Morning came quietly.
The sun sat low on the horizon, a pale disc pressing gently against the sky, its light stretched thin across the pavement.
Tony drove. Michael rode shotgun. Hutch sat in the back with a cooler pressed against one knee and a coffee in his hands. Memo followed in his truck with JoeJoe and Vic.
“I can’t remember the last time I was up this early,” Michael said.
Tony smiled. “You usually sleep till ten. This is what 8am looks like.”
“Not always,” Michael protested, grinning. “I took an early lab once for chemistry.”
Hutch leaned forward. “Don’t worry, Michael. You’re pretty normal. Unlike your psychopath for a brother over here. Did you know he wakes up at 4am to go workout?”
Still smiling, Tony shrugged. “The gym is less crowded.”
Hutch shook his head, unconvinced.
Michael grinned. “He’s right, brother. 4am is crazy.”
They laughed. It was easy, genuine laughter. The kind that came from familiarity and relief, not obligation.
After a while, the city began to thin, giving way to open stretches of road and rolling terrain. Music played softly through the Jeep’s speakers.
For a while, nothing felt heavy.
They passed a sign advertising an upcoming grand opening for a shopping center. Brand name gear at outlet prices. Opening day late next month. Too bad, Tony thought as they passed the large, fenced-in construction site, he could use some new gear. The buildings were already completed but still looked empty.
The highway became a two-lane road that winded into the mountains. The air was cooler and every breath felt fresh.
By the time the small town appeared ahead, hunger had crept up on all of them. Built around the lake and mountains, the small town thrived in ski season. Off-season, it was quieter but still drew hikers and campers.
The tavern sat at the far edge of town like it had always belonged there. Weathered wood siding and a hand-painted sign swayed slightly in the breeze. A few pickup trucks were parked out front, dust coating their tires.
The Jeep and F-150 parked near each other in the nearly empty parking lot. The men piled out, hungry and excited. The mountain air was brisk but not cold. Energy was high.
Michael held up his phone. “Anyone else getting any reception here? I haven’t gotten anything since we pulled off the highway.”
A chorus of negatives followed as each person checked their phone and realized they had no service.
Vic grinned. “That’s why the locals love it here.”
Memo patted Michael’s back, “I bet that’s why your friends haven’t called you. They’re up here camping and enjoying the outdoors and none of their phones have a signal.”
Michael nodded with a smile, somewhat convinced. “You’re probably right.”
Tony pointed to a dirt road that disappeared beyond a thick row of trees. “The campground is about a mile or two up that road. Your friends are probably still up there. We’ll head up after we eat.”
Michael smiled and nodded.
Inside the tavern, the temperature was warm. The air smelled like fried food, beer, and old wood soaked with years of spilled drinks. The lighting was low and warm, casting everything in amber tones. A jukebox hummed in the corner, playing something classic and unhurried. The place felt lived-in. Safe.
A local couple sat at the near side of the bar, quietly sharing a moment together. Three middle-aged men sat at the other end of the bar watching golf on the TV behind the bar. At the back of the bar, four frat bros were playing pool and cracking jokes.
The group took over a long table in the center of the seating area, chairs scraping softly against the floor. Cold beer arrived quickly, followed by plates of burgers, wings, and fries. The food tasted better than it had any right to.
Conversation flowed easily.
When Vic quietly leaned over and asked how he was really doing, Tony answered honestly, simply.
“Good,” he said. “Better. Thank you.”
That’s when the girls came in.
Three of them. They entered the bar laughing, mid-conversation, the kind of ease that came from long familiarity. Chelsey drew attention without trying. There was something effortless about her: jet black hair, bright blue eyes, confident posture, a smile that felt genuine rather than practiced. Veronica followed, more reserved, observant. Jackie trailed behind, pausing at the bar to say something that made the bartender laugh.
Everyone in the bar noticed when they walked in. The girls surveyed the room and locked eyes with the group.
Chelsey looked around the bar and caught Michael looking at her. She met Michael’s gaze with a confident smile. “You guys look like you’re fun. Are these taken?” She asked, pointing at the empty chairs.
“Not at all.” Memo said quickly. “Grab a seat.”
Introductions happened naturally.
The girls were roommates and had been friends since middle school. That history showed in the way they moved together, finished each other’s sentences, shared glances that needed no words.
After a couple of rounds of drinks, the groups blended without effort.
Chelsey and her friends were meeting her uncle at his cabin further up the mountain this weekend, she explained. Once a year they come out to the cabin to get away from the city and avoid everyone they knew.
“Smart,” JoeJoe commented.
“Eh…” Jackie said. “We did stop here first, so clearly our judgement is sketchy.”
That got a round of laughs.
Chelsey spoke often and was a natural leader. She had the habit of looking directly at whoever was speaking. But Tony caught her curiously watching Michael. When the chair next to him opened up, Chelsey took the opportunity to stake her claim. She slid into the empty chair without warning.
“You look like you just stepped out of a Hollister poster,” she said to Michael quietly. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
Michael blushed and shook his head. “Nope. No girlfriend. Just an absentee brother and a handful of his buddies.” He opened his hands to indicate the group.
Chelsey smiled. “You’re shy. I like that.” She said, sincerely. “I used to be shy. But now I spend most of my time yelling at people to tighten their cores.”
Michael blinked. “What?”
She smiled. “Pilates instructor.”
Michael asked follow-up questions. He showed genuine interest in her. He laughed at her jokes. He couldn’t remember that last time Michael smiled like this.
Veronica was quieter than the others, but she wasn’t shy. Just, cautious.
“What do you do?” JoeJoe asked.
“I’m sorta between things right now.” She said.
JoeJoe raised an eyebrow.
“I just left nursing school.” She responded. “I was good at it. I just couldn’t decide if I wanted a life with so much stress and weight on you… Make a mistake and people die.”
Hutch nodded, understanding written on his face.
Jackie chimed in, “What do you guys all do?”
Memo took the lead, “I have a small BBQ spot down in Long Beach. That’s where we’re all from. JoeJoe is in construction. Tony and Hutch are military men. Vic is a teacher and Michael works with Special Olympics athletes.”
Another couple of pitchers made their way to the table.
Before long, Veronica and Hutch were trading stories.
Tony noticed the way Hutch’s usual reserve softened around her. Not much. Just enough.
Jackie and JoeJoe bonded over sarcasm and academia. Both funny and intelligent. Their conversation was easy. They made each other laugh without trying.
At one point, Jackie reached for a pitcher and began refilling glasses. “I’ll pour ‘em but don’t ask me to clean up after you!”
That made JoeJoe laugh.
The bar hummed around them. Music playing low, glasses clinking, laughter rising and falling. Time slowed down.
The conversation eventually drifted back to their uncle’s cabin. It was just up the road from the campground. The cabin sat high on the mountain behind the town, on a clearing overlooking the valley.
“We spent Spring Break with Uncle Wade at his cabin last year.” Jackie recalled. “It was so much fun.”
“You guys should come by later,” Chelsey said, casual but sincere. “We’ll have drinks and play Jenga!”
Michael glanced at Tony and smiled. “That sounds great.”
Then the music stopped. Abruptly.
The bartender reached up and turned the television volume up. Conversations softened, then stalled. Heads turned.
BREAKING NEWS flashed across the screen.
Reports of unrest. Rioting. Los Angeles. New York City. Video showed crowds pushing against police lines. Sirens wailing.
The female newscaster’s voice tightened as she spoke.
“…authorities across multiple states are responding to escalating violence. The governor has officially activated the National Guard…”
Tony felt the shift immediately.
He glanced at Hutch. Hutch was already looking at him.
The broadcast cut to a field reporter. He was helmeted and looked terrified. He stood in front of a police barricade, shouting over sirens and other shouting. Tony recognized the name of the city overlaid on the graphic. It was an hour from where they sat.
Behind the reporter, someone fell.
The crowd surged.
The cameraman yelled and the camera shook.
A man tackled the reporter to the pavement and bit him. Bit him.
The reporter screamed.
The camera jerked sideways. Something red splashed across the lens before the feed cut to static.
Then the studio.
“Oh my God!” The lady at the other end of the bar cried out. Her male companion hugged her.
“Was that blood?” One of the men in the bar asked, shocked. His voice an octave higher than he realized.
The anchor stared into the camera, pale, visibly shaken.
“…we are trying to confirm what you just saw…”
Silence wrapped around the bar like a held breath.
Tony’s stomach tightened.
“This isn’t just unrest,” Hutch said quietly.
Tony nodded once.
The TV screen showed a map of the United States. Red X’s marked every reported incident. The X’s were scattered at first, then clustering along the coasts. When the camera zoomed to Los Angeles, the X’s formed a dense constellation.
The newscaster went on to urge anyone within the “danger zone” to stay indoors.
Michael stared at the screen, brow furrowed, jaw tight. Around them, voices began to rise. Questions, murmurs, confusion hardening into something sharper.
According to the TV map, they were already within the danger zone.