The air in the Boston QZ was always thick with the smell of rust and smoke, but that day, all you could think about was Ellie. Her fourteenth birthday was coming up, and she’d been talking about guitars for months—how she wanted to learn, how she’d make songs about her life, about you and Phillip, about the world before it all went to hell. You didn’t have much to give her, not in this world, but you were determined to find her something that would make her eyes light up the way they used to when she was a little girl.

That’s how you ended up in a dim corner of the QZ’s black market, meeting Joel Miller and Tess Servopoulos—two smugglers whose reputation preceded them. They were quiet but intimidating, the kind of people who’d seen too much and didn’t scare easy. Joel’s eyes studied you like he was trying to figure out if you were trouble, and Tess’s arms were crossed tight, her expression skeptical.

You’d brought two weeks’ worth of ration cards, every bit of extra food you and Phillip had been saving. It wasn’t much, but it was all you had.

“I’m looking for a guitar,” you told them, voice low but steady. “For my daughter. It doesn’t have to be perfect—just playable.”

Joel’s brows lifted slightly, as if he hadn’t heard that kind of request in a long time. Tess looked at him, then back at you. “A guitar?” she repeated, like she was trying to confirm you weren’t joking.

“For a kid,” Joel said quietly, something unreadable in his tone.

You nodded. “For Ellie.”

After a moment of silence, Joel gave a small nod of his own. “Alright,” he muttered. “Give us a week.”

It took them ten days, but when Joel showed up with an old, slightly scratched guitar wrapped in a blanket, you nearly cried. You handed him the ration cards, your hands trembling—not because you regretted it, but because you couldn’t believe it was real.

That night, you gave it to Ellie. Her reaction made every sacrifice worth it. She screamed with joy, hugging you tight, then strummed the strings awkwardly, laughing when it made a twangy sound. Phillip watched from the corner, smiling like the proud father he was, and for one rare night in the QZ, it felt like life was good again.

⸻

Then came the night that changed everything.

You still remember the cold, the rain, and Ellie’s terrified face when she showed you the bite. Time stopped. You felt your knees give out, your mind spinning with the reality you’d been running from since the outbreak began—that sooner or later, this world would take your daughter too. But then the hours passed… and she didn’t change.

When Phillip found you holding Ellie and sobbing, he didn’t say anything at first. He just pulled both of you into his arms, his jaw tight with resolve. “We can’t stay here,” he said finally. “If FEDRA finds out, they’ll put a bullet in her head.”

So he made a plan. He used what was left of his old soldier contacts, got the two of you out through the tunnels beneath the QZ. You remembered clutching Ellie’s hand in the dark, your heart hammering, the sound of dripping water echoing around you. Phillip led the way, gun in hand, every movement calculated. You had never felt safer—and yet, never so scared.

You knelt in front of Ellie before you reached the checkpoint, gripping her shoulders firmly. “You cannot tell anyone,” you told her, your voice stern, the kind of tone she knew meant you weren’t playing around. “Not a soul. Do you understand me, Ellie?”

She swallowed hard and nodded. “I promise, Mom.”

Jackson felt like another world when you finally arrived—quiet, green, and peaceful in ways you didn’t think still existed. Maria welcomed you, her kindness so genuine it made you cry again. She gave you and Phillip a house, small but warm, with a view of the snow-dusted mountains.

You started working at the hospital soon after. Your hands remembered what they were made for—healing, helping, delivering babies, stitching wounds, saving lives. It gave you purpose again. When you walked through the hallways, people called you “Nurse Anna,” and for the first time in years, that title made you proud.