“Brendon put his hand on my shoulder.
‘We got to get out of here,’ he told me.
I reached out and he helped me up, guiding me to the passenger seat. I collapsed into it and felt my breathing begin to steady out.
Brendon dashed around to the driver side, collected the car keys, my knife, and his gun, put the car in drive, and accelerated away onto the open highway.
I must’ve fallen asleep in the passenger seat, as when I came to, the sun was well and truly down, with the moon illuminating the darkest sky I’d ever seen. With the power grid destroyed by weeks of neglect, cities could no longer release torrents of light into the black skies. The clock in my helmet’s limited HUD read 12:56. I was feeling much better and, against Brendon’s advice, took over driving for the rest of the night, with little occurrence until 6 AM when I saw a car off in the distance, heading in the same direction as we were. Eventually, I caught up to it, staying a couple hundred meters behind it out of an abundance of caution.
Around seven, the sun rose and our impromptu convoy approached the Texas border. Brendon had the map, and was helping me navigate. Suddenly, I saw the car in front of us’s brake lights, and I slowed down in turn. I rolled past the ‘Welcome to Texas’ sign as the lead car stopped.
I noticed that the highway flanked by recently installed chain-link fences. A few olive-drab tents, trucks, and storage units labeled ‘USRC’ stood on the Texas side of the fence. The road was blocked with a heavy steel beam. Five soldiers approached the lead car, each of them armed with assault rifles. They motioned for us to stop, and beckoned the lead car closer.
‘So do we trust our military?’ Brendon asked.
‘Not after their cure,’ I rasped, preparing for the worst.”
‘We got to get out of here,’ he told me.
I reached out and he helped me up, guiding me to the passenger seat. I collapsed into it and felt my breathing begin to steady out.
Brendon dashed around to the driver side, collected the car keys, my knife, and his gun, put the car in drive, and accelerated away onto the open highway.
I must’ve fallen asleep in the passenger seat, as when I came to, the sun was well and truly down, with the moon illuminating the darkest sky I’d ever seen. With the power grid destroyed by weeks of neglect, cities could no longer release torrents of light into the black skies. The clock in my helmet’s limited HUD read 12:56. I was feeling much better and, against Brendon’s advice, took over driving for the rest of the night, with little occurrence until 6 AM when I saw a car off in the distance, heading in the same direction as we were. Eventually, I caught up to it, staying a couple hundred meters behind it out of an abundance of caution.
Around seven, the sun rose and our impromptu convoy approached the Texas border. Brendon had the map, and was helping me navigate. Suddenly, I saw the car in front of us’s brake lights, and I slowed down in turn. I rolled past the ‘Welcome to Texas’ sign as the lead car stopped.
I noticed that the highway flanked by recently installed chain-link fences. A few olive-drab tents, trucks, and storage units labeled ‘USRC’ stood on the Texas side of the fence. The road was blocked with a heavy steel beam. Five soldiers approached the lead car, each of them armed with assault rifles. They motioned for us to stop, and beckoned the lead car closer.
‘So do we trust our military?’ Brendon asked.
‘Not after their cure,’ I rasped, preparing for the worst.”