The grumbling began right away.

“We cannot leave our home!”

“Why now? We should stay and fight!”

“And what about the markings? We’ve left syllabics in the woods so other travelers can find us,” a young man in a faded plaid shirt asked.

Clarence cleared his throat and took a step forward. As a member of the Council, he tried to help Bullet with what was bound to be a barrage of concerns.

“We’ll carve the marks off the spots where we left them. And when we have a new home, we’ll leave new ones.”

“We’ve made a home here. When the world went to shit we found each other, and then we found this place. We have the cave, the hill, and the road’s close, so we can keep an eye on the Recruiter movement. How are we going to find someplace else this perfect?” The woman stood holding her partner’s hand, concern lining both their faces.

“You know what’s perfect? Not dying.” Bullet was overtired. The Council meeting had been heated, and she wasn’t really in a congenial mood right now. Bullet understood—they’d all come from something broken and dangerous and disappeared. This small piece of land was the first place in a long time where so many of them could breathe and sing and sleep without the constant nightmare of capture. But it was in danger now, which meant that soon, the nightmares would find them here.

“When would we leave?” a woman holding a small child on her hip asked.

“A week, maybe two. We need to repatriate the space so the Recruiters have nothing to go on.” Bullet looked around, considering the scope of the work. They’d have to get rid of so much that couldn’t be carried. And then there were the structures they’d built. It hurt to even think about tearing down what had taken so much effort to put up.

“What if we don’t want to move? What if some of us decide to stay?” Plaid Shirt challenged.

“Then you stay. We can’t, but we won’t force anyone to do anything they don’t want to do.” Clarence shrugged. “You do as you see fit.”

“I call dibs on the back cave space!” Plaid Shirt’s declaration was met with raised voices and groans.

“People, now is not the time to fall apart and turn on each other.” Bullet was exasperated already. “And it most certainly is not the time to be selfish. We are a community. It’s how we get by. Remember that.”

From the front, Jean struggled to stand up from his upended log seat. The crowd fell silent. He was a Council member, and he had just lost his son. This afforded him a kind of solemn respect, more so than the others in his group. So many of the people, too many, understood what it was to truly mourn. They knew how deep that pit was dug in your chest.

“My son, he found us because we were here. Because we survived, and we survived long enough to welcome others. If we had made foolish decisions way back, well, we wouldn’t have been able to settle here, to send out signs to others like us.” His voice wavered between resolute and broken. “We need to do that for other children, for all our relatives who may need us. We need to be strong; we are the stronghold in the north that people are looking for, and we need to move so it stays that way.”