Pretty Much Dead Already, page 31
Cass waits until he’s gone, then says, “Well, that was a buzzkill.”
Rhett sits, not looking at me but at his own knuckles, the white scars showing stark against the bruised flesh.
Michael touches my hand. “Are you okay?”
I nod, but the truth is, I don’t know what I am. Lighter, maybe. Or emptier.
“He’s not coming back,” I say, as if to convince myself.
Jace’s smile is sad, but also relieved. “He can’t hurt you now. None of them can.”
Rhett’s hand closes around mine, firm. Cass leans in, lips brushing my temple. Michael, always precise, laces our fingers together. Jace’s arm curls around my shoulder, gentle and whole.
I realize, as Grayson’s footsteps fade down the corridor, that I don’t mourn the life I left behind.
I only mourn that it took so long to become this version of myself.
My own.
Surrounded by the only family I will ever need.
And when the tension finally breaks, it does so not with a bang, but with the quiet, shivery certainty that comes from being exactly where you’re meant to be.
The last tie snaps.
And the new world rushes in to fill its place.
Sunset at Fort Hope is a performance, and the best seats are on the west wall.
The five of us lean into the chain-link, fingers threaded through the mesh as we watch the sun finish torching the sky. The new perimeter fence is shiny and stubborn, scavenged from half a dozen other ruins, double-stitched with razor wire and hope. Beyond it, the land drops away into what was once a playground, now a riot of wildflowers and three-cornered dandelions. Somewhere, just past the treeline, the remains of the city still smoke, a gray smudge on the horizon.
Today, though, the air is clear.
Rhett stands to my right, his silhouette black against the gold. He’s scanning the tree line, running tactical in his head even when there’s nothing out there but deer and the ghosts of the dead. Cass is left of me, fingers tapping a cigarette against the fence post, eyes half-lidded as if the orange burn of sunset is old news. Jace and Michael bracket the four of us—Jace with his head tipped back, mouth half-open in wonder, Michael pretending not to watch the group while actually watching every detail.
Below, the gardens are alive with survivors: Betas, Omegas, a couple of new Alphas, all bent to planting, hauling, or just trading gossip on the benches. I spot the twins from the breach—now assistant gardeners—digging trenches for new saplings. Jace’s efforts at trauma support have paid off; instead of blank faces and dead eyes, there’s laughter, even if it’s brittle.
It’s a miracle, in its way.
Cass is the first to break the silence. “If you squint, it almost looks normal,” he says. “Kids playing, crops going in, nobody actively eating anyone else. Give it a month, we’ll have goat yoga and a farmers’ market.”
Rhett snorts. “If you organize either of those, I’ll lock you outside the wire for a week.”
Cass grins, the cigarette smoke curling up in a perfect question mark. “Tempting.”
Michael, not taking his eyes off the field, says, “If we get a second crop in, I want to convert the old gym into a med lab. There’s still some good equipment in the science building. Maybe a lab for diagnostics. Hell, even a proper ER.”
Jace chimes in, “And a room for group counseling.” He glances at Cass, who makes a face. “No pressure. But there are people who want to talk about what happened.”
Cass tosses the butt over the wall, where it sizzles in the wet grass. “If anyone needs group therapy, it’s us.”
Jace smiles, soft and slow. “We have group therapy. It’s called dinner.”
Michael, not to be outdone, says, “Or poker night.”
Rhett’s arm finds my shoulder, pulling me into the crook of his side. I go willingly, letting his body heat and the rough stubble of his jaw ground me.
“None of this would exist if not for you,” He says, voice low.
I shake my head. “I didn’t win the war. I just survived it.”
He grunts. “Surviving was winning.”
A pause. Wind in the trees, the faint sound of someone down in the quad whistling the tune to an old pop song. The world has been shrunk to these small, perfect moments, where nothing else matters.
Cass elbows me, eyes suddenly sharp. “Hey, Birdie. You okay?” It’s the real voice, the one he saves for when he’s worried and can’t admit it.
I nod. “Just thinking.”
“About what?” Asks Michael.
I turn so I can see them all—the four faces that have been through every version of hell with me. The men who refused to let me die alone.
“I think I’m pregnant,” I say.
The words are quiet, but they shatter the sunset’s peace like a tossed stone.
For a second, nobody moves.
Rhett straightens, then leans harder into my side, as if shielding me from a sniper. His hand is on my lower back instantly, fingers splayed, protective.
Cass blinks, then lets out a laugh so startled it’s almost a bark. “Well, fuck me sideways. Didn’t think that’d it happen this quickly, even with four dads in the running.”
Jace’s smile goes incandescent, all softness and joy. He covers my hand with both of his, warm and steady. “We’ll figure it out together.” He says.
Michael, always the scientist, runs down the symptoms in his head, then nods. “When did you last—”
I wave a hand, already embarrassed. “It doesn’t matter. I know.” I touch my belly, and the gesture is so small, so uncertain, it almost undoes me. “I just wanted you to hear it from me.”
Cass recovers first. “Well, damn. I guess we’re not just a pack anymore. We’re a fucking dynasty.” He bumps Jace, then Rhett, then Michael, as if daring any of them to be less thrilled.
Michael’s smile is shaky. He reaches for my hand, lacing our fingers together. “We need to talk about prenatal care. Supplements, nutrition, maybe isolate you from the more infectious—”
Rhett cuts him off. “She’s not a specimen, Doc.” Michael blushes, but doesn’t let go.
Jace leans in, his voice soft. “Is it scary?”
I want to lie, but I don’t. “Terrifying.”
He hugs me, gentle but unbreakable. “We’ve faced worse.”
Cass pulls me into a one-armed embrace, careful not to crush. “Not sure what kind of father I’ll be, but I promise I’ll teach the kid every dirty trick I know.”
Rhett, never to be outdone, just says, “They’ll never be afraid of anything. Not with us here.”
We stand like that, five shadows on the wall, the gold light painting us into a single, blurred shape. Below us, the Fort is a living thing: children playing tag around the new planters, Betas fixing a wheelbarrow, an old Omega laughing so loud she has to lean on her cane.
On the far side of the wire, a deer steps out of the woods, pauses, and drinks from the stream. In the old days, the sight would have sent the sentries into a panic, sure the animal was infected. Now, it’s just another survivor, beautiful and wary and alive.
I lean into my men, feeling them steady me.
“I never thought it would end like this,” I say.
Jace tilts his head, curious. “You mean with hope?”
I laugh, a little. “I mean with a future.”
Rhett kisses the side of my head. “You earned it.”
Cass picks at a bit of rust on the fence, then looks at me. “You think the world’s ready for a baby like ours?”
Michael is dead serious. “If not, we’ll make it ready.”
Jace just smiles, and the whole world softens around the edges.
I feel the baby growing inside me—not a thing of biology, but a symbol. A promise that even in the worst place, something good can take root.
As the sun dips below the horizon, we linger. The world outside is still broken. The city is still smoke and silence. But here, on the western wall, there’s a new order. One built on blood and loss, yes, but also on choice.
On love.
Cass makes a crack about whether the kid will be born with four heads, and everyone groans. But then Rhett says, “Let’s get inside. It’s getting cold.”
The others file down, arms linked, laughter trailing behind them like a scent.
I stand for a second longer, hand on my stomach, watching the last light bleed out of the sky.
Even after the end of everything, there are still new beginnings.
I close my eyes, breathe in the clean air, and let myself believe.
Even in darkness, we found light.
Saiya Summers, Pretty Much Dead Already
