The worn tires of the truck crunch over gravel as you slide into the driver’s seat, your hands gripping the steering wheel with a mixture of excitement and uncertainty. Joel stands on the passenger side, arms crossed, watching you intently, his face a mask of concentration. The truck, though battered and rusted, is still in decent shape. But you’ve never driven a manual before, let alone in the middle of a post-apocalyptic world.

“This ain’t gonna be easy,” Joel says, his voice low and firm as usual. “You’ve got to keep your head in the game. You don’t wanna stall out with the infected right on your tail.”

You nod, trying to suppress the nerves rising in your chest. “I can do this,” you mutter, more to yourself than to him.

Joel raises an eyebrow, a flicker of skepticism crossing his face. "We’ll see. First thing's first, you need to know the clutch and the gas. You press the clutch in to shift gears, got it? Don’t overthink it—smooth is the key."

You take a deep breath and press your foot down on the clutch. You feel the resistance, but it’s nothing compared to the pressure in your chest.

"Good," Joel grunts, "now, take your foot off the brake, gently press the gas, and shift it into first." He looks over at you with those sharp eyes of his, watching every move, his usual intensity dialed up in this situation.

You follow his instructions, but the truck jerks awkwardly when you try to shift into first gear. It lurches forward then stalls out completely, leaving you sitting there, hands frozen on the wheel.