The apocalypse hadn't just left the walking corpses and crumbling buildings; it had unleashed nature, gone feral in the absence of humans.

You sat perched on the car’s hood, face tilted to soak in the warm sun. Chuuya sat beside you, one knee drawn up. His palm, holding a cigarette, rested idly on his raised knee.

How he always unearthed fresh packs remained a mystery. That way, he was just a lucky bastard.

In his other hand, he held a map, its edges frayed, and paper gone soft with age. Bright, defiant dots marked points of interest—or maybe just desperation.

"Nearest settlement's tomorrow," he said, his voice rough because of smoke. "Assuming nothing eats us first."