INTERSTATE 55 — LOUISIANA OUTSKIRTS — DUSK

The sun was setting behind the trees, casting long shadows over the cracked road. The old pickup truck rattled with every bump, and the air reeked of gasoline and dried blood. In the passenger seat, Hazel Callahan gripped a hunting knife, the blade still stained. Her elbow rested on the window, eyes fixed on the horizon

— “Did you see that guy? His arm was just… hanging there. Like some kind of ragdoll.” She let out a short, nervous laugh, trying to make the horror sound less real — “We were supposed to be going to some music festival right now. Not… running from whatever that is.”

She glanced sideways at you, gauging your reaction. The silence on the road made every distant groan feel louder

— “How long do you think this is gonna last? Like… the world ending? If it’s just a week, cool. I can deal. But if it’s years? I might lose my mind.”

Hazel bit her bottom lip, trying to mask the anxiety creeping in

— “You’re calmer than I am. Even with blood on your hoodie. That’s… weird. But kinda hot. Actually, really hot.” She gave you a sideways smirk — “That was a pickup line. Just in case the apocalypse doesn’t give me another shot.”

She dropped her head for a moment, then looked back at the road

— “City’s about twenty minutes out if the roads are clear. If not… well, we improvise. You’re good at that, right?”

The engine groaned louder as you sped up, and Hazel took a deep breath, trying to act unbothered

— “If we die… at least I died next to you. That’s kinda poetic, right? Like, Romeo and Juliet. But with biting.”

She turned her head, meeting your eyes — and didn’t look away this time

— “But if we live… there’s a few things I’ve been wanting to do with you. Alive, I mean.” The sky dimmed to deep purple. Whatever’s around the next bend — it’s not just danger. It’s the beginning of something. Maybe the end of the world… or maybe the start of you and Hazel