The midday sun burns brightly as I break past the treeline.

The city is far behind me, a distant silhouette where the green-coated skyscrapers stand against the blue sky, like towering relics of a world that no longer exists.

Without pausing, I shift my backpack, slipping one arm out of the strap and swinging it around to rest on my stomach. I keep scanning my surroundings as I step on the unfamiliar road and reach into the backpack, pulling out one of the cell phones and a memory card.

The piece highway I'm standing on— Thrown in the middle of the forest ——used to be the start of the long road when it was still connected to the city. But like a teenager going through growth spurts, the Earth itself has expanded. Massive stretches of forest have pushed cities apart, and entire seas have vanished, displaced to god knows where.

The highway beneath my feet is dry and cracked, the asphalt crumbling like sand with every step I take. "This may be a problem," I mutter to myself as I insert the memory card into the phone, the screen flickering to life.

[Starting a Fire]

[Sharpening Blades]

[Building a Tent]

[How to identify plants]

[...]

Cars litter the highway, showing the despair that gripped the world at the start of the apocalypse. In their frantic attempts to escape, people blocked every road and street, turning highways into oceans of abandoned vehicles when everything came to a halt.

I don't know how far this sea of rusted metal stretches, but from what the news said before satellites went dark, it spanned hundreds of miles.

The heat is relentless, pressing down on me and sapping my energy like a parasite as I glance at the phone screen and skim through the steps for carjacking— then quickly switch to a section on motorcycles.

A car, even if functional wouldn't get far with all the waste in the streets and wouldn't be capable of off-roading as well. A motorcycle can still be driven in many more ambients and situations than a car; at the small price of personal safety.

Sweat runs down my back like a river as I cautiously check a more well-off car. The glove box resists at first, then pops open with a dull creak. Inside, I find the usual detritus of a life left behind: trash, old receipts, and condom wrappers. Then, my fingers brush against something more solid—a broken phone, the screen shattered into a spiderweb of cracks and a cigarette pack

Leaning down on the burning seat, I examine the pack.

"I don't get why people started smoking cigarettes in plain 2025. Weed is available if you look hard enough, why would anyone go for rat poison?" I ask before shrugging at my question, pocketing the pack and broken cellphone.

"Not my problem."

Cigarettes, just like alcohol, still have value. People are always looking for an escape, and vices survive even when the world doesn't.

I move on, hopping over the hood of a rusted car as I continue my journey. The heat is oppressive, the sun burning down on the cracked asphalt, making the air shimmer with heatwaves.

Using the shadow from one of the trucks, I stop for a moment, getting a breather while using the shadow to read how to hotwire a motorcycle.

+++

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

A few hours go by when a shiny, older model motorcycle catches my eye. It’s partially buried under the collapsed roof of an RV, but the front end is mostly clear. I make my way over and crouch down next to it. The paint is chipped, and the handlebars are bent, but it might still be functional.

I pull the memory card from the phone and slip it into the backpack, then begin the process outlined in the tutorial. My fingers work methodically, disconnecting wires, crossing them, and hoping the bike will sputter to life.

But after several minutes of trying, the bike remains stubbornly silent.

"Figures," I mutter, wiping the sweat from my brow. My throat is dry and my shirt clings to my back, now drenched with sweat. Heat exhaustion is starting to creep in, and I know I need to cool down before it gets ugly.

I abandon the bike and focus on the rows of cars ahead. Most of them are nothing more than metal skeletons, stripped for parts or too damaged to be of any use. But a few look like they might still have some juice left in their batteries, and more importantly, working air conditioning.

I try the door of a nearby SUV—locked. A few stabs with a rock later, the window shatters, sending glass into the seat. I reach in and open the door, letting the hot, stale air gush out.

When the SUV goes from oven to just boiling hot, I sit in the driver's seat. I twist the key in the ignition, praying the battery isn’t dead. The engine groans, sputters, then humms to life. The blast of hot air from the vents is unbearable at first, but as I fiddle with the controls, the AC finally kicks in, sending a blessedly cool breeze across my face.

Leaning back, I let the cool air wash over me while my muscles relaxed for the first time since I left the city. The relief is almost overwhelming, and for a moment, I close my eyes, just focusing on my breathing.

The tightness in my chest eases, and the world feels slightly less hostile.

After a few minutes, I feel stable and safe enough to start changing.

Reaching into my backpack, I pull out a monster hide jacket. It’s lighter than what I’ve been wearing and should help keep the sun off my skin without making me overheat. I shrug off my sweat-soaked shirt and replace it with the jacket.

Next, I slide out of my monster-fur pants, swapping them for a pair of regular long pants. The fur is good for cold nights, but in this heat, it’s more of a liability. The cool air from the AC soothes the heat rash starting to form on my legs, and I sigh in relief as the fabric brushes against my skin.

I spend a little more time in the SUV, letting my body temperature drop and my mind clear.

With the AC still running, I reorganize everything in place and slide my backpack correctly again. Feeling somewhat renewed I take a final deep breath of the cool air before shutting off the engine and stepping out, back into the sun's harsh rays.

"Wait... Why am I so calm?" I ask out loud, noticing the glaring lack of anxiety coursing in my veins. This is a new place, and I've barely downed my pills, I should be at least a little anxious, "Why is everything so silent?"

The city was quiet, but it was never silent. Even during the anti-day, the sounds of Night-Stalkers and other hunters could always be heard. Out here, on the highway, the silence is different—deeper, more oppressive.

Only now does it dawn on me that, besides the hum of the SUV’s AC, there has been zero noise since I stepped onto the highway. No distant roars, no rustling leaves, not even the chirp of an insect. The world feels strangely still, as if it's been frozen in time.

I cup my hands around my mouth, hesitating for a moment before letting out a loud shout. "Hello!"

My voice echoes, bouncing off the rusting metal and shattered glass of the abandoned vehicles. The sound carries, warping as it travels down the highway until it fades into nothingness.

In the city, doing something like this would be inviting something to come find you. But here, with a smoke grenade in one hand and a flashbang in the other, I feel the strangest thing—utterly alone.

A shiver runs down my spine, and I feel a strange, unsettling sensation deep in my gut like something is caressing my insides, probing them with cold fingers.

My eyes dart around, scanning the stretching highway, the vehicles around me, and the green wall of the forest, but everything remains still. The feeling lingers, cold tendrils caressing my soft insides.

Something is watching me. I don't know why, but I can feel it leeching at me, watching me like a Greek barbecue.

I force myself to stay calm, but my pulse quickens as I kneel down beside the SUV, fumbling with the memory card as I insert it back into the phone. My hands are steady, but there’s a tension in my movements, a sense of urgency that wasn’t there before.

As the tutorial loads, I start searching for the information I need. My eyes flicker between the screen and the desolate highway, the strange sense of being watched growing stronger with each passing second.

Finally, the tutorial on siphoning fuel comes up, and I scan the instructions, memorizing the steps. The sun beats down mercilessly as I pop open the gas tank of the SUV and grab a length of tubing from my backpack. I work quickly, sliding the tube into the tank and attaching the other end to a small container.

With a deep inhale, I begin the process, sucking on the tube until the fuel starts flowing, the acrid taste fills my mouth before I let the gas pour into the container.

The sound of the liquid sloshing is unsettling loud in the silence.

When the container is full, I cap it and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, grimacing at the lingering taste of gasoline. The feeling of being watched only grows stronger, a prickling sensation on the back of my neck.

Instead, I stand up, scanning the highway with renewed focus.

As I approach a line of rusted cars, I spot an older model motorcycle hidden between two sedans. It’s in better shape than most of the other vehicles around, its paint only slightly faded, and its tires are still intact.

I quickly spin around, holding a flashbang in hand.

"AHA!"

But there’s nothing—no hidden stalker, no lurking threat. My attempt at a surprise attack gets no reaction, only a slight cringe from myself as the silence swallows my voice.

"Had to try," I mutter under my breath, lowering the flashbang.