The rain came down in a thick mist. The wipers tried to clear it away in metronome strokes that seemed to have hypnotised the child in the passenger seat, placating them for the first time in several hours of incessant chatter interrupted only by worryingly harsh fits of coughing.
There was no blood for now, that was a comforting thought in a world that had all but lost any comfort it had ever held for the two of them. Two strangers - no, survivors - and the beaten-up army van crammed full of every useful supply they'd managed to come across in their journey to the northernmost islands.
They were still safe, or so the radio had said before all the channels went silent at last. The mainland fell years ago and yet among all the smouldering ruins two people had found each other. Unfortunately illness had found the younger and only one of them might reach the islands but neither of them talked about that, preferring to fill the silence with trivial nothings or sit in a mix of quet hope and dread.
Not once did they consider that others might have heard the broadcast and gotten there long before them. After all, every car had a radio and the message went through every channel posible, playing for several days in a row. Others would have heard.
Not once did they consider that the island might have become full, overrun even, with illness following. After all, where there's people there's a dozen or so diseases waiting to thin out the population and doctors were in short supply at the end of days.
Not once did they consider that they could end up waiting at the docks for a ferry that would never come. By the time they finally got there, they found nineteen other vehicles like theirs only their supplies were all gone and their bones remained.
There was no blood for now, that was a comforting thought in a world that had all but lost any comfort it had ever held for the two of them. Two strangers - no, survivors - and the beaten-up army van crammed full of every useful supply they'd managed to come across in their journey to the northernmost islands.
They were still safe, or so the radio had said before all the channels went silent at last. The mainland fell years ago and yet among all the smouldering ruins two people had found each other. Unfortunately illness had found the younger and only one of them might reach the islands but neither of them talked about that, preferring to fill the silence with trivial nothings or sit in a mix of quet hope and dread.
Not once did they consider that others might have heard the broadcast and gotten there long before them. After all, every car had a radio and the message went through every channel posible, playing for several days in a row. Others would have heard.
Not once did they consider that the island might have become full, overrun even, with illness following. After all, where there's people there's a dozen or so diseases waiting to thin out the population and doctors were in short supply at the end of days.
Not once did they consider that they could end up waiting at the docks for a ferry that would never come. By the time they finally got there, they found nineteen other vehicles like theirs only their supplies were all gone and their bones remained.
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