Back in the warm, rhythmic cocoon of the womb, Charlie's thoughts returned to that day. He hadn't understood it then, but his parents and Gretchin had been shielding him and Amber from a harsher reality. The world hadn't just changed physically; it had adapted to something far crueler.
The law of the jungle.
The Earth had become a vicious place, where survival often came at the expense of others. That memory stayed with him, but it wasn't the only thing. Nearly a year after Infusion Day, the world shifted again.
Charlie sat cross-legged on the dirt floor of the cellar, gripping a jar in his hands. The faint smell of damp earth and canned food filled the air as another tremor shook the ground. The shelves rattled, and a few jars wobbled dangerously close to falling.
"Ugh," Charlie groaned. "So annoying."
The tremors were constant now—small, sharp jolts that didn't last long but disrupted everything. Not full-blown earthquakes, just enough to get on everyone's nerves.
Amber sat nearby on a crate, carefully threading a needle. Her dark brown braid rested over one shoulder, and her face was tight with concentration as she worked. Amber was surprisingly good at sewing—something she'd picked up from a book she'd read before Infusion Day. She liked to call herself "self-taught," and while Charlie liked to tease her about it, he couldn't deny she was better than him.
Their father, David, sat in a corner of the cellar, his broad shoulders hunched over as he tried to hide a photo in his hands. Charlie didn't need to see it to know what it was—it was the worn picture of his half-brothers. Secrets didn't last long in close quarters, and even though their dad didn't talk about them much, Charlie could tell he missed them deeply.
Today had been dubbed "laundry day." The brook outside—which had once been a trickle of water—was now a strong, flowing stream, wide and fast-moving. It was a blessing, providing clean water for washing and cooking. But his mom always reminded them: Running water, good. Still water, bad. And always boil it.
As the tremor subsided, Amber tied off her thread, setting her sewing aside. She stood and crossed the room to their dad.
"Dad, we need to talk," she said, her voice steady but serious.
David looked up, tucking the photo into his jacket pocket. He raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing on his lips. "Sure, book bunny, what's up?"
Amber groaned. "Dad, don't call me that."
"Alright, alright." He leaned back against the wall, folding his hands behind his head. "I'm listening."
Amber sighed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. One of the things she liked most about their dad was that he never dismissed her, no matter how wild or random her thoughts might seem. He always listened.
"Okay," she started, her voice slipping into her 'smart mode.' "You know those tremors we've been having? They're not random. I read a book about earthquakes last year—it explained how they happen. Tremors like this mean tectonic plates are shifting, building up stress. And when that stress gets too much to handle…" She hesitated, glancing at Charlie and then back at her dad.
David's smile faded, his expression turning serious. "Go on."
Amber waved her hands as she spoke, her voice picking up speed. "The stream outside—remember how small it used to be? It's bigger because the land is shifting. That's a sign that the plates have already moved a little. But they haven't settled yet. When they do, the release of stress could mean a much larger earthquake. One big enough to…"
She trailed off, her eyes darting between her father and the shelves of jars, as if reluctant to say the rest out loud.
Charlie remembered the way his dad had paused after Amber's explanation, his eyes scanning the shelves of jars, the packed dirt floor, and the wooden beams overhead. Then, with a wry grin, he quipped, "So, probably don't want to be underground when it hits, huh?"
Amber, standing tall with her arms crossed, nodded. "Correct."
David stood, brushing his hands on his pants. "Alright, let's make a plan."
That plan, as it turned out, was to head to a nearby Amish farm. Charlie had learned about the Amish from his mom—a community of people who lived simply, without modern technology, relying on farming, craftsmanship, and faith. Before Infusion Day, they'd already thrived using horse-drawn wagons and hand tools. Now, in this changed world, they were better equipped than most to adapt.
The farm they were heading to was about a three-hour walk from their home. The farmer there, a man his dad had traded with before everything changed, owned horses and wagons. David wanted to barter for some industrial crates to store their supplies, but they'd need a wagon to transport them back.
Charlie had been surprised when his dad handed him a crossbow for the journey.
"You passed certification," David had said with a nod, referencing the target practice Charlie had spent weeks mastering.
The crossbow felt heavier than it looked, but Charlie didn't mind. He was getting stronger, like everyone else. Over the months, the food they ate—everything fresh, hunted, or grown—seemed to give them an unnatural vitality. His muscles had grown, his reflexes sharpened, and even his endurance was better. The world was changing them, making them stronger.
But the animals were changing too. Charlie shuddered at the thought. If not for their weapons… he didn't want to imagine what could happen.
As they walked, Charlie's mind wandered to the combat training his dad had started teaching them all. David called it "essential skills," though Amber always rolled her eyes at the name. Begrudgingly, she joined in, complaining more about the dirt than the sparring itself. Gretchin, on the other hand, was a natural. She was fast, strong, and relentless. Charlie had once seen her pin their dad in a sparring match, though David claimed he let her win.
Their mom wasn't bad either. Charlie thought she moved with surprising precision for someone who usually stayed out of the rougher activities.
Charlie, of course, wasn't allowed to spar Amber anymore. He always beat her, which he said made it "boring." So his dad had paired him with Gretchin instead. She kicked his butt every single time.
Even so, Charlie never relented. He'd come at her with everything he had, and she'd always put him into some kind of submission hold. It had become a family joke, and for some reason, they'd started calling him "Little Wolverine." Charlie didn't entirely understand the nickname, but he liked it.
The walk to the Amish farm stretched on, the distant horizon bathed in the warm glow of early afternoon. They moved quietly, their pace steady, but their eyes constantly scanned the surrounding woods.
After a while, David raised his hand in a silent signal, and the family stopped. They crouched low, using simple hand signs David had taught them from his military days.