3. The Outside World #2
A voice tight and trembling:
“All staff, please remain in your classrooms. Lock the doors. Further instructions will follow.”
But no further instructions ever came.
* * *
Addy swallowed, her mind snapping back to the present. Her breath fogged the inside of her mask, warm against the freezing air. The cold stung her lungs with every inhale, a sharp reminder that the world outside wasn’t safe—not even to breathe.
Sawyer’s eyes moved constantly, scanning the streets and rooftops. “Do you have a car?”
She nodded. “Yeah… but it’s probably on empty.”
“That’s fine,” he said, already shifting his bag higher on his shoulder. “We’ll take my truck. Look for fuel along the way.”
She followed him, her boots crunching against the gravel.
The surrounding town looked drained of life, washed-out reds, grays, and browns where fall leaves had once burned bright.
A few stubborn trees still clung to scraps of orange and gold, their branches rattling in the wind like brittle bones.
It was as if the world itself were sick.
Somewhere up ahead, metal scraped faintly against metal.
They both froze.
Without thinking, Addy reached out and grabbed a fistful of Sawyer’s coat, pressing herself close to his back.
The gesture was instinctive, too familiar for two people who barely knew each other, but fear erased those boundaries easily.
The rough fabric of his jacket was cold beneath a lot of clothes, too much for her fingers, solid and comforting.
She could sense the tension in his shoulders, the steady rhythm of his breathing beneath the heavy canvas.
She didn’t know why, but he made her feel safe.
Maybe it was the way he moved, methodical, deliberate, or the calm in his voice, that quiet steadiness that cut through the noise in her head.
It was strange trusting someone whose last name she didn’t even know, but the world had stripped away the luxury of caution.
Safety was now measured in proximity, in not being alone.
The sound came again, a slow, rhythmic creak. Addy’s pulse hammered in her ears until she spotted the source: a rusted sign swinging loosely on its chain above what used to be a hardware store.
Sawyer exhaled, his shoulders easing just slightly.
“Just the wind,” he murmured.
But Addy didn’t relax. Not fully. The silence that followed didn’t seem empty anymore; it was watchful, like the world was holding its breath.
They kept moving, their footsteps the only sound in the hollow stillness. The air was a mixture of cold metal and decay, tinged with the faint sweetness of rot. It clung to her throat like smoke.
They turned a corner, passing a line of abandoned cars dusted with frost. Some had their doors open; others sat with windows shattered, their interiors filled with drifting leaves and old snow.
A child’s car seat lay toppled in the back of one sedan, the fabric stiff and sun-bleached. Addy looked away quickly.
“Here,” Sawyer said, his voice low.
A truck sat at the end of the lot—a faded blue Ford coated in grime. The tires were still inflated, though the windshield bore a long crack across one side. A thin layer of frost dusted the hood, untouched.
Addy frowned. “Is this yours?”
He nodded once. “Yeah. Been keeping it here long before all this shit. Easier than parking at the complex. Fewer eyes.”
That made sense, she supposed. He was the type to think ahead. The more she saw, the clearer it became: the stored food, the calm voice, the way he moved with purpose instead of panic. He’d been waiting for something like this.
While she lingered near the back of the truck, Sawyer moved with quiet efficiency.
He brushed the frost from the door handle, checked under the frame, even crouched to peer beneath the chassis before opening the door.
Addy hadn’t even thought of that, checking for signs that someone had tried to break in, or worse.
He reached inside, pulled out a small pack, and tossed it onto the seat.
Addy climbed in carefully, the cracked vinyl seat cold against her legs. The inside had a slight aroma of oil, dust.
Sawyer slid in beside her and shut the door. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The world outside was silent, muffled by layers of frost and plastic and fear.
Then the key turned. The engine whined once, then caught. The sound filled the cab, startling in its suddenness.
Addy exhaled, a shaky sound that almost turned into a laugh. “I didn’t think it would actually start.”
Sawyer’s mouth curved faintly. “Always keep the tank full. Never know when the world’s gonna end.”
It should’ve been a joke. It wasn’t.
He shifted into gear, the truck rumbling softly beneath them as they rolled forward through the empty street. The wind pressed against the windows, scattering loose trash across the road in tumbling spirals.
Addy looked out at the town shrinking behind them, the cracked sidewalks, the dark windows, the little corner store with its door still hanging open—and sensed something like grief, or possibly guilt, twist in her chest.
This had been her home. Her life. Her before.
And now it was just another place they were leaving behind.
She thought about the “they” part—about how strange it was to think of herself as part of a “we” again.
Days ago, she’d been alone in her dark apartment, counting cans and rationing hope.
Now she was in a truck with a man whose name she barely knew, trusting him to guide her through a world that had stopped making sense.
Who was this person she was traveling with? This man who seemed to know what to do when she could barely remember what day it was?
Addy turned slightly, studying him from the corner of her eye.
His posture was steady, one hand resting loosely on the wheel, the other tapping absently against his thigh in time with the uneven rumble of the truck.
He looked like someone who belonged on the road—dark hair slightly overgrown, jaw shadowed with stubble, and that crooked nose that made him seem both rugged and real.
His eyes, sharp and focused, scanned the horizon even when the road ahead was empty.
Finally, she asked, hesitant. “You were ready for this. For all of this. How? Did you… know something was coming?”
Sawyer didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched, filled only by the engine’s low rumble and the rattle of loose debris skittering across the pavement.
Then, without looking at her, he said, “My folks were the type who planned for everything. Hurricanes, blackouts, riots, you name it. We lived out in the country, so it made sense. But after a while, it wasn’t just a precaution. It was a way of life.”
He adjusted his grip on the wheel. “I joined the Navy right out of high school. Special forces for a while. Got used to worst-case scenarios. After that… nothing really surprised me anymore.”
Addy listened quietly, the pieces of him starting to fit together: the calm under pressure, the precision in his movements, the quiet way he checked corners without seeming to think about it. It wasn’t paranoia. It was training.