The road into the town was cracked and uneven, swallowed by weeds.
A single rusted sign leaned crooked against the morning sky: WELCOME TO MERRINDALE — Population 482.
Jayden read it under his breath and gave a low whistle. "Guess it's four hundred eighty-four now."
Layla adjusted the hood of her borrowed sweatshirt. "If we count as people."
He smiled faintly. "We do. We just don't count on paper."
The humor didn't land. The silence that followed wasn't angry — just tired. Both of them were still too raw to pretend things were normal.
---
The Town That Forgot
Merrindale was the kind of place the world had stopped caring about years ago. The gas station looked abandoned, the diner's sign flickered with only half its letters, and the air carried the faint metallic tang of rain and rust.
It was perfect.
Jayden led them through back streets, keeping his hood low. The few faces they passed looked older, harder — people who minded their own business.
They found a boarded-up church on the edge of town. The door hung loose. Inside, dust floated in the shafts of light cutting through broken windows.
Layla dropped her pack on the floor. "Feels like every place we end up used to be holy."
Jayden glanced around. "Maybe that's the only kind of place left."
---
The Moment of Stillness
They made camp in what used to be the choir loft — blankets over pews, a small candle flickering on a hymnal stand.
For the first time in days, there was no sound of pursuit. Just the faint hum of distant traffic and the quiet whisper of air moving through the cracks in the stained glass.
Jayden leaned back against the wall, exhaustion seeping into his bones. Layla sat beside him, picking at a splinter in the wood.
She broke the silence first. "You ever think about what comes next?"
Jayden rubbed his eyes. "All the time. Never like this."
She tilted her head. "You mean with me?"
He looked at her, then away. "Yeah."
---
The Stranger
They ventured out just before dusk — hunger finally outweighing caution.
The diner still worked off a generator, its neon half-lit but warm. The waitress didn't ask questions when they ordered coffee and pie, just nodded and poured slow.
It almost felt normal — the smell of sugar, the clink of forks, the hum of the fridge behind the counter. For a moment, Jayden let himself imagine they were just another pair of travelers, tired and quiet.
Then the doorbell rang.
A man in a leather jacket stepped in — tall, sharp-eyed, the kind who saw too much and forgot nothing. He nodded at the waitress, then turned his gaze toward their booth.
Layla's hand froze halfway to her cup.
Jayden's instincts screamed. Cop? Bounty hunter? Local who watches the news?
The man sat at the counter, ordered a coffee. But his eyes flicked back to them once, twice — measuring, testing.
---
The Slip
When they left, Jayden kept his voice low. "He's watching."
Layla nodded without turning. "He knew."
"Not yet. But soon."
They moved fast, cutting through the alleys. Jayden led them behind a shuttered hardware store, crouching low behind a dumpster.
"Stay here," he whispered. "If he follows—"
The sound of footsteps interrupted him — slow, deliberate, too light to be random.
Layla's whisper was sharp. "Jayden—"
He peeked around the corner. The man was there, hands in his jacket pockets, eyes cold and curious.
"Long way from home," he said quietly.
Jayden didn't move. "You're mistaken."
The man smiled. "Maybe. Or maybe I just saw two faces that look a lot like the ones on the sheriff's bulletin."
Layla's jaw tightened. "Then maybe you should forget them."
He laughed softly. "Not my style."
Jayden stepped forward, just enough that the man noticed the tension in his shoulders — the kind that came from fights survived, not won.
"What's your price?" Jayden asked.
The man hesitated, then shrugged. "You don't have to pay me. Just stay gone before someone less polite notices."
He turned away, tossing his coffee cup into the trash. "They'll sweep through by morning. The world loves a good manhunt."
---
The Choice
Jayden waited until the sound of the man's boots faded before he exhaled.
Layla's voice shook. "He could've turned us in."
"But he didn't."
"Why?"
Jayden looked toward the empty street. "Maybe he used to run, too."
They stood there for a long time, the wind carrying the smell of rain and oil through the narrow alley.
Finally, Jayden said, "We can't stay. By dawn, this place will be crawling."
Layla nodded. "Then where?"
He looked past her, toward the horizon — the highway stretching west, endless and gray. "Farther. Always farther."
---
The Road Again
They left Merrindale before sunrise, walking the cracked asphalt until the town disappeared behind them.
The world ahead was wide, dangerous, and unknowable. But for the first time, Jayden didn't feel like he was running from something.
He was running toward something — even if he couldn't name it yet.
Layla fell into step beside him, her eyes fixed on the road.
"Do you think we'll ever stop running?" she asked.
Jayden's smile was tired but real. "Not yet. But one day, we'll run because we want to — not because we have to."
And as the first light of morning broke over the fields, it caught on the wet pavement like gold. For a second, the world didn't look like survival. It looked like hope.