Lisa's gaze never left the fog-shrouded figures. Her voice cut through the damp air. "So it isn't just you. Other people are digging for supplies too?" Bruno's reply snapped back, sharp and edged. "Everyone needs supplies." Lisa's mouth curled into a faint smile. "Strange. I thought the people in this community were all wealthy." Bruno stayed silent. He bent his head and kept working, his muscles tight as stone. His arms strained as he lifted heavy rubble, but even then, he never exposed his back to her. His posture was always guarded, always ready. Lisa bent as well, pushing aside two blocks of stone. Yet her gaze wandered to the distant shapes. The fog hung thick as wool. She could barely make out the excavator rumbling through the ruins. The faces behind the masks were hidden. She couldn't even tell if they were male or female. Her voice carried a faint note of wonder. "If they've got an excavator, then they've got fuel. Why would they still dig through other people's homes?" Bruno ignored her. His silence was heavy. He kept moving stone after stone. He knew the truth. People never felt they had enough. No one ever stopped gathering just because they had food at home. He didn't care what the others dug up. He had no reason to fight them. There was more than enough here. One ruined villa alone could keep him and Whitney fed for years. Better to dig and stay alive than to fight neighbors like fools. He had seen men torn apart by anger, their bodies twisted in the fog until they were gone. Bruno had felt the strange pull of the fog. He knew its poison clung to rage. He would not let it take him. He would not let it take Whitney. Whitney. All he wanted to do was keep her safe.Lisa caught his silence and lowered her gaze. Then she sent her son a small, secret signal with her eyes. Joe caught it at once. His small body drifted away, step by step, toward the excavator. Bruno noticed but didn't move. The boy was harmless long as he was around. As long as they posed no threat to Whitney, it wasn't worth his attention. Joe's shape grew clearer as he came closer. He stopped at a short distance, his eyes sharp with curiosity. He studied the strangers with the care of someone far older than his years. Both wore half masks that hid their faces. The one inside the excavator was a man in glasses. The one outside was a bald woman, her arms waving through the fog as she shouted. "Right here! No, a little more this way. Yes, that's it! Dig right there!" Olivia's voice rang with command, her hands slicing through the fog. Harold gripped the controls, the machine roaring beneath him. The metal teeth tore into stone, grinding deep until a heavy box rose from the rubble. Harold laughed in disbelief. "You've got magic eyes. Every spot you point at turns up treasure." Olivia chuckled. "I told you. My eyes are sharper than any tool." Harold laughed with her, his face lit with rare ease. Olivia's luck had been uncanny. Every guess landed true. Every stash seemed to rise just for her. Day after day, they searched. The fog gave no sign of lifting. No one knew what new disaster would follow. Their food would not last if they stopped. The ruins of the villas still held plenty. Owners had fought and died, leaving their supplies behind.Families lower on the mountain still had stores to last another year, maybe two. Every box Harold and Olivia dug eased their fear. Olivia had even called Natalie once. She came with Mr. Holland's excavator and worked a full day. But when she saw the labor brought little return, she stopped. Natalie had food of her own. She cared more for her health than the poisoned air. Harold had warned her often. Masks never blocked everything. When Natalie left, she gave them the excavator. With it, their strength went further. Harold drove the machine forward, shoving aside heavy stone. Olivia, hands gloved, searched through the smaller cracks. She didn't want the steel teeth to crush what could still be saved. Harold climbed down and joined her. "Careful. There could be fuel buried here. Or worse." Olivia nodded. "You be careful too." They dug together, but then their bodies froze. The air felt heavy, like eyes pressed on their backs. Olivia spun around, her breath catching in her throat. A boy, no older than eight, stood in the fog. His eyes locked on them with eerie calm. Olivia's heart thudded hard. Her hand flew to her chest. "Jesus! You scared me half to death! Where did this kid come from?" She turned quickly, scanning the fog with sharp eyes. Shadows moved in the distance. Through the veil, she thought she saw two figures digging at another ruin. The boy must have come from them. But whether more strangers lurked nearby, she could not tell. The fog swallowed everything. Harold stiffened. His hand went to the pistol at his hip. The boy saw their alarm. He stepped closer, slow and steady. Then he raised his face and spoke.