3. The Outside World #3
“That’s why you had supplies,” she said softly. “The food. Water. The… everything.”
“Yeah,” he gave a small nod. “You learn fast that waiting for help isn’t a plan. You either prepare, or you don’t make it.”
Addy looked out the window again, watching as the town fell farther behind them: the cracked storefronts, the frost-coated trees, the empty crosswalks that once led to lives that no longer existed.
“I wasn’t prepared,” she admitted. “Not for any of it. I thought it would blow over. A few weeks of closures, then back to normal.”
Sawyer glanced at her briefly. “Most people did.”
His tone wasn’t judgmental, just factual. But something in it made her throat tighten. She wondered how many times he’d seen this: people too slow to realize the world had already shifted beneath them.
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable this time. It felt… steady. Like a fragile truce between fear and survival.
They drove on, the truck’s old engine growling low as it cut through the empty streets. The world outside slid past in muted shades of gray and brown, the occasional swirl of wind lifting scraps of trash that danced briefly before disappearing into the cold.
Every few miles, Sawyer would slow down and pull over beside an abandoned car.
Addy watched as he moved with practiced precision—checking under hoods, prying open gas caps, working a small rubber hose into the tanks.
He’d crouch low, listening for that faint “glug” that meant he’d struck something worth the effort.
Then came the steady pull of the siphon, the stream of fuel trickling into a red plastic can.
She stood a few feet away, her gloved hands shoved deep into her coat pockets, breath fogging through her mask as she kept watch.
It amazed her how calm he seemed, how sure, how methodical.
Every movement was efficient; no hesitation, no wasted effort.
He’d clearly done this before, maybe not in this exact nightmare, but in enough bad places that it didn’t shake him.
“You make that look easy,” she said quietly as he straightened up, tightening the lid on the gas can.
He shot her a quick glance, the faintest shadow of a smile beneath his mask. “Practice. And luck.” He wiped his hands on a rag. “Usually more luck.”
They kept moving. Sometimes they’d spot movement far off—a figure darting between buildings, or the faint flicker of light from a window, but they didn’t stop.
Sawyer always steered them clear, eyes narrowing, posture tightening just slightly until the shape was gone.
Addy didn’t ask questions. She could read enough in his silence.
As the miles stretched, the empty roads gave way to the outskirts of town, fields of dead corn stalks bowed under frost, and driveways leading to houses that looked swallowed by quiet.
The sun was little more than a pale smudge behind the clouds, the air sharp with cold and the faint metallic tang of decay.
“Keep your head down if we see anyone close,” Sawyer said after a while, his voice low but steady. “People get desperate when everything collapses. Desperation’s worse than the virus.”
Addy frowned, glancing at him. “You mean they’d… hurt us?”
He didn’t look at her, just kept his eyes on the road. “Some would. Not all. But enough that it doesn’t matter. When there’s no law, when food runs out and no one’s coming to save you… people start doing things they never thought they could.”
She watched his profile, his jaw tight, his eyes hard in a way that told her this wasn’t theory. He’d seen it.
He continued, his tone quieter now, almost reluctant. “And for you…” He hesitated. “It’s worse. You need to understand that.”
Addy’s stomach turned cold. “Because I’m—”
“Because you’re a woman,” he said flatly, cutting her off before she had to say it. “And out here, that means you’re a target. For food, for shelter, for… whatever someone decides they want.”
His words hung heavy in the cold cab. Addy looked down at her hands, the gloves trembling slightly. She’d known, somewhere deep down, but hearing it spoken aloud made it more real.
Sawyer’s tone softened, just barely. “That’s why we stay quiet. That’s why we don’t stop for anyone. And if someone tries to approach you—”
“I’ll stay behind you,” she finished, her voice steadier than she felt.
He nodded once. “Good.”
For a while, the only sound was the rumble of the truck and the occasional clatter of debris skidding across the road. The world outside seemed endless, just miles and miles of silence.
Addy turned her gaze toward the window, watching the faint reflection of her face ghost across the glass. She looked different already, sharper somehow, leaner. There was no room for softness anymore.
Still, as she glanced back at Sawyer, she found a small flicker of something she hadn’t felt since the world had fallen apart. It wasn’t safety exactly, but something close, a fragile thread of trust that stretched between them, holding just strongly enough to keep her moving forward.
They drove on.