Morning light slid across the cabin like it was in a better mood than usual—warmer, brighter, almost smug about it. Thane was the first one awake, mostly because Kade had once again stolen all the blankets in the night and Rime had curled up against him like a space heater with claws.
Thane stretched, joints cracking pleasantly instead of painfully, and padded across the wood floor on clawed feet. Steam rose from the bathroom as Holt stepped out, fur damp, grinning like an idiot.
“Hot water is good,” Holt declared proudly, as if he had fixed the dam himself. “Feel like… cloud hug.”
Gabriel, still sprawled on the couch with a pillow over his face, muttered, “Dude, you were in there for fifteen minutes. That’s a war crime.”
“Not crime,” Holt said confidently. “Clean.”
Mark emerged next, towel over his shoulder, ears perked. “Showers work. Toilets flush. Sinks run. Civilization has returned. It feels very… weird.”
“It’s supposed to,” Thane said, brushing fur back from his face. “Normal always feels strange when you’ve lived without it.”
The cabin door opened and Varro stepped in, shaking off the morning air. His fur was wind-tossed, eyes sharp but softened by routine. “Kade stole my towel,” he announced dryly.
Kade, seated at the table sipping tea, didn’t look up. “I did not steal your towel. Your towel fell into my paw.”
Rime nodded sagely. “Happens. Towels tricky.”
Varro just stared at them. Slowly. Then at Thane. “This is my life now.”
Thane clapped him on the shoulder. “And you chose it.”
Varro didn’t deny it—which was progress.
The wolves drifted around the cabin like a big, mismatched family enjoying their first taste of ordinary comfort in ages. Gabriel tuned his guitar. Holt attempted to make toast and somehow burnt it. Rime tried to repair the toaster afterward and made it worse. Mark fixed it with a flourish and then lectured them all on proper toaster etiquette. Normal chaos. Familiar chaos.
Then something strange happened.
A rumbling.
A low, mechanical rumble that made every wolf freeze mid-movement, ears pivoting.
“What was that?” Gabriel asked.
Holt’s ears shot up. “Truck. Big truck.”
Kade stood slowly. “Sounds like… municipal.”
Thane frowned. “Municipal what?”
And then it hit them all at once.
“Oh hell,” Mark whispered. “Is that… a trash truck?”
Thane blinked. “There are no trash trucks. Trash trucks do not exist anymore.”
Rime’s eyes widened. “Truck has growl.”
Holt pressed his face to the window. “TRASH TRUCK,” he barked triumphantly. “IT EAT GARBAGE!”
Gabriel yanked the door open and they all spilled out into the morning sunshine like nosy neighbors.
And there, rolling casually down the street, was in fact a full-sized, fully functioning white-and-green city sanitation truck. The driver—a middle-aged man with a neon vest and a grin so wide it had to hurt—lifted a hand in greeting as he rolled past.
“Morning, wolves!” he called. “Route starts on Mineral Avenue! Trash day is back, folks!”
Thane stood there, dumbfounded. “He’s doing trash pickup.”
Mark rubbed his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Gabriel started laughing—a slow build into a hysterical cackle. “This is incredible.”
And then something even more surreal happened.
Residents all over the street began panicking in the best way possible. Someone shouted from their porch:
“THE TRASH TRUCK IS BACK! GO! GO! GO!”
Doors flew open. People scrambled. Rolling trash bins appeared like wild creatures emerging from hibernation. Folks sprinted down driveways shoving old food scraps, broken lamps, post-Fall debris, scraps of metal, torn clothes, burned cookware—anything and everything they’d been meaning to throw out for the last couple of years.
An elderly woman trundled her bin out with surprising speed, waving frantically. “WAIT, TODD! I’VE GOT TWO MONTHS OF JUNK!”
Todd—apparently the man in the truck—held up a “come on then!” hand and grinned like he’d been waiting for this moment since civilization fell.
Holt was mesmerized. “Human ritual… amazing.”
Rime nodded. “Trash truck Alpha.”
Varro crossed his arms, amused. “This feels like a hallucination.”
Thane exhaled a long breath. “Let’s go see the square. Something tells me the morning got interesting.”
The pack walked through Libby like strangers in their own town. Everything looked right—too right. Street sweepers hummed along the curbs, brushes spinning, dust clouds swirling like it was any ordinary Tuesday. Workers in neon vests swept sidewalks. A dump truck headed toward the far side of the rail yard. The faint beeping of a reversing forklift came from behind the hardware store.
Kade whispered, “This is surreal.”
“It is more than surreal,” Varro said softly. “It is… eerie. Like walking into memory.”
Holt pressed close to Thane. “Town too clean. Not trust.”
“It’s okay,” Gabriel said, patting Holt’s shoulder. “Clean is good. We like clean.”
Holt squinted. “Maybe.”
They turned the last corner onto Mineral Avenue—and stopped dead.
The entire square was alive.
The bakery sign was lit with warm yellow bulbs. Real bulbs. The window showed trays of something hot steaming inside. The general store had its front door propped open and displayed handmade signs advertising tools, rope, kerosene, and “POWERED ITEMS RESTOCKED SOON!” Someone was sweeping the front steps of City Hall while another person painted the doorframe.
A neon OPEN sign buzzed lazily from the diner window—an actual neon sign Thane could’ve sworn was dead forever.
Mark muttered, “I feel like we wandered into a parallel dimension where the apocalypse never happened.”
“Same,” Gabriel said, pointing. “Look—there’s a running Coke machine inside the diner.”
Holt gasped loudly. “Coke machine ALIVE?!”
Rime pressed his face to the glass. “Cans cold. Want cold.”
Kade laughed. “Control yourself, snowball.”
Thane stood still a long moment, taking it all in—the hum of electricity, the rhythm of normalcy, the heartbeat of a town coming back to life.
“This,” he said quietly, “is what we fought for.”
The others fell silent. For a breath, the town simply glowed.
And then—
“OH MY GOD!”
A woman came sprinting out of the boutique, pushing a rolling bin toward the curb, waving wildly at the sanitation truck approaching the square.
“I THOUGHT YOU MISSED THIS STREET!”
The driver called back, “Never miss the square, Cindy!”
Gabriel wiped his eyes. “We need to put this in the history books. Libby’s first Trash Day Post-Fall.”
Marta met them halfway down the steps of City Hall, clipboard in hand, sleeves rolled to her elbows, hair pulled back tighter than a tactical ponytail.
“Well,” she said with a smirk, “good morning, wolves. Feeling the returning glow of civilization?”
“Marta,” Thane said, “what’s happening?”
She shrugged like it was no big deal. “Oh, you know. The town decided to… function again. People showed up to City Hall this morning and said, ‘Well, there’s power. There’s water. Guess we ought to do our jobs.’ And then they did.”
Gabriel grinned. “That’s it? Civilization rebooted because folks felt like clocking back in?”
“Pretty much,” Marta said. “Street crews are out. Sanitation’s running. Store owners are opening up. A few folks even asked about starting a weekly farmer’s market again.”
Holt puffed out his chest. “Pack help. Pack fix dam. Humans happy.”
Rime nodded. “Dam big. Pack big.”
Marta smiled warmly. “Yes. And the whole valley knows who to thank.”
Varro stood behind Thane, watching Marta with quiet respect. “It feels… unreal,” he admitted. “Almost fragile. Like if we touch it too hard it will break.”
Marta’s expression softened. “Then don’t touch it. Just enjoy it. You earned this.”
They wandered the square, each wolf drawn to something familiar or bizarre.
Rime circled a street sweeper, fascinated. “Machine clean ground,” he declared. “Ground clean now.”
Holt found a kid with a popsicle and stared until offered one. He devoured it in three bites and yelled “COLD!” like he’d been betrayed.
Gabriel found the diner griddle running. “Breakfast is BACK,” he whispered reverently.
Kade eavesdropped on old men debating lawnmower belts. “I never thought I’d hear complaints about yard work again.”
Mark discovered cinnamon rolls with actual icing and nearly wept.
When the pack regrouped, the trash truck finished its loop. Someone threw confetti. Holt howled. Rime joined. Todd fist-pumped from the driver’s seat.
“I never thought trash day would make people emotional,” Gabriel said.
“It’s not trash day,” Marta said. “It’s… normal day.”
Varro looked around at the lights, the sounds, the people laughing. “This is the first morning that feels like… hope without fear attached.”
Thane stood quietly, letting it wash over him. “Yeah,” he murmured. “It is.”
The diner insisted they eat. They squeezed into a long booth, nearly breaking it. The waitress approached, bewildered but cheerful.
“Seven wolves in the breakfast booth. Alright then. What’ll it be?”
Holt didn’t hesitate. “PANCAKE MOUNTAIN.”
Rime pointed. “Toast. Also pancake mountain.”
Mark raised a paw. “Cinnamon roll. And another cinnamon roll. And—”
Thane gave him a look. “Moderation.”
Mark frowned. “I hate moderation.”
Kade ordered eggs and coffee. Varro asked for oatmeal like he was still practicing gentleness. Gabriel got french toast. Thane ordered coffee and a double breakfast plate.
The waitress scribbled. “You got it.”
When she left, Holt whispered loudly, “Alpha get double. Alpha strong.”
Varro nodded solemnly. “As it should be.”
Gabriel nearly fell out of the booth laughing.
When the food arrived, the table went quiet—soft, warm, peaceful.
“Listen,” Kade said.
They did.
Outside was the sound of engines, footsteps, sweeping, hammering, trash bins rolling, a phone ringing in City Hall.
Life.
Actual, ordinary life.
Varro breathed out. “A morning without fear. A morning where things just… work.”
Thane leaned forward, forearms on the table. “It’s the first time since the Fall the world feels like it’s healing.”
Gabriel nudged him. “We made it happen.”
“Not alone,” Thane said. “Never alone.”
Holt raised his fork. “To pack. To town. To trash truck.”
Rime echoed, “To trash truck.”
Kade lifted his mug. “To normal.”
Varro lifted his bowl. “To… beginning again.”
They all looked at Thane.
He lifted his coffee with a rare smile. “To home.”
As they stepped out onto the sidewalk, a familiar engine note rumbled past. Hank cruised by in his polished Ford Police Interceptor SUV, lightbar dark but presence unmistakable. He had one elbow out the window, coffee in hand, waving to townsfolk like it was the most normal morning in history. “Mornin’, boys,” he called as he rolled past, giving the pack a quick chin-lift and a grin. Holt waved enthusiastically. Rime saluted for reasons no one understood. Hank just shook his head fondly and kept on with his patrol, the sheriff doing what sheriffs do now that the world worked again.
Street sweepers glided.
Trash truck beeped.
Neon signs buzzed.
Shops opened.
Kids played.
The bakery bell chimed.
Thane stood still, soaking in the moment.
Holt nudged him. “Alpha okay?”
“Yeah,” Thane said softly. “Yeah. I really am.”
Rime leaned on his shoulder. “Town alive.”
“Town’s alive,” Thane agreed.
Gabriel stood beside him. “Feels like waking up from a long winter.”
Thane breathed deep. “It’s normal,” he said. “Finally… normal.”
And together, the pack walked forward into the square, into the noise and light and laughter—a world reborn around them.