"I'm going to see what's up," Clara said, hopping out of the jeep, leaving the engine running. She strode ahead as somebody exited the battlewagon and approached a third person—a smartly dressed man who came from the roadside building. Andy watched them all converse, trying to read their lips, but he had never learned how to, so it stopped being entertaining pretty quick. The man in a suit was using a radio with a large antenna. He was armed with a slick military rifle, similar to the one Andy had taken from their employer's armory recently. When Clara returned, she jammed the jeep into reverse and turned around.
"What's up?" Andy asked.
"We can't go that way. The road's too dangerous."
"Really?"
"We're gonna have to make a detour."
"I don't mind dangerous," Andy said.
"Our employer does. We can't be getting slowed down fighting Fishfolk on the road."
"What's the problem then?"
"The problem is, I didn't plan for the change of route."
"You planned a route?"
"Of course I did."
"It's just east, isn't it?" Andy pointed.
Clara shook her head, concentrating on the maneuver. As she turned around, the battlewagon revved its engine and overtook them and the pickup trucks, putting their jeep at the rear.
"Cheeky," Andy said.
They passed back the way they came for thirty minutes, then took a detour right, off the established highway onto narrower paths.
"You take over," Clara said, taking the jeep out of gear and holding the wheel for Andy to climb over. Once they'd swapped seats, Andy switched the CD player off and swigged his hip flask for safe driving and good luck. Clara became absorbed in her wrist terminal while Andy took the reins, avoiding potholes, wreckages, and the occasional derelict building spilling onto the roadside. Ahead, the battlewagon carved a path with its horn-nosed dozer blade, battering aside any obstacles for them to follow in its wake.
Stubborn, shabby hedgerows finally gave way to the barren land. Their tires kicked up dust, and the air took on a mineral taste. There were no birds or insects, barely a breeze. Clara closed their windows and turned off the AC. A patch of black, like tar, was baked into the road beneath an animal skeleton. Scraps of desiccated flesh clung to its bones.
"Boring one, this," Andy said. "What is it, dust?"
"An apocalypse of famine," Clara corrected.
"Dust-ocalypse. Death by boredom. I can't wait for the zombies."
"You know, there might not be much to shoot once we reach the city."
"You're kidding me?" Andy said aghast.
"The mission is search and rescue, essentially. And a lot of the reports suggest that the zombies are slow and docile."
"Oh no, come on. Seriously?"
"This is about professionalism, Andy, not a kill-count. We have a job to do."
"If they're some slow-ass Walking Dead Zs, I'm going to be really disappointed." He had promised Julie some killing. She'd be awfully upset with him if he couldn't deliver.
The famine spread for miles. They drove slowly around the outskirts of an old town, deserted and dry, passed by hours of desolate farmland, dried-up trenches, and stagnant reservoirs. Occasionally, an obstacle would turn them around and they would have to find a different route, and each time, the battlewagon took point. After a while, they switched drivers again and Andy kicked his legs up on the dashboard.
There was no telling what had caused the famine apocalypse, but as the sun set behind them, they discovered what had stopped it from spreading. On the horizon, a grey sky loomed over an untamed jungle. Creeping plants carpeted the dry earth in patches along the roadside, scraggly tufts bursting through the cracked ground. The moist smell of vegetation carried on a migrating wind. Clara caught up to the battlewagon and flashed their headlights, then pulled over.
"Refill," she said, hopping out and grabbing a fuel canister from the boot. They weren't empty yet, but now was probably a good time to top up before heading into the jungle.
Ahead, the passenger-side doors opened on the battlewagon and a man dressed in a tracksuit and hoodie jumped out into the beam of their headlights. He looked old, with scraggly blonde hair, wearing a sidearm at his hip and a large hunting knife.
"Not too scared to travel through the night, are you?" The man approached and put his hand on their jeep's bonnet.
"Is that what it looks like?" Clara said, sloshing the fuel canister to emphasize her point. "Although now you mention it, perhaps we should take a break and continue at first light."
"Killer plants, that's what our terminals say." The man walked past Andy, approaching his sister, hands in his pockets. Andy eyed him in the wing mirror.
Clara screwed the fuel cap back on. "Carnivorous plants, class unknown. We don't have much information on the zone, unless you have better maps than the Visionaries."
"Class nuttin'. The Trojan can plough through grass. We're not scared of a little vegetation."
Clara threw the canister back in the boot and walked around to the driver's side. "It's going to be a lot easier during the day."
"You ain't seen what we got yet," the man said, returning to his vehicle. "Just keep following us."
Clara scoffed, climbed back in, and started the engine. "Trojan. What a stupid name."
"Is that what they called their battlewagon?" Andy asked.
"Yeah."
"Huh, pretty cool. Why didn't we name our jeep?"
"She has a name," Clara said, patting the steering wheel affectionately. "Hillary."
Andy winced. "Why not something cool?"
"You can't talk."
"What?"
"Naming your revolver Duewy."
"It's Julie," Andy said. "Don't be rude."
It took them a further hour to reach the edge of the jungle proper. A wall of plant life rose above them like a great wave, obscuring the night sky above. Mulch churned under their wheels as they dove into the jungle, slowly swallowed alive. Their vision was reduced to just a few meters around them illuminated by their headlamps. An exotic array of plants climbed atop one another, grasping for the sky. Wiry moss with tiny blue flowers clung to a derelict vehicle, defying gravity. A tree had been usurped by vines, now lay decaying and covered in fungi. Umbrella leaves greedily shaded entire swaths of the jungle, while palm trees stood tall like arrows amongst the undergrowth. Their jeep rocked on its suspension over the cluttered roads, following the Trojan battlewagon on and on into the thick of it.