Restore Me.

Chapter 41: Fragile refuge.

We stepped out of the truck into the biting wind, the crumbling facade of the department store looming over us like a monument to a world that no longer existed. The front entrance was barricaded with plywood and metal sheeting, the cracked glass doors barely visible beneath the patchwork of makeshift defenses.

A man with hollow eyes and a worn baseball cap met us at the entrance. His name was Tom, and he looked like he hadn't slept in days. His wife, Anna, stood just behind him, her hair tied back in a messy braid. Two kids peeked out from behind her legs, their eyes wide and wary.

"You made it," Tom said, relief softening the lines in his face. "Thank God."

"We're here to help," Jonah said, his voice steady. "We have the supplies you asked for."

Tom nodded, his shoulders sagging a little. "Come on in. It's not much, but it's home."

Inside, the air was warmer, the sharp tang of disinfectant mingling with the stale scent of old cereal and dust. The store's aisles were still mostly intact, lined with shelves of boxed pasta, canned vegetables, and jars of peanut butter—some already reaching the end of their shelf life after two years of this new world. It was a strange comfort, seeing those familiar brands and packages in a place that felt so alien.

Tom led us past the aisles to an office room they'd turned into a living space. Tents and sleeping bags lined the floor, fairy lights strung overhead to cast a soft glow. There were toys scattered about—a stuffed rabbit, a battered puzzle box, a few worn books stacked neatly by the wall. It was... cozy, in a way that made my chest ache.

"These are our two," Anna said, her hand resting on the shoulders of a girl and a boy who couldn't have been older than six or seven. "The others... well, they found us."

She pointed to a young boy sitting cross-legged near the heater, his hair too long and his cheeks hollow. "He was left on our doorstep," she said softly. "No note. Nothing. We think his parents didn't survive."

She gestured to two more children who watched us with shy, uncertain eyes. "They showed up on their own. Said they were looking for food, somewhere safe to sleep. We couldn't turn them away."

"And the last?" I asked, my voice gentle.

Anna's eyes softened. "She came with her mother. They've been here almost a year. Her mother... didn't make it."

I nodded, my throat tight. "You're doing an incredible thing."

Tom just gave a tired smile. "We do what we can. I hunt when I can slip away, but... it's getting harder. And the pharmacy..." He trailed off, glancing toward the back of the store.

Mia stepped closer, her brow furrowing. "What's wrong with the pharmacy?"

"One of the kids," Tom said. "Bella—she's diabetic. We're almost out of insulin. And another—she's got a nasty infection in her leg. The antibiotics we have aren't strong enough."

Jonah's jaw tightened. "We brought IV antibiotics and more insulin. It should buy us time to get everyone back to Heartgrove."

Relief flickered across Sarah's face. "Thank you," she whispered.

I moved through the store, my feet carrying me instinctively toward the back where the pharmacy had been converted into a small medical room. Bella lay there on a cot, her leg propped up on pillows, the skin around the wound angry and red. Her hair was damp with sweat, her breathing shallow.

I crouched beside her, offering a small smile. "Hi, Bella," I said softly. "How are you feeling?"

She blinked up at me, her eyes glazed with pain. "It hurts," she murmured.

"I know," I said gently. "We're going to make it better. I promise."

I'd done this before—too many times. My mum had been sick for years, cancer stripping her body of its strength. I'd learned how to find veins and insert IVs, how to read the rise and fall of her breath and know when something was wrong. I swallowed, forcing down the memories as I carefully tied the tourniquet around Bella's arm.

"You'll feel a little pinch," I said, my voice calm and steady. "But you're brave, Bella. I can tell."

She nodded weakly, her small hand gripping the edge of the blanket. I slid the needle in cleanly, finding her vein on the first try. She winced but didn't cry out. I smiled at her, brushing a strand of hair back from her face.

"There you go," I murmured. "The antibiotics are going in now. You're going to start feeling better soon."

The others worked quickly, checking the pharmacy shelves for anything salvageable. Outside, the wind howled, but inside there was a quiet sort of determination—a promise that, at least for now, this was a place where the children would be safe.

As the last of the light faded from the windows, Tom gathered us around near the office door. "You're all bunking upstairs," he said, his voice warm but weary. "We've got sleeping bags set up already and fresh towels if you want to wash up. There's still a working water heater, so... take advantage while you can."

A soft murmur of gratitude spread through the group. Tom grinned a little and added, "Oh, and feel free to grab some pajamas from the clothes section. There's plenty—might as well be comfortable tonight."

Mia's face lit up with excitement. "Cute pajamas? I'm in," she said, making Gemma laugh.

We all wandered over to the clothing section together, picking through the piles of soft flannel and faded prints. There was something almost normal about it—like we were just girls on a shopping trip, not survivors in a broken world.

I found a set of pale blue pajamas, the cotton soft against my fingers. As I held them to my chest, I felt a brief flicker of something warm in my chest. A small reminder that even here, even now, there was still a sliver of comfort to be found.