Page 7 of My Apocalypse Mountain Man
"We should position those speakers," she says, not meeting my eyes.
"Yeah."
The moment passes, but something has shifted. We're not strangers anymore. Not quite friends either, but something in between. Partners, maybe, united by the approaching threat.
As we prepare to head out into the storm, she checks her pistol, checks mine, hands me extra ammunition without being asked.
"Ready?" she asks.
"Are you?"
"I've been ready for worse things with worse odds." She manages a small smile. "At least this time I've got backup I trust."
"You trust me? You've known me for less than twenty-four hours."
"I've known your voice for eighteen months. I've heard how you handle crises, how you help others while maintaining boundaries, how you prepare for every contingency." Sheshoulders her pack. "I trusted you before I met you. Meeting you just confirmed I was right."
The admission hits harder than it should. Trust is dangerous in this world. Trust gets you killed or worse. But looking at Sierra—Goldfinch—ready to face impossible odds beside me, I realize I trust her too.
"Let's go," I say. "We've got a herd to redirect."
three
Sierra
Thestormhascalmedto a steady snowfall as we position the last speaker, though the wind still cuts through my jacket like ice.
"That's four," I pant, securing the device to a pine tree. My fingers are numb despite the gloves Kole gave me. "Think it'll be enough?"
"Has to be." Kole scans the valley below through binoculars. "Movement to the north. Maybe three miles out."
Three miles. At zombie shambling speed in snow, we have maybe two hours.
"We should test the system," I suggest.
"And risk drawing them directly to us?"
"Better to know now if it doesn't work than when they're on our doorstep."
He considers this, then nods. "Quick burst. Ten seconds max."
We make our way back to the cabin, where I've rigged the control system from Kole's damaged radio equipment and spareparts. It's held together by determination and electrical tape, but it should work.
Should.
"Ready?" I ask, hand on the activation switch.
"Do it."
I flip the switch. For a heartbeat, nothing happens. Then, faintly through the storm, we hear it—music playing from all four speakers, the sound echoing off the valley walls.
"It works," I breathe.
"Turn it off."
I kill the signal after eight seconds. We both stand frozen, listening, waiting to see if we've just signed our death warrants.
"There," Kole points. Through the window, barely visible through the snow, dark shapes are moving in the valley. But they're angling toward the speakers, not the cabin.
