The truck rolled steadily down the cracked highway, the engine's growl the only sound breaking the oppressive silence of the world around them. Curtis's fingers drummed idly on the steering wheel, his mind not fully present in the here and now. He glanced occasionally at the rearview mirror, watching the others in the back seat, who sat in a quiet, subdued state, each lost in their own thoughts. The world had changed, irrevocably, and they were still trying to piece together who they were in the midst of it all.
The dense Georgia trees stretched on both sides of the road, their shadows dark and heavy, like the world itself, suffocating under a blanket of uncertainty. Curtis couldn't help but think about what had come before, what had led them here. He had no way of knowing if things would ever go back to normal, but somehow, he didn't think they would. This wasn't just a new chapter of humanity's history—it was a brand-new story altogether, one that they would have to survive in, or be consumed by.
His grip on the steering wheel tightened. He wasn't sure if it was out of frustration or fear—probably both.
"Stop thinking so hard," Greg said from the back seat, his voice light, though there was an edge to it. "You're starting to look like a philosopher. You're making me nervous."
Curtis didn't respond right away. His focus remained straight ahead, but he could hear the amusement in Greg's tone. Greg had always had a knack for breaking tension with a well-timed comment. Curtis respected that about him. There was something to be said for being able to laugh in the face of all this destruction.
Jack, who sat next to Greg, raised an eyebrow. "Oh, are we talking about philosophy now? Because, let me tell you, I've got some thoughts. If we're talking about existentialism, I'm your guy."
Sarah, who had been quietly reading a map by the dim light streaming in through the truck's front window, snorted. "Oh, Jack, you're really not that deep. I think the only existential crisis you've had is trying to figure out how to get canned beans open without a can opener."
Curtis could hear the teasing tone in Sarah's voice, and it made him smile, just a little. A smile that didn't feel forced, even if it was fleeting.
"Yeah, I mean, survival is pretty existential in itself," Jack grumbled, though he had a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "We're all just trying to make it one day at a time, right?"
"Yeah, pretty much," Greg added, his voice turning more somber as he looked out the window, lost in thought. "I think we all had different expectations of what life would be like, back when everything was… normal."
The mood shifted, the light banter falling away as the weight of reality returned. Curtis kept his eyes on the road, though his thoughts began to wander again.
"Yeah, back when things made sense," Sarah said softly. "Before… well, before everything went to hell."
Jack shifted in his seat, his fingers tapping against his knee. "What happened? Like, what was the start of it all? Was it a virus? Some experiment gone wrong? I heard rumors, but… I don't know. I never really bought into the conspiracy theories."
"We'll never know," Curtis said gruffly, his voice low. "Whatever happened, it's beyond us now. What matters is what we do next."
The truck rumbled over a bump in the road, causing a brief silence to stretch between them. The others seemed to agree, but their unspoken thoughts lingered in the air, filling the space with an almost tangible tension.
Greg cleared his throat. "But it's hard not to wonder, right? What could've been done differently. What we missed. Was there some sign we overlooked?"
Curtis glanced at Greg, his mind still reeling. It wasn't a question that anyone could answer, not without a time machine. They were all left in the dark, picking through the wreckage of a world that had stopped making sense long before they had any chance to figure it out.
"We missed a lot of signs," Curtis said quietly. "But there's no use second-guessing it. The past is a ghost. All we have is now, and whatever comes next."
"Yeah, but… how long does that last?" Jack asked, his voice betraying an unease that Curtis hadn't expected from him. Jack had always seemed like the guy who cracked jokes to deflect anything serious, but there was a vulnerability beneath his bravado that Curtis couldn't ignore. "How long do we keep living like this? With no idea what's out there, no real plan? Just… hope?"
Curtis felt his gaze narrow, and for a moment, he considered Jack's words. They were uncomfortable, unsettling even. But they were honest. This wasn't just survival anymore—it was a game of endurance, of hoping that maybe tomorrow would be better than today. The fear of the unknown—of not knowing if this was going to end with a bullet in the brain or another day of scavenging—was always there, hanging in the background.
"Hope's a luxury," Curtis replied, keeping his voice steady. "It's a necessity, but it's not something we can always rely on. Some days, you have to push forward without it. You keep going because stopping isn't an option."
Silence followed his words, thick with the weight of the truth. It wasn't the kind of truth anyone wanted to hear, but it was a truth they had to live with.
Greg's voice broke through the quiet. "Yeah, I get that. But there's gotta be more to it than just surviving. You've gotta believe in something. Even if it's just something small."
Curtis didn't respond immediately. He hadn't really thought about belief in a long time. After everything he'd seen, after all the bloodshed, the death… believing in anything felt like an indulgence he couldn't afford. But that didn't mean Greg was wrong.
"What about you, Sarah?" Jack asked suddenly, his voice light again. "Do you believe in anything? Or are you just along for the ride?"
Sarah's laugh was soft, almost wistful. "I used to believe in a lot of things. A lot of stupid things. I thought this world was gonna be my oyster, that I had my whole life ahead of me." She paused, her voice faltering. "But now? I don't know. I think… I think it's just about holding on. You make it through today, and then you see what tomorrow brings."
"You don't think there's anything worth fighting for?" Greg pressed.
"I don't know what I'm fighting for anymore," Sarah admitted, her tone vulnerable. "But I'm still here, and that's gotta count for something."
Her words hung in the air for a long moment, and Curtis could feel the weight of them. It was the same for him. He didn't know what he was fighting for anymore. But he knew one thing: he couldn't just let the world collapse without doing whatever he could to help.
He wasn't sure if he believed in a cause, in some higher purpose, but he did believe in survival. He believed in keeping people alive, in doing whatever it took to make sure they had another day.
"We'll figure it out," Curtis said quietly, his voice rough but resolute. "One day at a time."
Greg and Jack both nodded, but Curtis could see that their eyes weren't on the road anymore. They were somewhere else, lost in the thoughts of what had happened to the world, to everything they had known.
The truck hummed steadily down the road, and for a moment, Curtis allowed himself to imagine what it would be like when they finally reached the outpost. Maybe they'd find something useful there. Maybe there would be something to give them a glimmer of hope, something that could push them through the next leg of their journey.
But then again, maybe they'd find nothing at all. The world had been empty for so long that Curtis had stopped expecting anything else.
Still, he wasn't going to give up hope. Not yet. Because without hope, they might as well be the walking dead themselves.