Page 34 of Burning Love

EPILOGUE

FIVE YEARS LATER

Laughter rang out light and carefree, a melody of resilience. Children raced past Sophia, their bare feet kicking up golden dust as they weaved between the wooden and stone homes, their voices rising in playful shouts. A trio of boys argued over the rules of some game, while a girl with matted hair attempted a daring backflip, landing in a crumpled heap of giggles. Their joy was unburdened, untouched by the darkness their parents had known not too long ago.

The scent of roasted vegetables and simmering stew drifted from the kitchen house, rich and savory as it curled through the air. Someone had set wildflowers in a clay jar by the well—yellow sunbursts of goldenrod and delicate blue cornflowers, their petals swaying in the breeze.

God, that well took us months to dig. Who would have thought that would be a skill I’d have to learn?

Somewhere in the distance, a homemade wind chime clinked softly, a delicate melody threading through the low murmur of Sophia’s surroundings. She inhaled deeply, savoring the moment. She sometimes found it hard to believe that she now associated the smell of cooking with comfort again, rather than just survival. The sound of knives chopping against wooden boards and the occasional burst of laughter from the kitchen only reinforced the true sense of peace they had all managed to create here.

She strolled over to the kitchen house and opened the door. She found Olwen hunched over a pot, stirring the thick stew with practiced ease. The older woman glanced up, her sharp blue eyes softening. “Sophia,” she greeted. “You checking up on me, or are you just hungry?”

Sophia smirked, leaning against the edge of the table. “A little of both, I guess. It smells amazing, but the way. Olwen, what would we do without you and your stew-making abilities?”

Olwen chuckled, shaking her head. “You say that now, but wait until you taste it. I had to improvise with the seasoning—gotta stretch what we have left. The wild garlic will be sprouting soon enough, though! And then it’s a whole new ball game, let me tell you!”

Sophia reached out and plucked a slice of roasted squash from a nearby plate, popping it into her mouth before Olwen could swat her hand away. The sweetness of it melted on her tongue, balanced by the charred edges. “If the stew is half as good as this, we’ll be just fine. And you’re so right! I remember the wild garlic last year! I can’t wait.”

Olwen huffed but looked pleased. “You keep sweet-talking me like that, and I might set aside an extra bowl for you.”

Sophia grinned, watching as a few chickens darted past the door. She wondered how they’d escaped again, but decided she’d leave someone else to deal with it this time. Chickens were supposed to be stupid birds, weren’t they? But the ones they bred here seemed to be geniuses. A few years ago, a scene like this would have been impossible. Now, it was their reality. Hard-won, but real.

She glanced back at Olwen, lowering her voice. “How’s the food supply holding up?”

Olwen’s expression shifted, her stirring slowing. “Could be worse,” she admitted. “Could be a hell of a lot better, too. But I’m not going to complain. Complaining doesn’t do any of us any good. The last foraging team brought in a decent enough haul, but we’ll need another run before the month is out.

Sophia nodded, already calculating. “I think I’ll go with them next time.”

Olwen shot her a look. “No, young lady. You’ve got enough on your plate. Let someone else do their fair share of the hard work.”

Sophia only smiled, rolling another piece of roasted squash between her fingers. “What kind of person would I be if I didn’t pull my weight?”

Olwen sighed, shaking her head, but there was warmth in her voice when she said, “A smart one.”

“You remind me of someone. But a much nicer version. No, that’s not true. You’re nothing like her. We had a cook in the last place, and she… well, never mind. Thank you for being you.”

“Really? What a nice thing to say! You’re welcome, honey! Some things, some people, are better left in the past.”

The wind shifted, carrying the scent of the stew through the air, mingling with the golden hues of the setting sun. Sophia let herself soak it in—the food, the comfort, the quiet hum of this new life.

It wasn’t perfect. But it was theirs. And for now, this is what they had.

Near the wood workshop, the rhythmic clang of metal against logs rang out, sparks dancing like fireflies in the dimming light. A group of settlers gathered around the woodpile, trading quiet words as they watched the blade of the axe smash into the pine trunk. Closer to the center of the village (for Sophia often thought of it as a village), a group of youngsters, both male and female, sat on a wooden bench, sewing patches onto well-worn jackets, their fingers moving with efficiency.

Above it all, the first stars flickered to life, tiny pinpricks against the darkening sky, as if the universe itself was watching over this fragile, hard-won peace.

Sophia made her way over to their small cabin and leaned against the porch railing, her arms crossed loosely over her chest. She let her gaze sweep over the village, drinking in the simple beauty of it.

It still amazed her, even after all these years, how much had changed. How much they had built. She remembered when she and Alex had first arrived, and this place had been nothing more than a handful of survivors clinging onto some semblance of hope, barely scraping by. Back then, fear had ruled their days—rationing supplies, reinforcing weak points in the walls, planning escape routes they prayed they’d never have to use. The undead had been an ever-present threat, their moans drifting through the trees at night.

Now, the settlement stood firm, not just surviving but thriving. Scouts patrolled the perimeter at all hours, their watchful eyes ensuring nothing slipped through unnoticed. They had figured out patterns, learned how to bait the dead away and how to cull them when necessary. The old world’s technology was mostly useless now. Still, ingenuity had kept them alive—tripwire alarms, trenches lined with sharpened stakes, and torches that burned with thick, acrid smoke, which the undead seemed always to avoid.

Even more delicate decisions—whom to let in and whom to turn away—had become part of their survival. They had rules now. The rules weren’t too harsh. This was far from a military operation. But everyone who arrived at their gates was questioned and searched. Newcomers had to earn their place, to prove they were more than just mouths to feed. But none of them here were heartless. She and Alex had fought to ensure that.

They had learned how to manage their resources and make this land yield what they needed. They had a working water system, thanks to the well they’d dug deep, and a network of rain collectors that fed into their filtration setup. The fields beyond the main wall grew crops in neat rows—corn, potatoes, beans, anything hardy enough to withstand the unpredictable weather. Their livestock pens were small but well-maintained, holding goats and chickens that provided milk and eggs. The solar panels they salvaged from a long-abandoned facility sometimes held enough charge to power essential parts of the settlement, including lights in the medical room, radio equipment that rarely worked, and the grain mill.

It wasn’t perfect. They still faced shortages. But when she looked at the village lined with little homes, when she saw children playing without fear, when her family’s bellies were full, she knew they had done something right.

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