The night seemed to stretch on forever. With every sound carrying farther than it should have.
Now with two trucks, the group felt safer incase one breaks down now, or to be used for extra cover.
Chris drove the leading ex cultist truck. With Dev sitting in the middle seat, pistol resting across his lap, while eating chips.
Dr. Elara Mendez was in the back seat watching as everything went by, with the metal case still chained to her wrist reflecting faint streaks of red from the blood moon.
Behind them, Valez was driving the second truck while Jess rode shotgun, with her wrench between her knees, silent except for the occasional sigh.
The air smelled sulfuric as if they were traveling through a swamp, or the gates of hell.
Dev finally spoke. "You ever get used to it?"
Chris kept his eyes on the road. "Used to what?"
"The sound. The way people die."
"No," Chris said quietly. "You just stop freezing when it happens."
Elara turned from the window. "He would've burned me alive. You stopped him. That has to count for something."
Dev's voice cracked. "Just because I saved you does not mean it should feel right."
Chris's jaw tensed. "It's not supposed to."
In the second truck, Jess leaned her forehead against the glass. "You think it ever stops feeling wrong, I keep replaying the feeling of my wrench slamming into the cultists skull?"
Valez didn't look at her. "You just get better at carrying what you have done."
"That's not the same thing."
"No," he said. "It isn't."
She exhaled hard through her nose. "Guess that means we're still human."
"Yeah," he said softly. "For now at least."
An hour later, Elara leaned forward. "Slow down here."
Chris eased off the gas. The headlights caught shapes hanging from a fence ahead, crude scarecrows made from wire and old coats, each wearing a wooden mask painted black and spiraled in red with so many being on the fence as if they were ready to rush them at any time.
Dev swallowed. "Tell me that's a form of modern art."
Elara shook her head. "Containment markers. Early quarantine warnings."
Jess's voice crackled through silence from the other truck. "So is there a yellow brick road around here, or something while looking at the scarecrows?"
"Yeah," Chris said. ", and based off what Doc said wr are planning on steering clear from it."
Elara murmured, "They meant 'stay out.' Not everyone listened though sadly."
They pulled off the road and parked beneath the collapsed frame of a billboard. The ground was cracked and dry, the air still heavy from the day's heat.
They didn't light a fire, just put a lantern between the trucks, its faint glow painting faces in dull amber.
Chris rolled his shoulders. "Guys, lets check what we've got."
"On it," Dev said, hopping out and flipping the tailgate down. He started eating a handful of jerky as he counted. "Alright — water, six jugs between both trucks. Metric ton of Jerky, stale crackers, trail mix, and Jess's secret supply of shrimp chips."
" I prefer privately owned," Jess called from the other truck laughing.
Dev grinned faintly. "Right. Two boxes of .45, one half-full box of 9mm. Seven mags total. One hunting rifle with five rounds."
"Phones?" Valez asked.
"Three now fully charged working. One halfway."
Jess added, "Medkit's half full, mostly gauze antiseptic, and hello kitty bandaids, unfortunately we have no painkillers left like looking at valez."
"Okay let's add that to the wish list," Chris said.
Valez nodded. "We'll need to restock once we know where we're headed."
Elara was sitting by her case now, back against a tire. "Harrow Point has storage wings," she said. "If it's still standing, there'll be supplies , armored vechicles, high tech gear, maybe even working generators."
Dev gave her a side look. "You sound way too confident for someone who just watched the world end."
She smirked faintly. " it's either confidence or denial. Take your pick."
Jess broke the silence after a minute. "You guys checked your screens since we raided the camp?"
Dev sighed. "Still feels wrong talking about XP like it's real."
"Yeah, well," Jess said, glancing at the faint shimmer only she could see. "I got eight XP. Could learn Basic Mechanics or Quick Patchwork. Picked Patchwork. Might keep this heap moving."
Valez stretched his back. "Nine here. Tactical Coordination or Field Command. Picked Coordination. Helps me catch patterns when things go bad."
Dev said, "Mine offered Field Repair or machine calabration. Picked Repair. Because if something breaks, at least I'll be useful."
Chris leaned back against the hood. "Twelve XP. Level three now. My first skill ,Combat Awareness, came right after the crater. Helps me track motion and angles instinctively. The new one I chose is called Situational Instinct.
Jess looked up. "So what's different?"
Chris hesitated. "It's like it's easier for me to read people. Tone, hesitation, how they breathe or avoid eye contact. I can tell when something's off."
Dev chewed slowly on his jerky. "So, like a walking lie detector, where were you when Jeffery Springer was popular?"
"Not exactly," Chris said. "Just… an instinct I trust."
Jess grinned. "Guess we'll have to watch what we say around you."
"Probably," he said with a small smile.
Elara had been quiet until then. "You're all talking about your 'classes' like it's a choice," she said finally. " I unfortunately did not have a choice only Biomancer appeared."
Jess raised a brow. "Sounds like magic."
"Sounds like work," Elara said. "My skill options were Bioanalysis and Chemical Improvisation. I chose Bioanalysis, thinking it would help me identify organic changes faster. Viruses, cell anomalies, mutations
, etc."
Valez crossed his arms. "Useful if this thing spreads."
Elara nodded once. "Or if it's still spreading."
That quieted everyone.
The lantern buzzed faintly. The heat clung to their skin.
Dev finished his jerky, brushed off his hands, and muttered, "So we've got skills, guns, and a long road ahead. I guess that makes us professionals now."
"Hardly," Chris said.
Jess leaned her head back, eyes half-closed. "Then what are we?"
"Alive somehow," Valez answered. "That's enough for me."
Chris looked out toward the fence, where the red-marked masks swayed lazily in the wind.
He didn't know if they should be taken as warnings of the present, or just echos of the past.