The city's glow faded in the rearview mirror, replaced by rolling fields and patches of forest. The road narrowed to cracked asphalt, grass creeping up through the seams. Emily kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting protectively near Sophie, who was curled up in the passenger seat with her bunny clutched tight. They hadn't seen another soul for miles — until they rounded a bend and spotted two figures in the road. One was a tall man in his forties with a battered hunting rifle slung over his shoulder. The other was a woman about Emily's age, her dark hair tied back, a bow in her hand. Both wore packs and had the wary, exhausted look of people who'd been running a long time. Emily slowed the truck, her foot hovering over the gas. She didn't know if she should stop. The man raised one hand in a slow, careful wave. "We're not infected!" he called, voice hoarse but firm. Sophie looked up at her. "Emily… they look nice." Emily's gut told her nice didn't mean safe. But driving past could mean leaving behind the only other living people they might see for days. She rolled the truck to a stop a few yards away.
"Who are you?" Emily asked through the open window. "Name's Harris," the man said. He gestured to the girl. "This is my niece, Layla. We've been heading west, trying to avoid the bigger towns." Layla glanced at Sophie and gave a small smile. "It's just us now." Emily hesitated, scanning the treeline for any sign of the man with the air horn. Nothing. Still, she kept her voice even. "We're headed the same way. Roads are clear for now — you can ride in the back." Harris gave a grateful nod, and they climbed into the truck bed. As the truck rolled on, Sophie leaned close. "Do you think they'll stay with us?" Emily didn't answer. Out here, new people could mean help… or trouble. And she'd learned fast that sometimes, they were the same thing.