On the edges of her memory, Dawn recalled when the simple act of walking did not feel like the most laborious task of her life. Hell, in another lifetime she sung and danced her greatest hits in sold out stadiums and arenas. A two-mile walk should have been as easy as the choreography to one of her earlier ballads. Simply be attentive and focused. But injuries made the simplest things a huge burden and then there were the raiders. Despite the frigid air, perspiration beaded her brow. She inhaled a sharp breath that cut straight to her torso. Pain shot through her. She clutched her cane just as an expletive slipped.
"Shit!"
"Mama?" Noelle wrapped her arm around Dawn’s waist. “Lean on me.”
Trina moved in close beside her. "Give me your pack."
"You already have the water," Dawn argued. "I'm okay."
Noelle frowned. "You're not. Why are you so stubborn?"
Trina placed her hand at Dawn’s back. “Haven’t you always said, ‘accepting help doesn’t make you weak’?”
Dawn nodded at her two girls, young women really. They always found the perfect moment to quote her. They were halfway to the launch. The streets were eerily quiet. Maybe others were inside because of the impending snow or maybe they were being watched. Regardless, Dawn decided arguing over a backpack or her stubbornness was a waste of energy and effort.
"I don't remember it taking this long before."
Dawn smiled at her daughter. In these moments, Noelle’s resemblance to her father was strong and breathtaking. The quiet way she changed the subject as her emotions blazed so fervently in her hazel eyes. Dawn stared at the scene before them. The view bore little resemblance to the Port Charles of her youth. Former landmarks were worn by weather and lack of care. Buildings reminded her of skeletal remains. Some had been ravaged by fire while others ripped apart for whatever reason. Trash, tattered furniture, and abandoned cars bordered the sidewalks and blocked sections of the streets.
"There wasn't so much litter to avoid before," Dawn said.
Noelle gave her mother a half smile. "I love how you call it litter."
"It's worse, huh?" Trina asked. “When we first arrived, it wasn’t nearly this bad.”
“Not nearly,” Dawn murmured. The words were a struggle to utter. Now, they were so much closer to the launch than they were to the old brownstone. In the beginning, she really thought reaching Wyndemere was doable. She had rested, secured the bandages, and paced herself. Yet, suddenly, every step seemed heavier than the previous one. She was determined to make it for her girls. Kelly’s was nearby, and the dock was a block away after that.
"Dad,” Noelle said, her tone light as her grip tightened around her mother, “would've said—"
"Hey!"
At the stranger’s cry, the three women paused. Dawn reached out, but she was too slow to stop Trina as she moved in front of mother and daughter. Petite and fierce, she gripped the rifle at her side. “Who’s there?” Trina asked.
Nikolas never left Wyndemere without his Glock, knife, and walkie-talkie. He made sure that Spencer was equally armed. Their winter gear hid the protective vests and any immediate identifying information. Several skirmishes with raiders had left him battle-worn and battle-ready. As the air stung with cold, he and his son moved briskly from the dock toward what had once been Kelly's Diner.
The former eatery was one of the first restaurants to close. It was no match against the loss of clientele. After the close, the establishment was transformed into a neighborhood clinic, but ultimately, even that could not be sustained. Lately, survivors waited there in hopes for transfer to Spoon Island. As more snow clouds formed overhead, Nikolas aimed to reach the destination before the first flurry's arrival. Last winter, a group waited to no avail and by the time, he and Thom returned to the mainland, their remains were frozen solid. Nikolas could not remove the image from his memory and did not want a repeat.
"Father, perhaps we can try for the generators, too." Spencer's pace was as brisk as his father's.
Nikolas waved his hand to signal overhead to the changing weather. "It's coming faster than we estimated. We won't have time."
"Kelly's had generators," Spencer said. "We can take those."
"We don't have anything to transport them." Nikolas understood his son's desire, but executing the task was daunting. "We didn't plan for this."
"I'm just saying if it's possible," Spencer said, "we can try."
"Why are so hellbent on generators, son?"
"If we have them, others don't," Spencer explained.
Nikolas frowned. "We can't anticipate that everyone outside of Wyndemere is a raider. Others need supplies, too."
"Most of them come to us—"
"The numbers have dwindled in recent weeks," Nikolas said. Upon Spencer's low grumble, he added, "If no survivors are waiting, we should have no problem handling the generators. I prefer to have our focus free of distractions when we escort survivors to Wyndemere."
"I understand, Father."
"I am not reprimanding you," Nikolas said upon hearing the dejection in his son's voice. He paused near a row of forgotten parked cars. "Focus is a necessity."
Spencer nodded. "You and Uncle Thom make that abundantly clear."
Nikolas sighed. Intuitively he knew that saying more would lead to a battle of wills. Instead, he refrained and continued until he noticed a trio coming toward them. One pair moved with a careful gait while the other hovered. Unlike many Nikolas had encountered in the past, this group was dressed for the weather, bundled head to toe in protective attire. They carried backpacks, and one of them clutched a cane. Their body language suggested that they were not aggressive and the idea that they were decoys did not linger long in his mind. He simply sensed that they were not raiders and help was needed. Without further hesitation, Nikolas called out.
"Hey!"
In the beginning, inventory was just another chore. Similar to guard duty. Laundry. School. Defense. First-Aid. The list grew as the life Cameron knew slowly ceased to exist. As they moved full speed into the fourth year without any sign of life returning to what it once was, he had made the mental adjustments. Inventory was more than a chore; it was life or death. His main priority was always the food pantry as Maxie's first and only assistant. Dante oversaw the weaponry. TJ had the medical facility, but sometimes Michael helped. Everyone who was able had at least one shift of guard duty, but inventory was special. When Cameron was younger, the thought had annoyed him, but he understood the reasons better now.
After several hours of counting and making notes, he decided to take a break. He grabbed a water bottle, the roster, and headed to his desk. This week, meal planning had been added to his responsibilities. Adjusting specific dietary concerns of several residents with the food in stock was not a simple task. Although his mom was not on the Nutrition Committee, she had offered to help him with his first attempt at creating the week's menu. Before he accepted her offer, he wanted to try first; however, knowing she was available, as usual, gave him comfort. Just as he sat, the main outer door into kitchen whistled open.
"Cam?"
"Back here!"
His older cousin, Thom Hardy appeared in the doorway. "So, you didn't go with Spencer."
"You're funny." Cameron laughed. He knew that Thom had knowledge of that long before he walked into the kitchen. Thom and Nikolas Cassadine had been best friends for as long as Cam or Spencer could remember. Thom was basically second in command. Everyone knew that.
"Came to see if you needed help." Thom grabbed a chair and sat. "How's it going?"
"You tell me," Cameron said. "Have the numbers increased?"
"I don't know. They're still out there."
"Nothing on the talkie thing?"
Thom shook his head. "Silence is good. They're okay."
"I like it better if one of us goes with them," Cameron confided.
"What can you do with two stubborn Cassadines?" Thom asked. "They're fine. Who's cooking tonight?"
"If I say it's Brook Lynn, are you eating tuna in your room again?" Cameron laughed.
"Depends," Thom asked, with a slight frown even as he mouth quirked with a chuckle. "Is she?"
"You're saved. It's my dad."
Thom released a loud breath. "Thank God." He stood and headed to the door. "I'll let you know when they get back. Don't worry. 'K?"
"Sure thing, cuz."
As the door swung closed, Cameron decided that he and Thom were the worst liars. Worrying came second nature to them. Supply runs were limited especially now that the raiders' attacks had increased. On the last run with Spencer, Cameron noticed evidence of raiders' markings on several buildings. The imagery was dark and sinister. Cameron could not imagine why anyone would want to unite with them. All the rumors suggested that they had no order nor empathy. They would kill for a tube of toothpaste and a tea light candle. If the raiders had an estimate of Wyndemere's resources, the residents would never have a peaceful night's rest.
During that run, Cameron and Spencer had searched the basement of Kelley's for salt, vinegar, and cleaning supplies. As they were heading back to the dock, they noticed the girls. The two ducked into a building and hurried back out. Cameron and Spencer wanted to invite them to Wyndemere, but before they could get close enough, the girls ran away. Spencer had been plotting to return to the mainland ever since, but Nikolas kept vetoing the plan until today. Although he hadn't said anything aloud, Cameron secretly hoped that the girls were safe wherever they were and if they needed sanctuary, they would come to Wyndemere.
He also hoped that Spencer and his father would have a safe return…whether the girls were with them or not. Cameron wasn't ready for another loss. Over the last four years, they had already lost so many.
Jordan Ashford had given herself an hour to get to the mainland and back. The threat of a whiteout left her with little options except to move quickly and with focus. Under better weather conditions, she wouldn't have made the trip at all, but her sixth sense had been tingling all day. Despite the late night guard shift, rest had been elusive. She had one more location on her list to check. After that, she could face with her son with the confidence that she had indeed searched everywhere.
The sudden drop in temperature caused her pace to increase, but her watchful gaze took note of all the changes since her last visit. The raiders had burned out several homes and a former strip mall. The purpose of their destruction was clear—to create fear and to demand submission. In times such as these, the acts were preposterous. Everyone was still very much in survival mode and the coming winter storm made the situation even worse. Although she was not sure who led and organized them, she had a short list of potential suspects.
About twenty minutes into her mission, her sixth sense set off a silent alarm. She felt the heat of the person's gaze and knew that they were close behind her. Instead of heading to her original destination of the Indigo Lounge, she ducked into the doorway of an emptied pharmacy and pulled her weapon from her holster. As she anticipated, the steps slowed and then came to a halt.
"Okay, Jordan. You got me. You can come out."
With the gun at her side, she returned to the sidewalk. A surge of heat from anger and maybe something else blazed through her and warmed despite the freezing temperature. "Dante, what the hell are you doing?"
"I saw you leave—"
"So?"
"Y-you can't come here alone," he said, angry. "You better than anyone should know that. What are you doing here anyway?"
Yes, Jordan knew that traveling to the mainland without a partner was not allowed, but her position offered the authority to make decisions without needing permission. Also, she didn't answer to him. Ever.
"Why are you following me?" she asked.
"I just told you!" Dante pointed to the darkening clouds. "In minutes, we won't be able to get back."
"Then you should go."
"Not without you," he said. Upon her hard look, he added, "You're looking for him? Still?"
"No one's found proof that we shouldn't." Jordan sighed. "He's TJ's grandfather. If he's alive, we can't leave him for the raiders or to die in a blizzard."
Dante nodded. "I know, but…where, Jordan? Where can he be? We really don't have much time before the storm hits—"
"You don't have to stay."
"Don't say that," he said quietly. "You seemed like you had a specific destination. Let's check it out."
Five minutes later, they stood at the opening of what had once been Indigo Lounge. The former jazz club was void of windows and a front door. Years ago, the place had been a nice, little spot to chill after work. Have a few drinks. Eat good food. Listen to smooth jazz. Jordan remembered stopping by many times, especially when a case closed or when the answers were out of reach. She had a specific table in the back corner. Sometimes Dante joined her, but she didn't want to dwell on that memory.
With him close at her side, they picked their way over the debris of wrecked chairs and tables. Broken glass crunched beneath their steps. In the distance, she heard a noise. She and Dante looked at each other, eyebrows raised. With gestures, they formed a plan to investigate.
Separately, they headed behind the stage. The crunch of glass announced their progress, but their movements were quick. They found a person huddled in a corner. Tattered curtains were pulled tight around the shivering body. A low moan came from the small form.
"Please, don't hurt me."
"We can help," Jordan said, as she squatted down. "Are you hurt?"
"My wrist… I'm hungry."
Dante and Jordan exchanged another look. With a short nod, Jordan encouraged Dante to speak.
"Are you alone?"
"D-don't hurt me!"
"No," Jordan said softly. "If you're alone, we can help, but we need to move quickly to try to avoid the storm."
"Move?" the person repeated. "I-I don't know."
"We won't hurt you," Dante added. "We know a place that's safe and has food. Someone can look at your wrist."
The curtains fell away as the person shifted. Two round eyes stared at them in wonder. A single, dark brown braid hung rested on her shoulder. Her face was ashen and her cheeks sunken from malnutrition. "The sanctuary is real?"
"It is," Dante said. He reached out a hand to help her stand. "Can you walk without help?"
"So far," she said.
"Good," Jordan said. She glanced around the former stock room. Shelves had been overturned. The drawers from the desk were long gone. The space screamed empty. "Have you been here long?"
The girl bristled. "Just a few days. I don't think it matters if I broke in. I found it like this—"
"Hold on!" Dante said. "No one cares about that."
"Not at all," Jordan added. "Was anyone else here? An older man? Maybe he carried a case?"
The girl shook her head. "I didn't see anyone."
Jordan's chest tightened but she held her emotions inside. Maybe, just maybe Marshall found a safe place to hide from the storm. She could hope. "We'd better get back before the lake ices over. I'm Jordan. He's Dante. What's your name?"
The girl grabbed a bag and slung the straps over her head so that the knapsack hung across her body. "Esme."
Spencer did not wait for his father’s approval; he hurried toward the group, but to his surprise, Nikolas matched his gait. They reached the trio—of women, Spencer realized as he got closer—very quickly. Two appeared to be young, but their coverings concealed everything except their eyes. One pair was a deep, rich brown and the other was hazel. The older one with the cane blinked as her dark eyes met his. Her body swayed and the two girls gasped in alarm. Spencer moved to assist, but his father’s reflexes were much faster.
“I have her,” Nikolas said, lifting the woman into his arms. “Spencer, get her bag.”
“I’m carrying it,” said the shorter of the two girls. She clutched the bag as Spencer reached for it.
“Let me,” he said, gently. “Take her cane.”
Their gazes locked as he carefully took the bag from her and replaced it with the cane. For the briefest moment, their gloved hands touched and Spencer would have sworn a charge shot through him on contact. Her eyes widened but then she blinked and looked away.
“What are you doing?” asked the taller girl. “You can’t just swoop in—”
“The storm’s coming fast,” Nikolas said, his steps demanding they keep pace. “We haven’t time to waste.”
“We have medical care and food and supplies,” Spencer added. His father’s brusque, demanding tone was normal to him, but he read the fear in the girls’ eyes and tense body language. “We’re not raiders. We’re here to help.”
Despite the limp body in his arms, Nikolas’ stride was faster than Spencer could ever recall his father moving before. The labored breathing of the two young women did not go unnoticed, nor did the glint in their dark eyes at their determination to keep up. When the old, tattered signs for the pier came into view, the two stole glances at each other. The shorter one spoke first.
“The launch?”
“To Spoon Island?” the taller one asked.
Spencer nodded.
“Wyndemere,” the girls said softly in unison.
“Son,” Nikolas said. “Help them get onboard—”
“We don’t need help.” The taller one had stepped onto the launch and the shorter one quickly followed. “We need to hurry, right? Is she—is she moving, at all?”
Nikolas said, “She’ll receive care. Get the blankets. Over there in the corner.”
With little assistance, Nikolas carried the woman onboard the launch. Spencer needed no guidance. While his father and the girls helped the woman, he guided the launch home.