The debate happened on Day Twenty-Nine, in the drafty common room of the longhouse.
"If we light a signal fire, every zombie for ten miles will see it," Marcus said, leaning over the map. "Not to mention the human raiders. We're not ready for that kind of attention."
"And if we don't," Dr. Okoye countered sharply, "that clinic group is dead. My contact said they were holed up near the old highway junction. They have surgical supplies, antibiotics—things we will run out of in two weeks."
I sat at the head of the table, listening. The calorie rationing was starting to show on all of them—hollow cheeks, sharp collarbones, tempers fraying.
The System pulsed.
[BASE POPULATION: 41]
[RESOURCE INDEX: CRITICAL]
[MEDICAL SUPPLIES: 12%]
We needed people. But more than people, we needed specialists.
"We're not lighting a fire," I said finally. "Fire is chaos. We do something quieter. Something that only people looking for hope will see."
I turned to Liang. "The water tower on the south ridge. Is the tank sealed?"
He blinked. "The pipes are shot, but the tank is solid. Why?"
"We're going to paint it."
It took two days to execute.
The water tower was a rusted hulk on the highest point of the valley, overlooking the winding service road. It was exposed—dangerous—but necessary.
I went with the work crew, accompanied by Alex and Lily.
The Mist was thinner on the ridges, blowing in tattered streamers. Below us, the valley was a patchwork of green and grey—the fledgling fields, the half-built walls.
"It looks so small from up here," Lily said quietly. She was holding her shield ready, her eyes scanning the treeline.
"It's going to grow," I promised her.
We worked fast. Liang's crew scaled the tower with buckets of white lime-wash and a pot of dark green dye I'd synthesized from crushed mutated ferns.
On the side facing the main road, they painted a massive circle. White background. Green border.
And in the center, a stylized sprout.
Life.
Below it, in letters large enough to read with binoculars: LAST LIGHT.
"Is that wise?" Alex asked. "Advertising who we are?"
"If they're close enough to read it, they're already looking for us," I said. "I want them to know this is a place of humans, not monsters."
When the sun began to set, we added the second layer.
Ryan stood at the base of the tower, his hand hovering over a pile of oily rags.
"Go ahead," I said gently. "Controlled burst. Just enough to catch."
He squeezed his eyes shut and a jet of orange flame spit from his palm. It caught the kindling instantly.
Inside the metal lattice of the tower, we had mounted a series of mirrors—salvaged from broken cars—angled toward the valley floor.
As the fire burned behind a colored glass filter, the tower didn't glow like a torch. It pulsed.
A rhythmic, soft green beat.
One pulse every five seconds.
To a zombie, it would be invisible against the background Mist. To a desperate human scanning the horizon? It was a heartbeat.
"Come home," I whispered.
They came the next morning.
I was in the fields when Alex's voice crackled over the radio.
"Contact. Service road. Three vehicles. They're flying a white rag."
I wiped the dirt from my hands and ran for the gate.
By the time I reached the perimeter wall, the convoy had stopped fifty meters out. A battered ambulance. A pickup truck with a camper shell. A sedan missing its hood.
The driver of the pickup stepped out, hands raised. She was a middle-aged woman in scrubs, dried blood on her sleeve.
"I'm Dr. Aris Thorne," she called out, her voice raspy. "We saw your light. We... we have injured."
I stood on the gate platform, looking down.
"How many?"
"Twelve. Four critical. Two... turning." Her voice cracked. "We have supplies. Surgical kits. Anesthesia. We just need walls."
I looked at Alex. His eyes were distant—Tactical Perception assessing the threat level.
"No weapons visible," he murmured. "Radiation levels normal. They're exhausted."
The System chimed.
[NEW ARRIVALS: 12]
[MEDICAL SPECIALISTS DETECTED: 3]
[SURVIVAL PROBABILITY (THIS GROUP): 14% (WITHOUT AID)]
[BASE RESOURCE IMPACT: HIGH]
[BASE UTILITY IMPACT: EXTREME]
I made my choice.
"Open the gate," I said. "But the ones turning? Put them in the quarantine tent outside the walls. We'll evaluate them there."
Dr. Thorne sagged with relief. "Thank you. God, thank you."
As the vehicles rolled in, I watched the faces—dirty, terrified, hopeful.
The beacon had worked.
But as I looked at the treeline, watching the way the Mist swirled unnaturally in the wake of the engines, I knew the beacon was a double-edged sword.
We had just announced ourselves to the world.
And the world was listening.