On the highway.
Brian drove the bullet-riddled car at a steady speed.
Both side mirrors had been shot off during the escape, forcing him to rely solely on the rearview mirror to watch for pursuers.
After covering a few hundred yards with no sign of military trucks behind them, Brian finally allowed himself to relax.
He glanced at Sarah, who was still curled up in her seat.
“You can get up now.
They’re not coming.” Sarah stirred, sat up, and looked around.
The open highway stretched before them.
She exhaled in relief and patted her chest.
The whole thing had felt like something out of a movie.
Then she noticed Brian’s face and arms.
Covered in blood.
She gasped.
“You’re hurt!
Did you get shot?” Brian looked down at himself.
With the adrenaline gone, the pain hit him all at once.
His body ached.
His energy was drained.
He felt terrible.
Shards of glass had left cuts all over him.
A burning sensation on his right cheek told him a bullet had grazed him there.
He shuddered at the thought.
That had been reckless.
If his luck had run out, he’d be dead right now.
“I’m fine.
No bullet wounds.
Let’s keep moving.
We’ll deal with this when we find a safe spot.” Sarah wanted to argue, but she held her tongue.
She pulled a pack of tissues from her bag and started dabbing at his wounds, wiping away the blood.
The cracked windshield made it hard to see, but the highway was empty.
Brian drove for another half hour before Sarah finally convinced him to pull over on the shoulder.
“You’re insane.
That was the stupidest thing you could’ve done.” Sarah carefully picked glass fragments out of his cuts, her face blank.
She cleaned the wounds with alcohol, watching him wince in pain before softening her tone.
“Do you have any idea how reckless that was?” Brian offered a weak smile.
“Yeah.
I got carried away.
We were so close to getting out of there.
I just wanted to be done with it.
I’m sorry.” Sarah heard the sincerity in his voice and let it go.
She wrapped a bandage around his arm, tying it off with a simple knot.
She didn’t fully understand her feelings for Brian.
At some point, she’d started depending on him.
She didn’t want to see him hurt.
Watching him risk his life like that had made her furious.
Brian flexed his bandaged arm and examined the shot-up car.
“We’re going to need a new ride.” He walked to the front of the vehicle and noticed something wedged under the wiper blade—a clipboard with a few sheets of paper.
With the windshield shattered, he hadn’t spotted it while driving.
He pulled it free and flipped through it.
It was a military log.
He read aloud: 6:10 AM — Departed southern camp en route to northern checkpoint.
7:03 AM — Arrived at northern checkpoint.
Initiated lockdown procedures.
That was it.
The log had just been started.
Then he read the final line at the bottom, under the heading “Mission Objective.” His expression darkened.
Block all entry and exit points.
Neutralize all infected zones without exception.
He’d suspected as much.
Now he had confirmation.
Back on the road, Brian shared what he’d found.
Sarah read the log herself.
Neither spoke.
The weight of the military’s plans hung between them, and the car fell into a heavy silence.
American highways were mostly toll-free.
If you needed gas, food, or rest, you had to exit.
After another half hour of driving, Brian spotted a sign for a service stop.
He took the exit without hesitation.
Not far from the highway was a rest area—a standard setup with a gas station, a diner, and a convenience store.
Across the road sat a small motel.
In the distance, they could just make out the outline of a nearby town.
But both the service stop and the motel were in shambles.
Signs of infected activity were everywhere.
Brian pulled the car to the side of the road and grabbed his gear—pistols, a crowbar, and the knife he’d given Sarah.
The assault rifle was empty, useless now.
They skipped the service stop, which had more visible supplies, and headed straight for the motel across the road.
Their immediate need wasn’t food.
It was a working vehicle.
The service station’s parking lot was empty, but the motel had several cars.
That made it their priority.
What they didn’t notice was the two figures watching them from inside the convenience store across the road, hidden in the shadows.
“A motorhome.” Brian spotted a white RV tucked into the far corner of the motel parking lot.
His eyes lit up.
That would be perfect.
It had beds, a bathroom, everything they’d need for the long trip ahead.
He considered it for a moment, then shook his head.
Too conspicuous.
Too slow.
It would attract the wrong kind of attention.
He started checking the other vehicles.
“All the doors are locked,” Sarah reported, after trying each one.
“There’s an office over there.
Keys should be inside.” Brian pointed to a small building near the road and led the way.
They approached the glass door cautiously.
The windows were shuttered, so they pressed their ears to the door, listening.
No infected sounds.
Brian pushed it open.
Inside was surprisingly clean—almost as if someone had been maintaining it.
Sarah frowned.
“Why is it so tidy?” “Maybe because the door was shut.” But Brian had already realized what that meant.
He gave Sarah a meaningful look and raised his pistol, moving toward a closed door at the back of the office.
Sarah caught on instantly.
She raised her own weapon and kept her voice casual.
“Never mind that.
Let’s just find the keys.” As she finished speaking, Brian reached the door and shoved it open.
Empty.
The room had rumpled sheets on the bed and a sleeping bag on the floor, but no one was there.
“Anyone inside?” Sarah called out from the front.
“Clear.” Brian crouched and pressed his hand into the mattress.
Still warm.
“Someone was here.
They left recently.” “Keys first, mysteries later.” Sarah climbed over the front desk and started searching.
Nothing.
She moved into the back room and rifled through drawers.
Finally, she found a small metal box inside the nightstand.
“Found them.”