Victoria's Journal

June 27th, 2020

I woke before the light was fully settled.

Pain checked in first. Arm still useless. Ankle stiff, but not as sharp as it had been. Progress, if that’s what you call it when something just hurts a little less than yesterday.

I stayed still a minute.

Listened.

The house held that same quiet it always did. Not empty. Not abandoned. Just… held. Like it was waiting for something to come back that never would.

She was already awake.

Maddie sat near the window where the light came in thin and gray, her bow lay across her lap. A handful of arrows rested beside her. One at a time, she worked them, turning each slowly, pressing a small stone along the metal tips. Careful. Controlled.

Not guessing.

Knowing.

There were feathers set beside her, too. Real ones. Cleaned, trimmed. She tied one into place with thread so thin I almost missed it, her fingers moving without hesitation.

I watched longer than I meant to.

“You make those yourself?”

She didn’t look up right away. Finished the knot, bit the thread clean, pressed it flat.

“Some of ’em.”

Her voice was quiet. Steady.

I shifted, pushing myself upright. My ankle reminded me it was still there. I let it settle before putting weight on it.

“Where’d you learn that?” I asked.

She rolled another arrow between her fingers.

“My dad.”

That was it.

I nodded once, more to myself than her, and reached for my pack. Habit. Routine. If the sun was up, you moved. You didn’t wait around for the world to notice you.

I checked what little I had. Water. A couple of cans. The P-38 tucked where it belonged. Everything in its place.

She watched me this time.

I felt it without looking.

I pulled my boot on slow, careful not to twist the ankle wrong, then stood. It held. Not good, not strong. But it held.

I slung the pack over my shoulder and started toward the door.

“Are you sure you can handle it out there?”

Her voice stopped me before my hand hit the knob.

I glanced back.

She wasn’t soft when she said it. Wasn’t worried either.

Measuring.

I looked down at my foot and rolled it once.

“Not fast,” I said.

That seemed to be enough for her.

For a second, I thought that was the end of it.

Then the house went dead.

No warning. No flicker.

Just—

Silence.

The low hum that had been sitting in the walls since I got here vanished. The air felt different without it. Too still. Too empty.

Maddie swore under her breath and was already moving before I could say anything.

She was halfway down the basement stairs before I decided not to listen.

I turned from the door and followed.

The basement air was cooler, thicker. Oil, metal, something old that had been kept alive longer than it should’ve been. I’d been down here before, when she wasn’t around. Knew where things were. Knew what mattered.

She was already at the generator.

Kneeling. Hands on it. Moving fast, but not wild.

Click.

Nothing.

Again.

Click.

Still nothing.

I stopped on the last step, letting my weight settle, my bad leg stretched out just enough to keep it from barking at me.

She hit it again.

Click.

Nothing.

Her shoulders tightened.

Not panic.

Frustration.

“Stop.”

She didn’t turn right away. Just paused, her hand still resting on the switch.

“…What?” she said, low.

“Don’t keep hitting it,” I said. “You’ll flood it.”

That got her.

She looked back at me then. Not fully. Just enough.

Measuring.

Same as before.

“What’s wrong with it?” she asked.

“Nothing yet,” I said. “You’ll make it something if you keep doing that.”

Her jaw shifted slightly. Didn’t like that answer.

Good.

I pushed off the step just enough to lean forward, nodding toward the side of the machine.

“Choke’s off.”

Her eyes flicked to it. Then back to me.

Then back again.

She hesitated.

Not because she didn’t understand.

Because she was deciding if I was worth listening to.

That moment stretched thin.

Then she reached out and adjusted it. Slower this time.

Deliberate.

“Now try it.”

She did.

The engine coughed. A dry, hollow sound. Tried to catch.

Then died.

She looked back at me again.

Different now.

Less doubt.

More calculation.

“Again,” I said.

She reset it. Hand steadier now.

Pulled.

Turned.

The generator sputtered—caught for half a second—then dropped.

Closer.

I shifted my weight, ignoring the pull in my ankle.

“Ease it,” I said. “Don’t force it. Let it catch.”

She didn’t respond.

Just did it.

One more time.

The engine turned.

Coughed—

Then held.

Low. Rough. Alive.

The sound filled the basement, settling into the walls like something waking up after a long sleep.

We both stayed still.

Listening.

Waiting for it to die again.

It didn’t.

Maddie reached out, adjusting the choke just slightly, smoothing it out. The engine steadied, falling into a consistent hum.

Alive.

Reliable.

For now.

She sat back a little, wiping her hands on her jeans, leaving dark streaks across the fabric.

I stayed where I was.

Watching.

She looked at me then.

Fully.

Not soft.

Not grateful.

But not closed off either.

“You’ve done that before,” she said.

“Yeah.”

That was enough.

For a second, neither of us moved.

Then—

“You sure you can handle it out there?”

The question landed heavier this time.

Not from across the room.

Not half-thrown over a shoulder.

Right here.

Now.

I looked past her, toward the stairs.

Thought about the road.

Distance.

Noise.

How far I’d make it before the ankle gave out.

Then I looked back at her.

At the generator.

At the house that, for the first time in a long while, wasn’t dead quiet.

“No.”

The word didn’t echo.

Didn’t need to.

She nodded once.

Small.

Decided.

“Then you stay.”

Simple as that.

No argument.

No conditions.

.