The next few days passed quietly.
Vinz started waking up earlier than usual. It was the cold air, clean and still, or maybe it was just the first time in a while he could actually sleep without worrying what might break in through the night. The house creaked every time the wind brushed by, and every morning the smell of burnt wood drifted from the small fire pit outside.
Ken already had a rhythm going. He'd wake up first, boil some water, step out for a smoke, then get busy fixing something around the house. Cassandra handled the smaller things, cleaning, sorting what little supplies they had, cooking what was left of their food. And Vinz… he just tried to help where he could.
He wasn't used to working with other people since the outbreak, but somehow, it felt good. Familiar. Like when the world before everything went to hell.
"Hand me that nail," Ken said one morning.
They were fixing up the small shed beside the house.
Vinz grabbed one from the tin can beside him and handed it over. Ken hammered it in with slow, steady hits.
"You're getting the hang of this," Ken said, half smiling.
Vinz wiped the sweat off his forehead. "Guess fixing things runs in the family."
Ken chuckled. "Your old man would've said the same thing. He hated lazy hands."
Vinz smirked. "Yeah, he did."
It felt strange talking about his father again, like it was something pulled from another life. For a moment, he almost forgot what kind of world they were living in now.
Cassandra stepped out carrying two tin cups.
"You guys should drink first," she said.
Ken nodded. "Thanks."
She handed one to Vinz without looking at him. The coffee was bitter, but it warmed his throat.
"You didn't have to," he said quietly.
She shrugged. "Didn't have anything else to do."
Before he could reply, she turned and went back inside.
Ken glanced at him, a faint grin on his face. "She'll open up. Just give her time. She's cautious."
"I can tell," Vinz said.
The day went on like that, slow, quiet, peaceful in a way. They worked until the sun dropped, fixing the roof, tightening the fence, clearing out trees to get a better view of the road.
When night came, they'd sit by the fire. Ken liked to talk, about his work abroad, about the people he met, about Vinz's father.
Vinz mostly listened, sometimes smiling, sometimes just staring at the flames.
"You know," Ken said one night, "your dad always wanted you to take over his shop someday."
Vinz poked the fire with a stick. "Yeah… he used to tell me that too. I didn't take it seriously back then."
Ken sighed. "None of us thought things would turn out like this."
The fire popped between them. Cassandra sat a little farther away, the orange glow flickering on her face. She didn't say anything, just watched them quietly.
Days rolled by, slow and steady.
Vinz managed to fix up his tricycle too. He replaced the chain, straightened the sidecar, even cleaned the engine with what little oil they had left. It almost felt like his old life again, just him and a machine, trying to make things work.
Ken helped when he could, though his injured arm still gave him trouble.
"You fix that thing up too well," Ken said one afternoon, smiling.
"Might make people jealous if they see it running."
"Yeah," Vinz said, tightening a bolt.
"It's the only thing that's kept me alive this far."
Ken nodded. "Then keep it that way."
Cassandra stood nearby, arms crossed. "You two act like the world didn't end."
Ken laughed softly. "That's how you stay alive, Cass. Pretend it didn't."
She just shook her head and walked back inside.
By the fifth day, something in the air changed. It was subtle, but Vinz felt it first. The quiet didn't feel safe anymore. He'd been hearing faint sounds lately, like a voice carried by the wind.
He told Ken about it.
"Could be scavengers," Ken said. "Could be worse."
"You think they'll come here?"
Ken shrugged. "If they saw smoke from our fire, maybe. Let's hope not."
That night, Vinz kept his hammer beside him while he slept.
The next morning started normal. The sky was gray, heavy with clouds. Ken was outside chopping wood.
Vinz was checking his tricycle. Cassandra was inside, cooking noodles from the smell drifting out of the window.
Then Vinz froze.
He could hear something. Footsteps. Voices.
"Hey!" a voice shouted.
Ken looked up, his axe still in hand.
Two men walked down the path, one with a pistol, the other with a machete hanging by his side. They looked rough, like trouble.
"Afternoon," the man with the pistol said, casual but cold.
"Didn't know anyone else was living out here."
Ken straightened. "Just passing by," he lied. "House was empty when we found it."
The man smirked. "Yeah? Then you don't mind if we check around?"
Ken's jaw tightened. "We don't want trouble."
The other man stepped closer, eyes scanning the woodpile and supplies. "Looks like you've got plenty here, old man."
Vinz watched from the window, his grip tightening on his hammer.
He was about to move when a hand grabbed his arm.
Cassandra.
"Don't," she whispered. Her eyes were sharp, calm.
"Stay low. Hold your weapon and stay quiet."
Vinz stared at her, heart pounding.
"They're not here to talk," she whispered again.
"Trust me."
Outside, the argument was heating up. Ken stood his ground, but the man with the gun kept edging closer.
"I said we don't want trouble," Ken warned.
"Oh, I think you already got it," the man laughed.
The sound of the pistol's hammer clicking froze everyone.
Cassandra crouched beside Vinz, knife in hand, her breathing slow but tight.
"Stay quiet," she said again.
The air felt like it could explode any second.
Vinz peeked through a crack in the wood. He saw Ken's face, calm, but ready. His hands were slowly rising.