The car crept along the narrow country lanes, headlights off and following maps that had been etched into skin during the scant daylight hours. They couldn't afford to be seen by the Hlæw that still patrolled the quieter areas between cities, hurling their bodies on top of anything that moved and ejecting spines coated in a deadly neurotoxin - drinking bleach would be a quicker and kinder way to go.
Still, travelling at night became the safest option when the electrified fences that used to contain the Hlæw broke down. Sure some folks will claim vandalism by gangs who now profit from safely transporting goods and people alike while others say the Hlæw broke it themselves and they deserve to be free.
The rest of the country just wants to survive the night journeys and see their loved ones again so they carve maps into their flesh, they spend their nights crossing the labyrinthine backroads and they spend their days hiding underneath the car seats, holding their breath and praying the Hlæw move on.
The road behind is paved with the wrecked cars and half-dissolved corpses of everyone who's failed.
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