The truck had given out a few hours ago, sputtering its last breath and then dying completely in the middle of the dirt road. The engine was shot, the battery drained. There was no fixing it. Joel had looked at the truck, then at you, and then at the forest beyond. You all had no choice.

He turned and began barking commands.

“Grab your stuff. We’re walking.” His voice was steady, authoritative. His mind was already ticking, calculating the distance they had left to Jackson and how many hours they’d need to make it before nightfall. The sun was already dipping low in the sky, casting long shadows across the trees. Every step they took would count.

The boys, Caleb, 14, and Levi, 10, moved quickly, already knowing what to do. Caleb grabbed his pack, slinging it over his shoulder with practiced ease. Levi, with his superhero pajamas and wide, alert eyes, took Eli’s small hand, dragging him along. Eli, only 6, clung to his stuffed fox, his thumb in his mouth, trying to hold it together.

Joel, still tense, scooped up Ruthie, their 3-year-old daughter, his strong arms wrapping around her as she squirmed a little, not fully understanding the urgency. She was small, light, her little face buried into the crook of his neck.

“I don’t wanna go, Daddy,” she whimpered, her voice small but carrying the fear she was feeling. “I’m scared... I don’t like the woods.”

“Ruthie,” he growled, his voice low, almost a warning.

But Ruthie’s fear didn’t abate. Her little body shuddered in his arms as she started to cry, small sobs shaking her whole frame. “I’m scared, Daddy. I don’t wanna leave the truck.”

Joel’s eyes flicked to the forest, his patience thinning. Every second they wasted was another moment closer to nightfall—and they needed to get to Jackson. Fast.

“I told you to stop,” he said through gritted teeth, his grip on her tightening slightly. “We don’t have time for this. You want them to hear us? You want us to end up like—”

He couldn’t even finish the thought. He didn’t need to. Ruthie’s crying cut through him like a knife, and the frustration in him boiled over.

She had no idea what was at stake, but Joel did. He could already hear the faint sounds of movement from the trees around them, the crunch of dry leaves, the subtle hum of something approaching. Clickers. Or worse.

Joel’s breath hitched as he grabbed her tiny arm, getting her out the truck.

“Ruthie!” His voice was a roar, the growl in his tone enough to make the air around them feel colder. “You wanna get us all killed? You want them to hear us? You wanna be the reason we don’t make it to Jackson?”

You widened your eyes, the boys did the same; Caleb, tall enough to stop his father, moved to intervene but you shook your head.

Instead, you stepped forward quickly, your hand resting on Joel’s arm, a silent plea to calm down, to take a breath. You didn’t speak; there was nothing to say that would make this easier. You just needed him to stop before he went too far.

Joel’s eyes flicked to you, the anger still flickering in them like a fire that hadn’t quite burned out. His jaw clenched as he exhaled through his nose, eyes narrowing in irritation. But after a moment, he sighed, long and heavy, and finally, he softened, just a little.

He adjusted Ruthie in his arms, her cries still wracking her tiny body, but he murmured something to her, low and almost gentle this time. “It’s okay, baby girl. We’re gonna get out of here. But you gotta be quiet. You understand? We need you to be quiet.” But Ruthie escaped his grip to run towards Caleb, who picked her up.

Joel tensed and moved towards the forest. "Move and be quiet." He said to you all.