As the school day dragged on, Evie moved through her classes in a haze. She tried to throw herself into the sparring exercises and tactics lessons, but the instructors’ voices felt like distant echoes with little signficance. Neither Mia nor Derek were in class after the argument on the roof, and it was only a lack of anywhere else to go that stopped Evie from skipping class as well.

By the time the final class ended and the students were released into the dreary evening, Evie felt drained, her mind and body aching from the day’s emotional and physical exertions. She gathered her belongings with mechanical efficiency and her thoughts shifted toward home.

The rain had lessened to a steady drizzle by the time she reached the small, weather-beaten house she shared with her mother. The familiar creak of the gate and the sight of the overgrown garden brought a bittersweet sense of comfort and dread. She paused for a moment on the threshold, the weight of the day pressing heavily on her shoulders, before pushing open the door and stepping inside.

The house itself was a testament to resilience, much like all of the surviving people sheltered in the fort. Newly built in 2019, the house lost its fresh luster over years of disuse and trauma. The exterior paint, once a vibrant blue, had long since faded and peeled away, revealing the weathered wood beneath. Ivy crept up one side of the house, its tendrils clinging tenaciously to the walls and patched roof. Framed by aging wooden shutters, the windows were a patchwork of clear and foggy panes, some cracked but carefully mended with strips of cloth and resin.

When the fort had first been established in Richmond in 2022, humanity had just started recovering from the terrors of the first years of the Virus. The victories won by the Ten stopped rifts from forming, where Virus could appear literally out of thin air, but millions of them still roamed the world, leaving people dead or helpless wherever they went. This might have caused people to turn on each other, but the surviving members of the Ten and their companions used their overwhelming strength to quickly, and harshly, deal with anyone who thought they could take advantage of the chaos. Four forts were established, over the ruins of the cities of Washington D.C., Richmond, Newport News, and Annapolis. As far as anyone knew, these were the last remaining human settlements.

While surviving people within the cities often stayed in their homes, some took the opportunity to upgrade to houses vacated by families killed by the Virus and some were relocated by the militia to easier to defend locations. So many people had died in the first two years of the crisis, however, that there were still plenty of open places available for a mother and her baby moving from the Washington suburbs.

Inside, the house was dimly lit, the soft glow of a single oil lamp casting long shadows across the worn furniture. The living room was small and cozy, dominated by a large, threadbare couch covered in a patchwork quilt that Evie’s mother, Anastasia, had sewn together from old clothing and scraps of fabric. A sturdy wooden coffee table, its surface scarred with years of use, stood in front of the couch, cluttered with herbal remedies, a few well-worn books, and a teapot with a single chipped cup.

As Evie set down her bag and removed her damp coat, she caught sight of her mother lying on the couch, her face pale and drawn, eyes closed in a restless sleep. She tried to tiptoe past her, but saw her mom stir and eyes flutter open as the floor creaked under her feet. Seeing her awake, Evie walked over to her mom and took her frail hand in her own. It was cold and limp and Evie tried to press the little warmth in her own hands into it.

“Mom, I’m home.”

Her mother tried to sit up and smile, but Evie could see the strain that it place on her. Whe she replied, it was in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

“Welcome home, sweetheart.”

“How are you feeling today?”

Anastasia’s smile wavered, her eyes betraying the pain she tried so hard to hide.

“A little better, I think. The new herbs the [Healer] gave me seem like they’re helping.”

Evie nodded, though she could see the truth in her mother’s eyes. The illness was relentless, sapping her strength day by day.

“Are you hungry? I can make dinner.”

“Look at you, so mature, taking care of your mother like this. I should have dinner waiting for you after a long day of school.”

“Hush now, enough of that. Close your eyes a little longer and I’ll have everything ready when you wake up.”

Not waiting for a reply she went to the door and found the grocery bag the city council had delivered earlier in the day. The fort operated as a commune and even those not working yet like Evie, or too infirm like her mother, got food and basic goods on which to subsist. There were several [Healers], [Adventurers], and even [Defenders] working for the city with preservation skills that had helped society transition away from past comforts like grocery stores and refrigerators.

The kitchen, though modest, was neatly organized. Wooden cabinets with chipped paint and slightly rusted handles held a modest collection of mismatched dishes and utensils. A small, cast-iron pan hung in one corner, its surface polished to a dull sheen. The countertops, though worn and scratched, were meticulously clean, and held a few jars of herbs and spices neatly arranged along the back edge.

Evie slipped into her mother’s old apron, tying it over her damp uniform. The familiar fabric brought her a small comfort and she took a deep breath to steady herself before gathering the ingredients and beginning to cook. For a time, she lost herself in the rhythmic chopping and stirring until the aroma of sautéing vegetables and simmering broth gradually filled the house. Besides fighting, she felt most at home here, in the kitchen, although if given the choice, she’d rather be making something full of sugar than lamb stew. As she finished, she plated two servings and packed the other two for each of their lunches the next day.

To her surprise, her mother was already waiting for her at the small dining room table as she carried over the two bubbling bowls of stew. Evie tried to ignore how withered and haggard she looked, and most of all the vile, black lines of infection peeking out from under her sweater.

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“You’re going to enjoy this.”

The insincere cheer in Evie’s voice almost made her cringe, but she tried her best to continue on for her mother’s benefit.

“We’ve got squash and tomatoes and even some jalapenos so it’s pretty spicy just like you like it.”

“Thank you Evie.”

The food truly was good and for a few minutes they ate in companionable silence. For once, it didn’t even look like her mother was forcing herself to swallow the food. Eventually, her mother let the spoon fall into the remaining stew in her bowl and turned to face Evie.

“How was your day, sweetheart?”

Evie hesitated, choosing her words carefully.

“It was... fine.”

She paused, unsure if she should share more, but decided not to burden her mother further.

“More of the same… I’m ready to graduate and join the militia.”

“I see… Well don’t try to grow up too fast. Careful you might miss these days when you’re older. How are your friends doing? I haven’t seen them around here much lately.”

“Everyone’s good, mom… Eat up, the food’s getting cold.”

“If you keep insisting I try to eat more you can at least tell me a little bit more about your day, while I try….”

“Mom…”

Evie’s voice was full of exasperation, but her mother just raised her eyebrow and stared down at her half-full bowl.

“At least tell me what you’re doing for your birthday tomorrow.”

“I haven’t really thought about it. There’s just been so much going on. Maybe I’ll go for a run down to the market and see if any of the caravans are back. I could buy something tasty and we can enjoy it together.

Anastasia smiled softly, a hint of sadness in her eyes.

“Well, think about it a little more. You deserve something special. A girl only turns 18 once you know.”

“I will, Mom.”

***

After they finished their meal, Evie helped her mother to bed and laid her down on top of the blankets. She slowly unbuttoned her mother’s shirt, revealing the bandages wrapped beneath, and nearly recoiled at the sight of them. The thin white cloth was nearly soaked through with a mixture of red blood, yellow puss, and black… something, that stunk worse than the other two combined.

“Mom! When was the last time a [Healer] came by to change these?”

When Anastasia replied, her voice was so tired and resigned that Evie wanted to hit her.

“Oh, I don’t know… Three days? Maybe a week? It’s so hard to keep track of these days.”

Evie stood there, stock still, her face almost completely bloodless and hands shaking with a mixture of shock, fury, or inconsolable sadness. Eventually, unable to bear it, her mom broke the silence.

“I think there’s some more bandages in the kitchen if you wouldn’t mind helping me change these before bed.”

Evie stared silently for a long moment before giving a curt nod and leaving the room. When she returned a few minutes later, she was holding the bandages, a pair of scissors, a cloth, and a bowl of hot water. Without pausing, she set to cutting the bandages free, doing her best to ignore the occasional hisses of pain as sullied bandages detached reluctantly from putrefied skin.

When she was done, it was all she could do not to turn away from the horrid mess the wound had made of her mother’s body. It had been a fierce wound, about eight inches long and a quarter-inch deep running diagonally from her sternum to just over her stomach, but that wasn’t the bad part. Instead of scabbing over and healing, the wound had filled with a black, viscous substance akin to the Virus’ skin. The substance had filled the wound, preventing it from healing, and spread from there so that the blood vessels and skin around it had started to decay and turn black. The bandages and frequent healing helped, but there had been no way to completely cleanse the wound. Every time they tried, it came back with a vengeance.

Swallowing hard, Evie grabbed the cloth and soaked it in the water before gently doing her best to wash out as much of the contaminate as she could. This time her mother cried out loudly and Evie had to stop, her hands shaking uncontrollably in front of her. She shut her eyes and implored herself not to cry – it was a battle she was close to losing until she felt a soft, warm hand rest on her cheek. Opening her eyes, she saw her mother’s gentle gaze looking up at her and let her cheek nuzzle against the hand caressing her – a hand far more wizened than a 45 year-old woman’s should ever be.

“You’re so strong sweet Evie. My pride and joy.”

Despite herself, Evie felt her heart swelling and returned to her work with renewed determination. She gripped her mother’s right hand with her left and squeezed gently every time the cloth in her right hand made contact with an open wound or sore. The two of them went on like this for several long minutes until Anastasia’s chest was clean and the wound’s looked just a little bit more manageable.

Evie looked down at her hands, covered in gore almost up to her elbows and excused herself to go wash them in the other room. When she returned, her mother’s eyes were closed and she was breathing serenely in the flickering candlelight. Unsure if she was asleep, Evie carefully set to work wrapping the fresh bandages. When she spoke, it was in the barest of whispers.

“Mom?”

Anastasia’s eyes opened a crack and she craned her neck up slightly towards her daughter.

“Yes sweetheart?”

“I want to know about dad. I-I really want to know. I deserve to know.”

Immediately, Anastasia’s expression became somber, and her gaze unfocused.

“Oh honey… There’s not much to tell. Your father was a brave man, a good man. But the past is the past, and what’s important now is the present and the future.”

“But surely you can tell me something… I don’t even know his name. Did he fight? How did you meet? You keep saying you’ll tell me when I’m older, and now I am older. I’m turning 18 tomorrow and I want to know.”

“There are stories about your father that I wish I could tell you, but I can’t. Not right now.”

“Not right now? What does that even mean?”

Evie heard her voice rising and saw her mom looking at her sadly. She hated the whine she heard in her own voice, but… but… With a huge effort, she brought herself under control. Ignoring the throbbing in her chest she swallowed her frustration and continued wrapping the bandages.

“I don’t understand… But I trust you. I just... I wish I knew more about him.”

Anastasia reached out, gently squeezing her daughter’s hand.

“I know, sweetheart. But focus on what you have now, on the people who are here with you. That’s what matters most.”

Evie ignored the lump in her throat and managed a small smile. She tied off the last of the bandages and checked them one last time. Finding no flaws in her work, she leaned over and kissed her mother’s forehead.

“Okay, Mom. I will. Goodnight, I love you.”

“I love you too, Evie.”

After washing her hands one more time, Evie retreated to her own small room, changed into her pajamas, and climbed into bed. Despite her exhaustion, she lay there for a long time, staring at the dark ceiling. She longed for tomorrow, but at the same time, she wished it would never come.