4. The Road #2
They both looked out over the bridge. The sun was beginning to set; the pale gold light caught the river below, turning it to thin glass. The world was quiet again, too quiet; but this time, it didn’t seem as hollow.
“Let’s go,” Sawyer said finally, his tone softer than before. “We’ll lose light soon.”
Addy climbed back into the truck, glancing at him as he started the engine. She realized she was no longer watching for danger alone; she was watching for him.
And as the truck rumbled forward over the cleared path, she caught herself thinking that possibly there was still something human left in the world after all.
* * *
They drove for a bit longer before the light began to fade from the sky.
The horizon was a washed-out smear of gray and violet, the kind of color that warned of another freezing night ahead.
The truck’s heater coughed out tired bursts of warmth, and every so often the headlights caught the glint of frost creeping across the edges of the windshield.
Addy hugged her arms around herself, staring out at the endless ribbon of cracked road. They hadn’t passed another abandoned vehicle in a while. No lights in the windows, no movement in the fields, empty barns, and the occasional shape of a deer frozen mid-step before bounding into the shadows.
Her eyes drifted to Sawyer. His face was set, focused on the road ahead, the glow of the dashboard catching the edges of his features, the strong line of his jaw, the dark smudges beneath his eyes. He looked tired.
Worry twisted in her stomach. “Should we find a place to stop for the night?” She asked finally, her voice quiet.
Part of her hoped he’d say something reassuring, that it was just ahead, that they’d reach the safe zone before dark. Anything to keep her from imagining being stranded out here in the cold.
But he didn’t.
Sawyer’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, the leather creaking softly. “Yeah,” he said after a long moment. “We should probably find a place to pull over. I don’t want to risk driving in the dark and drawing attention to us.”
That last part made her uneasy. “Attention from whom?” she asked, though she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
He hesitated before answering. “It doesn’t matter who,” he said finally. “If someone’s out here, it won’t be for a good reason, not now.”
They fell into silence again. The rumble of the engine filled the cab, steady and low. Addy pressed her forehead to the cold glass, watching the world slip by: dark shapes of trees, empty farmhouses, power lines sagging low across the sky like the world itself had gone slack.
After a while, Sawyer pointed toward a turnoff up ahead. “There,” he said. “Looks like an old rest stop or a storage yard. Fencing’s still up. We can hole up there for the night.”
Addy nodded, though her pulse picked up. She tried to ignore the small voice in her head whispering that fences worked both ways, that they kept things out, but they could just as easily keep things in.
The truck’s tires crunched over gravel as they turned off the road.
In the fading light, she could make out the shapes of rusted storage containers lined in rows, their metal sides dull with frost. A few picnic tables sat under a collapsed awning, and the remnants of a vending machine lay tipped on its side, glass shattered.
Sawyer killed the headlights but left the engine idling. The sudden darkness was heavier than it should have been.
He glanced over at her. “We’ll stay in the truck. Safer that way. You can rest while I keep watch for a bit.”
Addy wanted to argue, to say she could help, that he didn’t have to carry all of it alone, but the exhaustion hit her like a wave. The day’s tension, the cold, the fear, it all pooled in her chest until she could barely keep her eyes open.
She nodded instead, her voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”
Sawyer leaned back in his seat, scanning the perimeter one last time before switching off the engine. The silence that followed was immense, pressing in from all sides.
Outside, the wind swept faintly through the brittle grass, and something small, a piece of plastic or an old sign—tapped against metal in a slow, methodical beat. Addy’s heart tripped at the sound, but Sawyer’s steady presence beside her was grounding.
“Get some sleep,” he said quietly, his eyes still on the dark beyond the windshield.
She curled up in her seat, pulling her coat tighter around her, and tried to obey.
But even as her eyelids grew heavy, one thought kept looping in her mind: they weren’t alone in the world. But that didn’t mean they were safe in it, either.
* * *
A soft shake pulled Addy from her slumber. For a moment, she couldn’t remember where she was—the world seemed muffled, her thoughts sluggish and half-lost to dreams. Then Sawyer’s voice came low and steady through the dark.
“Hey. I need you to take over watch while I get some rest.”
She sat up too fast, the movement sending a jolt through her stiff neck and shoulders.
Her legs cramped, protesting from being curled up for hours.
She rubbed her eyes, trying to blink away the grit of sleep.
The cab was still dark, lit only by the faint silver wash of moonlight filtering through the cracked windshield.
“What time is it?” she asked, her voice rough with fatigue.
“Two a.m.,” Sawyer said, shifting back in his seat. “We’ll start moving again at first light. I just need a few hours. Wake me if you see anything, or if anything seems off.”
Addy nodded automatically, though her mind was still heavy with sleep and slow. “Yeah. Okay.”
He didn’t waste time. Within seconds, he’d leaned his head back against the seat, one arm folded across his chest, and his breathing began to even out.
Addy watched him for a moment, marveling at how quickly he seemed to fall asleep, as if he’d spent a lifetime learning to rest in short bursts, even in places where rest didn’t come easy.
She envied that.
Turning toward the window, she peered out into the dark.
The world beyond the glass was still—a blanket of frost glinting faintly under the moon, the shapes of storage containers hunched like sleeping giants.
Every sound seemed amplified in the quiet: the tick of cooling metal, the faint whistle of wind through the cracks, the steady beat of her own heart.
Her mind wandered, because it always did when the silence stretched too long.
She thought about her last day in her classroom.
* * *
The memory came in flashes: the sterile odor of hand sanitizer, the eerie glow of fluorescent lights, the way her students’ desks looked too big and too empty with only two kids sitting in them, Skyler and James, both pale, both scared.
After the announcement came over the intercom—Stay put. Await further instructions.—she’d done exactly that. They had waited. And waited. Hours had slipped by, the clock on the wall ticking toward the end of the school day, but no one came.
Then the noise started in the hall. Shuffling. Voices. A door slamming. She remembered stepping into the hallway and seeing the principal leaving, his tie undone, his face pale, his voice shaking as he told her to go home, to “get somewhere safe.”
Safe.
She had no idea what that even meant anymore.
Addy had walked the two kids out to her car, their little hands gripping hers as if they were afraid to let go.
She’d driven them home one by one, quiet, careful, pretending she wasn’t terrified.
The streets had already started to break down.
Sirens wailed in the distance. People ran with grocery bags and boxes clutched to their chests.
Others sat on the sidewalks, slumped over, too sick or too scared to move.
By the time she’d parked at her building, the air itself had felt wrong, thick and hot and buzzing with panic.
She rushed inside, turned on the TV, desperate for answers.
The words that flashed across the screen—QUARANTINE.
DO NOT LEAVE YOUR HOME. FAILURE TO COMPLY IS A FEDERAL OFFENSE. —had burned themselves into her brain.
* * *
A sharp sound yanked her back to the present.
Sleet.
It tapped against the windshield, soft at first, but growing harder, rattling in uneven bursts. Addy jerked, her heart leaping before her mind caught up. Just weather. Just sleet. But even knowing that didn’t stop the way her pulse refused to settle.
She glanced at Sawyer, still asleep, his face softened in rest but no less worn. A lock of dark hair fell across his forehead, the faint scar on his nose catching what little light there was. He looked different like this—human, almost peaceful.
Addy exhaled slowly, turning her eyes back to the dark. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to be watching for, exactly, other people, animals, the sick—but she stayed alert, anyway.
Because in a world this quiet, even the smallest sound could mean everything.
Addy’s eyes burned as the faint light of early morning crept across the horizon.
The sky was streaked with thin bands of pink and pale gray, the kind of light that made everything look fragile and half-real.
Her body ached from the cold and from staying still too long.
She flexed her hands, blew into them for warmth, and glanced toward Sawyer.
He was slumped slightly forward, one arm draped across his chest, his chin tucked toward his shoulder. Even in sleep, he looked alert, tense, ready. Addy hesitated for a moment, not wanting to wake him. She leaned over and tapped his arm softly.
He came awake fast.
In a single breath, his posture shifted, eyes snapping open, his hand instinctively reaching toward his knife before he registered her. Addy startled at the sudden movement, her pulse jumping.
“It’s morning,” she said quickly, her voice low and apologetic. “Sorry if I scared you. I … didn’t want to screw something up and let you sleep too long.”
Sawyer exhaled, rubbing a hand across his face, his expression easing. “No…it’s good. It’s time to get rolling, anyway.”