The decision to leave the mountain was one thing. The logistics of crossing a shattered, monster-infested continent to a specific point in Southeast Asia was another. They stood in the clearing one last time, packs filled with nutrient paste and scavenged gear, the black watch glowing on Eva's wrist. The reality of the journey was a cold weight in their stomachs.
Derek broke the uneasy silence. "Okay, so... what's the plan? How are we actually getting to Vietnam? And where the hell are we right now?"
All eyes turned to Wolfen, who was examining his fingernails with great interest. Leo pointed at him. "Don't look at him. Ask Eva. She's the boss."
Wolfen didn't disagree, just gave a faint, approving nod.
Eva felt the weight of the title, heavier than any Umbralite weight. She stared at the topographical map on the watch. Their location was a blinking blue dot in a vast range of anonymous, pixelated mountains. "I... don't know," she admitted, frustration creeping into her voice. "The watch shows labs, not roads. Not what's between them. We're here." She zoomed out, the map revealing a terrifying expanse of grey and green with dozens of pulsing red dots. "Vietnam is... there."
It was a distance that felt mythological.
"Where is 'here', exactly?" Jordan asked, his voice pragmatic. "A mountain range is insufficient data. We need a geographical anchor. A former name."
Wolfen finally looked up, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Let's ask them." He pointed a casual thumb over his shoulder, deep into the tree line.
The others followed his gaze, seeing nothing but dense, silent forest. Derek, however, tilted his head, his enhanced senses focusing. "Movement. About half a mile northeast. Faint. Trying to be quiet."
"Survivors," Wolfen said, as if announcing the weather. "With guns. Probably saw our little excavation party yesterday and have been keeping tabs. Let's go say hello."
Before Eva could object or formulate a plan, Wolfen was striding into the woods. They had no choice but to follow, falling into the tactical formation they'd drilled for months: Wolfen and Eva on point, Leo and Derek flanking, Maya and Jordan guarding the rear.
They moved like ghosts through the undergrowth, Wolfen leading them unerringly towards the signatures Derek had detected. After twenty minutes, they caught a glimpse: a figure in patched camo, a rifle slung over its back, disappearing behind a mossy boulder.
They followed, more conspicuously now, knowing they were being led. The terrain began to slope downward into a hidden valley, and the signs of habitation increased: a broken path cleared of brush, a discarded tin can, the faint smell of woodsmoke.
Then, they reached the edge.
The valley was a natural fortress, steep-sided and hidden. Below, nestled against a rocky overhang, was a camp. Not a ragged collection of tents, but an organized settlement. There were perhaps thirty structures made of salvaged metal, wood, and thick plastic sheeting. A perimeter fence made of sharpened logs and rusted car parts encircled it. They could see gardens of hardy vegetables, pens with strange, furry creatures, and people—real people, not hybrids—going about their daily tasks. And guns. Plenty of guns, held with wary competence.
"Let's go there," Eva said, her voice firming with decision. It wasn't just about directions. It was about seeing if the human world had carved out any corners that weren't nightmares.
They descended openly, making no attempt to hide. Alarms were raised—a sharp whistle, calls. By the time they reached the gate, a dozen rifles were trained on them from behind the barricade.
A man stepped forward, older, with a greying beard and eyes that had seen too much. He held a heavy, modified shotgun, but it wasn't immediately pointed at them. He looked them over, his gaze lingering on Wolfen's unnerving calm, Eva's leader's stance, Maya's haunted eyes, Jordan's strange poise, Leo's obvious power, and Derek's alert intensity.
"Far from home," the man stated, his voice gravelly.
"We are," Eva replied, stepping forward. She kept her hands visible. "We mean no trouble. We're traveling east. We need to know where we are, and if there are safe routes."
The man's eyes narrowed. "Traveling? Just like that? East is a big place. What's in the east for you?"
"Family," Eva said, the truth simple and powerful.
The man studied her for a long moment, then sighed, lowering his shotgun a fraction. "You're in what used to be the Bitterroot Range. Montana. Or what's left of it."
Montana. They had a name. Jordan instantly began mentally mapping the distance to Vietnam. It was staggering.
"The 'safe' routes died with the highways," the man continued. "The valleys are crawlin' with things that don't like company. The old Interstates are either rubble or deathtraps—bandits, warlord checkpoints, worse things. You don't look like traders, and you sure as hell don't look like you're from a 'stable community.'" His gaze flicked to Wolfen again. "What are you?"
Wolfen smiled. "Lost."
The man didn't buy it, but he seemed to decide they weren't an immediate threat. "The only way to move any real distance is the Sky-Rail."
"The what?" Leo asked.
"Old pre-collapse project. Atmospheric cargo drones. Autonomous. Some of the networks are still running, glitchy, following ancient delivery algorithms. No humans aboard. They fly high, avoid most ground threats. People hitch rides on the external cargo modules. It's suicide, but it's faster than walking. The nearest launch depot that might still have a functioning east-bound line is three days' hard trek from here. Place called 'Mesa Junction.' Used to be a logistics hub."
Eva's mind raced. A risk, but a vector. "How do we find it? How do we... hitch a ride?"
The man spat on the ground. "You find it by not dying on the way. You hitch a ride by being strong enough, or stupid enough, to hold on at five thousand feet while frozen, starved, and hoping the drone doesn't decide to perform evasive maneuvers." He looked at their determined faces. "Or, you trade for something valuable. The Junction's a barter town. They control access to the docking clamps. They like tech, medicine, weapons... information."
He paused, his eyes sharpening. "You came from up the mountain. There was a... disturbance yesterday. A quake. Then nothing. You know anything about that?"
They all went still. This was the moment.
Eva met his gaze. "We were being hunted. We defended ourselves. It caused a collapse. An old... bunker."
The man's expression didn't change, but something in his stance relaxed a micron. He'd seen the result of being hunted. "Hunted by what?"
"By people in silver masks," Eva said quietly.
A ripple went through the armed men and women behind the barricade. Fear, recognition, hatred.
The leader's face hardened. "Architects." The word was a curse. "Then you've drawn worse than zombies to our doorstep." He sighed again, the weight of the world on his shoulders. "Three days to Mesa Junction. Follow the river east out of the valley until you see the rusted satellite dish the size of a house. Then head southeast, into the badlands. You'll know the Junction by the smell of ozone and desperation."
He took a step back. "We can't offer you shelter. Drawing them here would be the end of us. But we won't shoot you. Take your 'family' and go. And if you've got a way to hurt those mask-wearing bastards... good luck."
It wasn't a warm welcome, but it was a map, a warning, and a confirmation that they were not alone in their hatred. They had a destination: Mesa Junction. They had a method: the suicidal Sky-Rail. And they had a currency to earn their passage: the dangerous truth they carried with them.
They nodded their thanks and turned away from the settlement, back into the wild. The mountain was behind them. The long, impossible road to Vietnam, and to Lily, stretched ahead.