The truck bounced over the uneven dirt road, its headlights cutting through the dark. Emily's hands were tight on the wheel, Sophie leaning against her side, half-asleep but still clutching her stuffed rabbit. In the back, Harris and Layla huddled together, the older man tapping the roof to get Emily's attention.
"Stay on this road," he called over the engine. "It'll take us to Greene's farm. If Hershel's still there, it's one of the safest places left around here." They passed fencelines and empty fields, the silence of the countryside broken only by the hum of the truck and the distant chirp of crickets. Every shadow in the treeline seemed like it could hide a walker. Finally, the lane curved, and a large white farmhouse rose ahead on a hill, its porch light a soft glow against the night. A barn stood nearby, the paint weathered but sturdy, and beyond it stretched pastures dotted with grazing cattle — a sight Emily hadn't thought she'd see again after the cities. As they pulled up, a tall man stepped out onto the porch. He wore suspenders and carried himself with the kind of calm that came from years of hard work. But his eyes were sharp, assessing every face. "You're far from town," he said as they rolled to a stop. Harris stood in the truck bed. "Evening, Hershel. Just looking for shelter for the night. We've got a child with us." Hershel's gaze moved to Sophie, then lingered on Emily before he gave a single nod. "Barn's empty. Park it there. We'll talk in the morning." Emily let out a slow breath. After days of running, they'd finally found somewhere with fences, walls, and — at least for tonight — a light in the dark.