The sun crept slowly over the horizon, its light bleeding into the sky like a watercolor painting. Curtis sat on the hood of the truck, his elbows resting on his knees as he stared at the dawning day. The chill of the night still lingered in the air, but the heat of the day would soon take over, just as it always did. The world kept turning, indifferent to the chaos humans had created. The apocalypse had come and gone in a rush, but the earth—well, the earth simply kept moving.
He took a deep breath, inhaling the crisp morning air, and for a moment, he could almost forget that the world was on the brink of ruin. There were still remnants of the old world—flashes of normalcy, small comforts that brought the briefest of reprieves from the unrelenting reality of what they had become.
The sounds of the camp shifting around him broke the silence. Sarah was organizing their supplies, Greg was checking the truck's fuel level, and the other survivor, Jack, was muttering to himself as he tried to start a fire for breakfast. Curtis glanced at the group and felt a rare sense of camaraderie. They weren't family, not yet, but there was something about working with others to survive that made the burden of this new world a little easier to carry.
"Hey, Curtis," Greg called out as he approached, wiping his hands on a rag. "We're all set to go. Jack's ready with breakfast, and Sarah's got the map."
Curtis nodded and slid off the truck hood, stretching his legs. "Good. Let's move out. The sooner we get there, the better."
"Yeah, yeah," Jack said, clearly irritated. He was crouched beside the fire pit, fanning the embers with a stick. "I'm doing the best I can here."
"Careful, Jack," Sarah said, her tone light but with a trace of warning. "The fire might give us breakfast, but it'll give the walkers a nice little beacon too."
Jack muttered something under his breath but didn't argue further. Instead, he gave the fire one last blow and sighed in frustration when the flames finally started to lick the air.
"See?" he said, waving his hand toward the fire. "Breakfast is served." He produced a few cans of beans, cracked them open, and began to ladle the contents into an old pot.
"Beans," Curtis muttered dryly. He wasn't one to complain about food, but after days of eating little more than canned goods, he was ready for something a little less… bland.
Sarah, who had moved to join them, offered a wry smile. "What? Not a fan of gourmet campfire cooking?"
"I'm sure it's delicious," Curtis said, deadpan, "but I'd rather not make 'bean soup' my signature dish."
"I'm with you," Greg chimed in, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "If I have to eat one more can of beans, I might just start hunting squirrels for variety."
Sarah shot him a look. "Beans are nutritious. And they don't try to bite you."
"Yeah, but squirrels don't try to steal your last can of beans either," Greg countered with a grin.
Jack scowled. "Can we just eat? Some of us actually have work to do." He stirred the pot with more enthusiasm than necessary, splashing a little of the liquid out and onto the firewood.
Curtis chuckled at the banter, a rare sound that broke the usually tense air around him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd allowed himself to relax, to laugh at something as trivial as canned beans. But there was something oddly comforting about this small, shared moment—something normal in a world that had forgotten what normal even was.
Once the breakfast was ready, they ate quickly, making small talk as they shoveled beans into their mouths. The sun was rising higher now, and the temperature was beginning to climb. Curtis could feel the heat in the air, the oppressive weight of the day settling in, but he didn't let it distract him. He had a job to do.
"Alright, let's roll," Curtis said, standing and wiping his hands on his pants. He gave the group a quick nod before heading toward the truck. They followed him, albeit with more reluctance than he would've liked.
"Can we make a quick pit stop?" Jack asked, looking sheepish.
Curtis turned to him with an eyebrow raised. "What, now you need a bathroom break? It's not like there's a Starbucks around here, you know."
"Yeah, well, I was hoping for a little more privacy," Jack said, gesturing toward the woods.
Greg smirked. "Maybe we'll find a nice porta-potty along the way. Oh, wait, they don't exist anymore."
Curtis stifled a laugh. "Alright, fine. You've got ten minutes. But if we're not on the road in ten, I'll leave without you."
"Deal," Jack grumbled, heading toward the trees.
The other three shared an amused look, but Curtis's attention was already on the truck. He needed to stay focused. A mission was a mission, and nothing—especially not Jack's nature calls—was going to distract him from his goal.
While Jack was off doing his thing, Curtis went over the map again, studying the route to the military outpost. It wasn't far—maybe a couple of hours' drive—but he had no idea what they'd find when they got there. It could be another abandoned, empty outpost like the one near Macon, or it could be full of people—desperate, dangerous people.
"Think Jack will make it back in time?" Greg asked, leaning on the side of the truck.
Curtis glanced toward the trees. "If he's anything like the rest of us, he'll be back in five minutes, then claim it was an 'emergency.'"
Greg laughed. "You're probably right. He's got a talent for making things… dramatic."
"Must be nice," Curtis said dryly. "I don't have time for that kind of luxury."
"Well, maybe you should try it sometime," Sarah chimed in from the rear of the truck, her voice light. "You know, loosen up a little. Laugh once in a while. It's good for you."
Curtis turned to look at her, half expecting her to be serious. But when he saw the playful glint in her eye, he relaxed, if only for a moment.
"I laugh," he muttered, "just not at everything."
"Yeah, you've got the sense of humor of a brick wall," Greg teased. "But hey, we're all just trying to survive, right? Might as well do it with a little bit of humor."
Curtis considered that. "Surviving isn't a joke. It's a job."
"Fair enough," Greg said, nodding. "But if we can't laugh about this stuff, what's the point? You're right—surviving is serious. But sometimes, we need something to remind us that we're still human. Even if it's just a joke about squirrels and beans."
Curtis didn't answer right away, his eyes shifting to the horizon. Maybe Greg had a point. Maybe laughter wasn't just a waste of time. In this world, it was probably the closest thing to normalcy they had left.
Just then, Jack emerged from the woods, looking mildly disheveled but triumphant.
"All set," he said, wiping his hands on his pants as if nothing had happened.
Curtis didn't even try to hide his smile this time. "Good to know we're all on the same page."
Jack rolled his eyes, but even he couldn't help but chuckle.
"Alright, folks," Curtis said, climbing into the driver's seat, "Let's go find us some military supplies—or whatever's left of them."