City B, November 4th? Year 0 of the Great Collapse
Winter huffed, his breath curling in front of his face. The cold stung his face, but his senses remained sharp. He scanned the path ahead, his fingers brushing the handle of his machete, ready for any threat. The world around them was silent, save for the crunch of their boots against the frostbitten dirt.
Behind him, Zara trudged awkwardly, her steps uneven, her breath coming in soft, uneven puffs. Winter glanced back briefly, catching the clumsy way she shifted her weight with each step. She kept tugging at her coat, pulling it tightly around her torso as if afraid of the chill seeping through.
As they passed a wrecked car, Winter's thoughts drifted to the last few days they'd spent holed up in an abandoned house.
Flashback
