By the third night west of Merrindale, hunger had outlasted pride.
Their rations were gone, their water half-empty, and the sky had turned the color of bruised metal. The highway stretched ahead like a wound that never healed.
Layla's pace slowed. "We can't keep walking forever."
Jayden didn't answer. He was counting fence posts, the way he used to count cell bars to keep sane. Each one was a mark between "then" and "now."
Then, somewhere beyond the next ridge, came laughter — soft at first, then rising with the wind.
Not the laughter of people who felt safe. The laughter of people who owned danger.
---
The Camp
They found it down a slope where the road split into dirt. Four people sat around a fire built from scrap wood and car parts. A fifth leaned against an old van, polishing a knife with easy rhythm.
No one reached for a weapon when Jayden and Layla stepped into the firelight — which somehow felt more threatening than if they had.
The man by the knife grinned first. "You two look like the kind of ghosts who forgot they're dead."
Jayden kept his hands visible. "Just passing through."
"Everybody's passing through," said a woman with a cigarette between her fingers. Her hair was shaved on one side, her eyes alert but kind. "Question is — through what?"
Layla spoke before Jayden could. "Hunger. Mostly."
The woman nodded, flicking her ash into the fire. "That, we can fix."
---
The Crew
They called themselves the Wayfarers, though the name sounded more poetic than they looked. There was Rook, the man with the knife; Cass, the cigarette woman; Gage, a heavyset guy with a mechanic's hands and a medic's calm; and Lumen, a quiet teenager with burn scars tracing his arms like lightning.
They moved like family but spoke like soldiers.
Cass tossed Layla a dented can of beans. "Dinner's bad, but it's honest."
Layla caught it, half-smiling. "I've eaten worse."
Rook chuckled. "Then you've lived."
Jayden sat a little apart, still studying their rhythm — who deferred to who, where the weapons were hidden, how their eyes flicked to every sound. He wasn't sure if he trusted them, but he couldn't ignore how alive they seemed.
People who'd escaped long ago and learned to stay free.
---
The Lesson in Freedom
When night deepened, Cass passed around a bottle of something sharp.
"To being forgotten," she said.
They drank.
Jayden coughed at the burn. "You all been out here long?"
Rook smirked. "Long enough to know freedom ain't about fences. It's about appetite. You eat what you want. You take what you need."
Layla frowned. "From who?"
"From the world," Cass said simply. "You think it owes you something?"
Jayden leaned forward. "Maybe not. But I've spent my whole life fighting to take less."
Rook's smile widened. "Then maybe that's why the world's been eating you alive."
The firelight made his teeth gleam — not cruel, just certain.
---
The Deal
By morning, Gage offered them a ride.
"Grayford's too far to walk," he said. "We're heading that way for supplies anyway. You help keep watch, you eat with us."
Jayden hesitated. He knew deals like this — the kind that started fair and ended with blood.
But Layla's look said it all: We need this.
So he nodded.
They rode in the back of the van, surrounded by crates of scavenged parts and old clothes. The hum of the road filled the space between them. Cass sat in the front seat, radio humming low.
She glanced at them in the rearview mirror. "You two got names?"
Jayden paused. "No one you'd recognize."
Cass smirked. "Smart boy."
---
The Stop
They pulled into an old truck stop that afternoon — the kind where the pumps were gone and the convenience store was just a hollow shell.
The Wayfarers moved like they'd done this a hundred times. Rook and Lumen took lookout. Cass and Gage went inside.
Layla followed Jayden as he circled the perimeter. "They're too comfortable," she whispered.
"They've survived this long. That takes comfort."
"No," she said. "That takes ruthlessness."
Before he could respond, a shout came from inside the store.
Jayden ran in.
Cass was holding a man by the collar — a young drifter, scrawny, terrified. A bag of food spilled at his feet.
"Caught him lifting from our stash," she said.
The boy stammered, "I just needed—"
Rook appeared in the doorway, spinning his knife lazily. "Need's a funny word. You think he needs a hand to steal with?"
Layla stepped between them before she could think. "He's a kid."
Rook grinned. "So were we, once."
Jayden's voice came out low. "Let him go."
Cass's eyes flicked from him to Layla, then back to the boy. After a long moment, she shoved him away. "Run."
The boy didn't hesitate.
Rook sheathed his knife, smirking. "You two got big hearts. Careful — out here, that's just another target."
---
The Split
That night, the Wayfarers parked near the edge of Grayford.
Cass tossed Jayden a half-empty gas can. "You're good people, Jay. That's rare. But don't mistake kindness for survival."
Jayden nodded. "Thanks for the ride."
Rook lit another cigarette. "You sure you want to walk from here? Grayford ain't friendly."
Jayden smiled. "Neither are we."
Cass chuckled, shaking her head. "Then maybe you'll make it."
The van rolled away, its taillights fading into the horizon.
Layla watched until it was gone. "You think they're wrong?"
Jayden adjusted his pack. "About what?"
"Kindness."
He thought about it — Ortiz, the strangers who'd helped, the people who hadn't.
"No," he said finally. "They're just afraid of the part of themselves that still remembers it."
They started walking again, the highway stretching out before them like a scar that hadn't finished healing.
Above them, the stars flickered — not kind, not cruel. Just watching.