Three Days on the Hilltop, Part 2

(continued from Part 1)

Brody sprints up the hill, blond hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. His breath comes in sharp bursts, and he waves an arm frantically. “Kelly’s coming up the hill,” he says, stopping just short of me. “She’s not alone—there’s a bunch of people with her.”

The camp stirs immediately. People glance at each other, a ripple of unease running through the group. Bailey grabs her baseball bat beside her sleeping bag, the wood tapping softly against her boot as she grips it. Lopez leans casually against a tree, but his hand slides to the butt of his pistol. Madison flips the safety off her AR-15 and holds it low, her eyes locked on the hill. Parker stands by the fire, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of the figures coming up.

Kelly appears first, waving like she’s coming home from a long trip. Behind her, four figures follow, walking single file. Each of them carries something—crates, bags—and their pace is calm and confident.

“So, let me introduce my new friends,” Kelly says as she steps into the clearing. “This is Natalie, Keith, Benton, and Wyatt.”

Keith sets down a wooden crate first, his movements careful and deliberate. He pulls off a camouflage hat, revealing close-cropped hair, and smooths it down with one hand. He’s tall and lean with very sharp features. His clothes are clean and neat, so I immediately think military. “Good morning,” he says. “Sorry to pop in unannounced.”

Natalie sets her crate down beside his, adjusting it slightly before straightening. Her ebony ponytail bounces as she moves, and her thick-rimmed glasses catch the sunlight. “Something smells good.”

Wyatt chuckles, the sound deep and rolling. He hefts a duffel bag from his shoulder and drops it with a heavy thud next to the crates. “Basically, you’re inviting yourself to these people’s breakfast. Kinda rude,” he says, a grin splitting his face. His overalls strain over his broad, massive frame. Wyatt would be the biggest guy in camp by a mile if Jaime weren't here.

Benton is the last to step into the clearing. He hangs back a little, slouching near the toolshed with a chewed plastic straw dangling from his lips. His straw-like hair shifts slightly in the breeze, and his eyes—half-lidded and dull—move lazily around the camp. He barely makes a sound as he leans against the tree, his gaze landing on Madison for a moment before drifting away.

Kelly gestures to the crates. “Keith and his group saved me on the highway. I was trying to feed a rabbit when three infected came out of nowhere. They took care of the zombies, and we started talking. They’re running a camp farther up the highway and even offered us some supplies. Look—fresh produce.”

Keith steps closer to me as Natalie, Wyatt, and Benton wander into camp. His stance is easy and relaxed. “Sorry for the intrusion,” he says, his voice low and smooth. “I wanted to make sure Kelly got back safely. She mentioned your camp when we met.” His eyes flick toward Kelly, standing by the fire and gesturing as she talks to Parker. His lips curl into a faint smile as he watches her, and I catch the look—a little too warm, too soft.

Keith shifts his weight slightly, keeping his tone casual. “I’m in charge of the Silverthorne Militia,” he says. “We’re a group of ex-Marines. We came together when this all started to keep each other alive. I was a rifleman. Wyatt—” he nods toward the big man by the fire pit “—was a machine gunner. Benton was an infantry assaultman.” He motions toward the slouching figure near the edge of camp. “And Natalie was Army Intelligence. That sounds like an oxymoron, but she’s been a key part of the group.”

Keith leans in slightly, his voice lowering. “When this all started, I thought we could keep it civilized,” he says, the words deliberate. “That idea cost us—people dying, supplies gone. We tried to do the right thing. We’d take in families, only to find out one of their kids was infected. One turned, and we’d lose ten more. Looters thought we were easy targets. That had to change.”

He pauses, glancing down at the dirt. His boots shift slightly before he looks back up. “We realized we had to adapt. Be strong. Decisive. Aggressive. Predators. Once we acted like it, people started feeling safe. They knew we’d keep them that way.”

Keith’s jaw tightens, his tone growing heavier. “It wasn’t easy. We’ve done things—things I wouldn’t have imagined a month ago. Killing. Taking what we needed. Even torture. People want to survive, but when the world falls apart, that desperation makes them dangerous. We had to match it, or we’d be gone.”

His eyes linger on you for a moment. “Some people didn’t agree with us. We let them go—but not to face the horrors out there. That would’ve been crueler. We gave them mercy. Others adapted. They accepted our rules. And then there’s Benton. He…fits this new world. Always has.”

Keith straightens, rubbing the back of his neck before folding his arms. “I’ve said a lot,” he says with a small shrug. “I ramble when I get into this stuff. What do you think? You ready to join us?”