January 2020

The beginning of the end happened well over four years ago. No one was truly prepared when the sickness spread. Of course, select conspiracy theorists had ample supplies of the basics—food, water, and toilet paper. Those who were healthy enough raided the stores and bought what they could. Later, after the illness continued to sweep across the nation—and globe—like a fierce, unrelenting tidal wave, the survivors simply took what was left, clearing out the stores. Some even fought over mouthwash. Dawn James-Spencer, her daughter Noelle, and her goddaughter Trina Robinson had never resorted to violence to preserve their dental hygiene but maintaining their food supply had turned them into strong warriors.

In what seemed like a lifetime ago, Dawn had learned Tai Chi. The practice preserved her sanity during the early days and she was grateful for the foresight to pass her knowledge to her girls. Of course, they maintained a small, scarce arsenal of weapons—knives, two handguns and a rifle, but bullets were not always readily available. Having authority over one's body was the ultimate weapon. Dawn truly understood this despite using hers to protect her only child and her best friend’s daughter from the determined raider whose light eyes had burned with pure malice as the two fought over a jar of peanut butter and a cracked bottle of aspirin.

A little over a week had passed since that fateful face-off. Now on this winter morning, snow clouds filled the morning sky. Their brownstone hideaway in what had once been an affluent section of Port Charles, New York held little heat and even less resources. The trio huddled around the fireplace. The flickering red and yellow flames were beautiful to behold but provided little in terms of warmth. Still the three of them pretended the opposite because at this point, pretending was one of the last things that remained.

"I think it’s worth a shot, Mama," Noelle said again with quiet conviction. "It’s not even two miles from here. That’s what? A thirty minute walk—"

"And you know what we can encounter in just thirty minutes," Dawn interjected, her tone less quiet. "It’s not worth the risk."

"We have weapons," Trina added. She stood several inches shorter than both Dawn and Noelle. Despite the height difference, she was just as prepared to protect herself and them.

Dawn shook her head. "I’m in no shape to help." She released her hold on her blanket to remind the idealistic teenagers of the bandages on her right arm. She didn’t waste energy raising her sweater to show the wounds on her abdomen. "Besides, there’s no guarantee that their doors are open."

Trina frowned. "I heard—"

"That was weeks ago," Dawn interrupted. "A lifetime happens in weeks now. For all we know, they could be full or burned out."

"Mama, that’s fear talking." Noelle grabbed the poker and shoved the scraps into the fire. Embers scattered into the air. "I never knew you to be afraid of anything. What would Daddy think?"

Dawn squeezed her eyes tight for a moment. "He isn’t here, is he? After seventeen years, it’s time for you to see me and know that I get scared, too. So yes, baby girl, I am terrified. Two miles sound simple. Thirty minutes used to be nothing more than a blink in time, but everything is different now. We’ve been lucky holed up in here for the last six months, but your dad just left to restore supplies and never returned. I cannot risk anything happening to either of you. We’re staying here just a little while. At least until I’m better than I am now."

"But Mama—"

"No argument."

"Father, please, if you would just hear me out—"

"I have heard enough." Nikolas Cassadine stared at his seventeen-year-old son in wonder. He remembered being his age once. So sure of himself and confident that he had all the answers when truly he was not aware enough to commence a comprehensive interrogation. "A simple snowfall often transforms into a blinding blizzard this time of year. Our stock is plentiful. You have no reason to leave Spoon Island."

The two continued their disagreement in silence for only a moment. Spencer shook his head. "We need generators."

Nikolas laughed. "There’s nothing wrong with the ones we have! Really, son, you must create better excuses than that." His expression sobered as he shook his head. "No."

Wyndemere ran on solar power, thanks to a complete renovation several years prior to the world heading into dire straits and to Nikolas’ best friend, Thom Hardy. The generators served as additional back up to service the kitchen and other essential areas of the estate. All things considered, their home fared much better than the homes of the few neighbors who still resided across the lake.

"There could be survivors waiting," Spencer stated quietly. "You mentioned the blizzard. I only want to move ahead of it. This may be the last chance before spring."

Nikolas sighed. This was the one thing he hadn’t thought of as Spencer’s safety always remained his highest priority. Leave it to his son to remember.

"After what happened last year…"

"I haven’t forgotten," Nikolas said.

The unspoken was deafening in the quiet that settled between them. Nikolas glanced around the room. The desk, chairs, fireplace, books, and tables were all creature comforts that he no longer took for granted. Life was entirely too precious to cast aside. Almost a year to the day, he decided against making a final trip across the lake before the heavy winter came. When he and Thom dared to venture back after the first melting, a family frozen in time huddled together in wait for the launch to take them across Spoon Island to the refuge at Wyndemere. If Nikolas had changed his mind, he was certain that they would have reached the family in time. Now, he was haunted with the image of their dead bodies and the fact that he'll never know if his goal to err on the side of caution was the right call. He opted not to repeat himself. The grandfather clock chimed the arrival of a new hour and urged Nikolas to speak his mind. "You’re right."

A broad smile spread across Spencer’s face. He raced toward the door. "Cam is already waiting for word—"

"No need," Nikolas said. "This time, I’m joining you. Cameron can continue to conduct inventory of the pantry. Tell him. Then we’ll leave."

Spencer’s smile faltered. "But Father—"

"No arguments."

Noelle and Trina had brought the last of their supplies into the main room after strongly encouraging Dawn to rest. The remaining stock was limited to 3 gallons of water, 5 cans of soup, 2 jars of nut butter, and a couple of dented cans of Spam. Christmas hadn’t fared much better, but they had managed to rummage better foodstuff to celebrate the holiday although the absence of one had loomed large between them.

Several times Noelle wandered to the window and stared. Dawn pretended not to notice, but she understood the sentiment. The walls were confining. Of course, her daughter wanted out. The rumors about Wyndemere being a sanctuary had appealed to Dawn, too, while also shaking her to the core. How could she return there after so many years had passed? But what if others were in charge of the refuge and not the Cassadines? How could Dawn in all honesty deny her daughter and Trina the opportunity to have a solid roof over their heads?

Finally, she pushed herself from the fire and moved carefully to their meager stockpile. She called to Noelle, "Get our backpacks."

Noelle ran to the hall closet and paused in the doorway. "Really, Mama?"

"Really," Dawn said. "But hurry before I change my mind!"

Trina hesitated in the hall. Dawn closely watched the teenager. The return to Port Charles should have been a happy reunion, but the sudden collapse of everything they knew changed that. Noelle had the comfort of having the stability of her parents. Although Dawn held Trina close to her heart ever since Portia confided the news of her pregnancy, no one could ever truly replace a mother’s presence.

“Are you okay?” Dawn asked. “Do you have second thoughts?”

“No, it’s just…” Trina frowned. “Should we leave a note for Uncle in case he comes back?”

Dawn nodded. “That’s a great idea.”

Trina gathered her sketchpad and pencils. They needed to travel light, except for the absolute essentials which of course meant food and clothing. Leaving the brownstone after months of being inside caused a little anxiety, but they were all in agreement that staying longer was not an option. Before the sickness happened, her life in Europe had been fun and exciting. She and Noelle were like sisters, and despite a hectic tour schedule, Dawn was a very present godmother. Definitely more present than Trina’s own mother who had chosen the call of Doctors Without Borders— Trina drew in a quick breath before her thoughts took her in a dark direction. Of course, Portia loved her, but people without adequate medical care needed her mother more. Trina understood that. Right?

“Don’t leave that,” Noelle said from the door.

“What?” Trina asked, frowning.

“Your art supplies.”

As her thoughts had turned, Trina had dropped her things onto the desk and closed her bag. “Maybe we’ll need room for more food.”

“The food bag is packed. There’s plenty of room for your pad and pencils. Don’t be a martyr.”

Trina rolled her eyes. “Girl, please.”

Noelle laughed. “C’mon. Put your stuff in the bag. Mama’s waiting.”

“Have you ever been to Wyndemere?”

Noelle frowned and shook her head. “Why do you ask that?”

“Your parents…”

“They don’t talk about it, and I don’t bring it up. Everything I know, I found on the internet.”

Trina shrugged. “I guess we’ll see what happens when we get there.”

“I guess…if the Cassadines are even there. Maybe it’s just a refuge now. Nothing more.”

Trina reopened her bag and carefully placed her supplies inside. She watched Noelle's face as she asked, "What do you think would happen if the Cassadines are there?"

Noelle's frown deepened. "I hadn't thought about it. The place is supposed to be a refuge. We've all heard the stories, right? Everyone is welcome…"

"Auntie has resisted going for months—"

"We were waiting for my dad!"

"I know!" Trina reached out to touch Noelle's shoulder. "I know. I'm not… I know, okay? We know there's history, and Nikolas Cassadine is your uncle! How does it feel possibly meeting him for the first time?"

"That's a hard question. I feel like I know him already, don't you?"

Trina shrugged. "More or less, I guess we do, but for me it's different. I'm not blood."

"As long as we can have a safe, warm place to stay, I don't really care." Noelle set her bag on the nightstand. "I'm gonna do a final run through and make sure we haven't forgotten anything. Be right back."

Trina took both bags into the main area where Dawn waited. The short walk down the hall provided little time for the questions to cease in Trina's mind. She knew that her godparents had grown up in Port Charles and even more than that both had very strong ties to the residents of Wyndemere yet neither suggested refuge at the reputed sanctuary. Sure, they hadn't been in town long before Uncle Lorenzo had failed to return from a run, but in the four months prior, the silence on Wyndemere had been deafening. She couldn't help but wonder how they would be greeted upon their arrival. Would they be turned away?

"All packed?" Dawn asked. "If you need more room for your pencils and sketchpad, I'm sure they could fit in here." She opened her backpack to indicate the extra space.

Trina smiled as she shook her head. "Everything fits in mine. Besides, you don't need a heavy load—"

"I can handle it," Dawn said gently. "Where's Noelle?"

"Final check."

Dawn nodded. "That's something Lorenzo would have done."

"I remember." Trina set the bags near the door and went to her godmother. "Did you leave him a note?"

"I did." Dawn pointed to the wall. In big block letters, she had used the burnt end of a branch to write: Dearest Lucky, we finally took a chance. Love, DNT "He's gonna love, the 'Lucky' part."

"What does that mean?"

Dawn gave a half smile. "It's an old nickname. He hates it. I only use it to get his attention. He'll understand."

"Lucky?" Trina asked, laughter in her voice. "Uncle Lorenzo…I can't see him with that name."

"He was a few years older than you when he finally stopped using it."

"Around the time you married him?" Trina asked.

Dawn shrugged. "More or less, but the decision was his. He wanted to start over."

"Did he?"

Dawn's brown eyes became cloudy. "More or less…I guess."