Harry didn't talk about plans right away.
First, he watched how the Morales family lived.
Not how they ate or slept—
but how they reacted to small things: a sound in the trees, a shadow on the road, a pause before answering.
They didn't panic.
But they weren't ready either.
"You need transportation," Harry said in the morning. "And shelter."
Carlos nodded without arguing.
"I saw a pickup. Farm a few miles out. Old, but—"
"Reliable matters more than new," Harry replied.
The farm stood away from the road.
Two walkers wandered near the barn.
One lingered on the porch.
Harry moved quickly.
Two arrows.
One knife.
Silence returned without delay.
The truck turned out to be a Ford F-250 Super Duty, diesel, early 2000s.
Carlos opened the hood, checked the belts, rested his hand on the engine block.
"7.3 Power Stroke," he said quietly. "Change filters, don't feed it garbage—it'll outlive all of us."
"Then we take it," Harry said.
The keys were in a kitchen drawer.
Next came the tent.
A heavy USGI TEMPER shelter—worn, but intact.
Harry showed them:
how to set it fast
how not to leave tracks
how to place the entrance against the wind
"This isn't a campsite," he said. "It's a mobile home."
Ana listened in silence.
Weapons came last.
Harry handed Carlos a Remington 700 with a simple Leupold VX-Freedom 3–9× optic.
"Not for heroics," Harry said. "For distance."
Then he passed him a SOG Tactical Tomahawk.
"For doors, glass, and if they get too close," Harry added. "Work it. Don't swing."
Carlos closed his hand around the grip and nodded once.
Ana received a Glock 19 in a basic holster and a compact Ka-Bar TDI knife.
"Gun is last resort," Harry said. "Knife is control."
He showed her spacing.
Angles.
How not to stare at her hands—but at the space around her.
Luis received no weapon.
"You don't fight," Harry said evenly. "But you learn."
The boy stiffened, then nodded.
"Move quietly," Harry continued. "Listen. Watch your footing."
"And… the bow?" Luis asked carefully.
Harry glanced at Ana, then Carlos.
"Yes," he said. "But only under supervision.
No shots at people. No decisions on your own.
This isn't for fighting—it's for discipline and silence."
He demonstrated foot placement, weight transfer, how not to brush branches with clothing. He let Luis hold a light training bow—no arrows.
"Movement first," Harry said. "Aim later.
You shoot only when I say so."
Luis nodded again. This time—serious.
That evening, as they ate quietly, Ana spoke.
"I worked at a hospital," she said softly. "Before everything collapsed."
Harry looked up.
"Which one?"
She named it.
"There was a military unit there. First days. They brought equipment. Then…" She shrugged. "They left. Or didn't make it."
"What kind of equipment?" Harry asked.
"Surgical kits. Field operating tables. Generators. Antibiotics. Blood substitutes. Protective suits. Some armor."
Carlos exhaled slowly.
"And it's all just… there?"
"If no one got to it first," Ana said.
Harry stood.
"We're going there."
"Now?" Carlos blinked.
"While it still exists," Harry replied. "Medicine doesn't come back."
He explained the route and the rules.
"I'm not a rescuer," Harry said. "I just don't leave behind things that can still save lives."
Ana studied him for a long moment.
"Are you always like this?"
"No," Harry answered. "The world just doesn't allow anything else anymore."
That night, they prepared in silence.
Carlos checked the truck and the tomahawk.
Ana sorted the remaining bandages, replaying floor plans in her head.
Luis practiced stepping without sound—slowly, carefully, under Harry's watch.
Harry looked down the road.
The hospital was a risk.
But no medical supplies meant a delayed death.
And the choice had already been made.
End of Chapter 11