The fires of hatred and pain that burned all over the world from the beginning of the apocalypse only had their embers remaining.
People had died and passed away, raging zombies had dwindled in numbers, and wars had swallowed us all.
As always, the adaptive humans and the bitch fate had collaborated to make the apocalypse feel like something that was just as normal as traffic on a Monday morning.
Terrible.
Cracks littered the roads ahead of us all around. We had to climb over debris more than we could walk in a straight path.
Cars flipped over, charred remains of bodies and houses, the smell of blood.
Crows cawed with caution, sitting atop the exposed rebars. They flapped their wings into the red sky as we passed them by.
It was almost night. I could drive one, Max knew to drive too and while bad at it, Eclair could manage it as well. It would be best to let the others sleep and make our way to the port.
