabric like a warrior's sword. Next to him lay Irah, her grave marked with a smooth stone and a braid of dried wildflowers.
Anna sobbed quietly, clutching a torn scarf that once belonged to Irah. Beside her, Cecil sniffled but didn't cry. She sat quietly, her small hand wrapped around Anna's wrist like it was her only anchor. Marga stood stiffly behind them, arms crossed tightly. Nestor, Brie, Rafe, Rico, and his oddly cheerful friend (whom no one ever got around to naming), all stood in a solemn half-circle, heads bowed.
Even Gabriel, newly returned from a scouting trip, looked worn out. He stood silently beside Xenia, arms crossed, face unreadable.
Xenia stepped forward with the map, her expression grim. She knelt, took out a pen, and marked an X over Theremis.
"One down," she murmured. "Fourteen more to go. We promise you, Tenorio, your wishes will come true."
Out on the shore, Wild Man traced abstract swirls in the sand with a long stick, his dog Blackie following the movements with tilted curiosity. Every now and then Blackie pawed at the design, erasing it and earning a sigh from his bearded companion.
That night, the cabin glowed with the soft flicker of lantern light. The atmosphere was still heavy, like a fog that hadn't lifted. In one of the rooms, Thalia settled in, her belongings stacked neatly in a corner. Tyrone was curled up on a bedroll beside her, sound asleep.
Xenia entered, baby Rhys squirming in her arms, cheeks flushed and eyes blinking in confusion.
"Sorry for the noise. He gets cranky after nine."
"No problem," Thalia said with a smile. "Crying babies are better than silent ones. It means they're alive."
Xenia sat on the edge of the mattress, gently rocking Rhys. "Thanks for sharing the room. I know it's crowded."
"Actually... I was thinking, maybe I should build a treehouse outside. Just for Tyrone and me."
Xenia's eyes narrowed. "Wait, what? That's dangerous. You guys are safer inside."
"I know, but... we're more comfortable that way. I built one back in our old town. Tyrone sleeps better when we're above ground."
"Okay, but what if he climbs down on his own one day looking for you? He's going to grow up, get curious. A fall from a treehouse isn't a scraped knee."
Thalia looked down, brushing a strand of hair from Tyrone's face. "You're right. Maybe we can compromise. Build it close, but use ropes or ladders we can pull up."
Xenia nodded. "Good. Just... don't turn your kid into a literal treehugger, okay?"
Thalia laughed under her breath.
Day 24
The morning was filled with the sound of clucking.
Caleb arrived, riding a rusty bicycle like he was delivering fresh bread, not live poultry. Behind him, a makeshift basket held two hens, some feed, and a sack of something that smelled suspiciously like mashed corn and despair.
"I brought gifts!" he announced proudly, as if he were Santa Claus in flip-flops.
Marga's eyes widened in horror. "More mouths to feed?!"
Anna sighed. "More poop to clean."
Cecil giggled. "Can I name one Poopy?"
"Absolutely not," Anna muttered.
Caleb beamed like a child at a science fair. "My dad managed to recruit four new people in the forest. Our place is solid. Rico and Gabriel told us about what happened. I'm here if you need help."
Rafe squinted at him like Caleb was a cockroach in a shirt. "Oh, joy. The chicken whisperer returns."
Xenia quickly stepped in, sensing tension. "Thanks, Caleb. But we don't want to take away your manpower."
"Manpower? Please. We have too much testosterone in one place. Even the hens are stressed."
Marga grunted. "Good. Maybe they'll lay eggs out of panic."
Xenia gave a weak chuckle and pulled out her map again. "We're thinking of heading to Ceaton next. It has a waterfall and is rocky, so we'll have to walk. Two days to get there."
"Count me in!" Caleb raised his hand.
Rafe groaned audibly. "Oh please, no."
"You got a problem, muscle boy?"
"Yeah, your mouth."
Xenia clapped her hands. "Okay, okay! This is an expedition, not a roast battle. Both of you are coming, so either get along or I put you both in the same tent, and I swear I will make it pink and floral."
They both grumbled but fell silent. Tyrone and Cecil watched the argument like they were at a tennis match.
Thalia emerged from the cabin, stretching. "What's going on?"
"Chicken war," Brie said. "You didn't miss much."
Later that afternoon, the farm buzzed with activity. Marga had already built a small coop using scrap metal, tarps, and some leftover wood. One of the hens immediately pooped on her shoe.
"This... this is my life now," Marga whispered, looking to the sky.
Inside, Anna was trying to introduce Tyrone to Rhys. Tyrone looked at the baby like he was a bomb with a five-second timer.
"He poops a lot, doesn't he?" Tyrone asked.
"Yes," Anna said grimly. "And sometimes it's... terrifying."
Tyrone leaned closer, whispering to Rhys, "You're lucky you're cute."
Outside, Xenia gave final instructions to the upcoming team. Thalia was double-checking her gear, while Rafe cleaned his katana. Caleb had somehow found time to pack snacks and draw a cartoon map labeled: "Operation: Waterfall Quest."
"We leave at dawn," Xenia announced. "Pack light, but bring essentials. We walk, we talk, and we don't fight. Understood?"
"Yes, Captain," Caleb saluted dramatically.
Rafe grunted. "You ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?"
"Nope. It's part of my charm."
Xenia sighed. This was going to be a long journey.
As the sun set, the camp grew quiet again. People settled in. The hens, surprisingly, were roosting without incident. Cecil told Brie she wanted to be a chicken farmer. Brie promised to help, then immediately forgot.
Xenia stood near Tenorio's grave, staring into the darkened cave. She whispered, "We're still going, Tenorio. One place at a time. We'll keep your dream alive."
From behind her, Thalia placed a hand on her shoulder. "You're not alone."
Xenia nodded.
Then Tyrone poked his head out of the cabin and shouted, "MOM! Cecil says I smell like chicken poop!"
Thalia groaned. "That's it. We're building the treehouse. Tomorrow."
"Good luck with that," Xenia muttered, laughing as she walked back toward the cabin, already dreading the pink floral tent she may have to pitch on the next trip.