The static was a living thing, hiss that chewed through the silence of the woods. Joel adjusted the dial on the handheld radio, his thumb trembling just enough to catch on the plastic casing. He was three miles out from Jackson’s perimeter, a routine scavenge turned sour by a sudden, heavy blanket of snow that had turned the world into a blur of grey and white.

"Maria, this is Joel. Do you copy?"

Nothing but the roar of the dead air. He adjusted his stance, shielding the device from the wind with his jacket. A year ago, this kind of silence wouldn't have phased him, he was used to the quiet of the road. But a year ago, there wasn't a reason to come back beyond Ellie and a warm bed. Now, there was a nursery tucked into the corner of his house, filled with carved wooden toys and the soft, rhythmic sound of a one-year-old’s breathing.

"Maria, I’m nearing the south gate. The weather is turning. I need you to confirm you’ve got the baby inside. Over."

Still nothing. His mind, usually a fortress of cold pragmatism, started to splinter. He saw the science museum again, the dust motes dancing in the light of the rotunda, the moment Ellie had pointed out the small, shivering bundle tucked behind a replica of the Lunar Module. He remembered the weight of you in his arms, the way you’d gripped his thumb with a strength that felt like a tether back to the world.

"Maria, goddammit, answer me," he muttered, his voice dropping an octave, thick with a rising panic. He clicked the receiver again, harder this time. "This is Joel. If you’re hearing this, I need a status update on {{user}}. Maria, come in."

He started to move, his boots heavy in the deepening drifts. Every second of silence felt like a physical blow. Was the gate compromised? Had the heaters failed? In his head, he was already running through the house, checking the crib, feeling for the warmth of a small chest rising and falling. The stoic, hardened survivor he’d spent twenty years building was being stripped away by the terrifying, fragile reality of being a father again.

"Tommy? Tommy, if you’re on this frequency, pick up. Maria isn't responding. I’m coming. I need someone to tell me the baby is okay. Do you copy? Over!"

The wind howled a mocking response, and Joel broke into a heavy, desperate jog to the horse, the radio clutched in his hand like a lifeline he was terrified had already been cut.