Out of the city. It’s almost nightfall and we need shelter.

You ease up on the gas as the dead traffic lessens and the road becomes clearer. Small raptors chitter excitedly and run alongside your car, eyeing the tired meat inside - but the blades on the bandit’s car slice through those that get too close, spattering the glass with drops of blood.

You look to your right. Carmen tried her best to stay awake but once you were out of danger her tiredness took her over, and she was curled up in the passenger seat away from you, eyes closed and snoring lightly. Your eyes drift to her cargo pants that are hugging her bottom tightly, bouncing lightly with each bump in the road.

You shake your head and look back at the road. You hadn’t driven a car in almost five years - not for this long, anyway. It was a rule the old man had drilled into you.

Cars make smell, smoke, and noise - and these things have keen ears and noses. You can cover a fine distance, but you’ll be dead when your trail leads them right to you. Ser listo, Jonito.

Ser listo. Yeah. Sure. Thinking of his bearded old face still made your lip curl in distaste, but his lessons still held weight, and so you followed them all - until today. Don’t take stragglers. Don’t give up supplies. Don’t use vehicles. All rules that had been broken after a solid year of following them to perfection. Because of one girl.

You look at Carmen. All since you met her. And it hadn’t even been four hours. You can’t help but feel a dry voice in the back of your mind; an idea you can’t seem to let go. She was the reason you almost died more than once today. What would be the loss if you just… stopped the car? Kicked her out? She wasn’t your responsibility. And you’d stay the hell alive.