Page 13 of Sick(ness)

Sawyer’s mouth curved faintly. “Always keep the tank full. Never know when the world’s gonna end.”

It should’ve been a joke. It wasn’t.

He shifted into gear, the truck rumbling softly beneath them as they rolled forward through the empty street. The wind pressed against the windows, scattering loose trash across the road in tumbling spirals.

Addy looked out at the town shrinking behind them, the cracked sidewalks, the dark windows, the little corner store with its door still hanging open—and sensed something like grief, or possibly guilt, twist in her chest.

This had been her home. Her life. Her before.

And now it was just another place they were leaving behind.

She thought about the “they” part—about how strange it was to think of herself as part of a “we” again. Days ago, she’d been alone in her dark apartment, counting cans and rationing hope. Now she was in a truck with a man whose name she barely knew, trusting him to guide her through a world that had stopped making sense.

Who was this person she was traveling with? This man who seemed to know what to do when she could barely remember what day it was?

Addy turned slightly, studying him from the corner of her eye. His posture was steady, one hand resting loosely on the wheel, the other tapping absently against his thigh in time with the uneven rumble of the truck. He looked like someone who belonged on the road—dark hair slightly overgrown, jaw shadowed with stubble, and that crooked nose that made him seem both rugged and real. His eyes, sharp and focused, scanned the horizon even when the road ahead was empty.

Finally, she asked, hesitant. “You were ready for this. For all of this. How? Did you… know something was coming?”

Sawyer didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched, filled only by the engine’s low rumble and the rattle of loose debris skittering across the pavement. Then, without looking at her, he said, “My folks were the type who planned for everything. Hurricanes, blackouts, riots, you name it. We lived out in the country, so it made sense. But after a while, it wasn’t just a precaution. It was a way of life.”

He adjusted his grip on the wheel. “I joined the Navy right out of high school. Special forces for a while. Got used to worst-case scenarios. After that… nothing really surprised me anymore.”

Addy listened quietly, the pieces of him starting to fit together: the calm under pressure, the precision in his movements, the quiet way he checked corners without seeming to think about it. It wasn’t paranoia. It was training.

“That’s why you had supplies,” she said softly. “The food. Water. The… everything.”

“Yeah,” he gave a small nod. “You learn fast that waiting for help isn’t a plan. You either prepare, or you don’t make it.”

Addy looked out the window again, watching as the town fell farther behind them: the cracked storefronts, the frost-coated trees, the empty crosswalks that once led to lives that no longer existed.

“I wasn’t prepared,” she admitted. “Not for any of it. I thought it would blow over. A few weeks of closures, then back to normal.”

Sawyer glanced at her briefly. “Most people did.”

His tone wasn’t judgmental, just factual. But something in it made her throat tighten. She wondered how many times he’d seen this: people too slow to realize the world had already shifted beneath them.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable this time. It felt… steady. Like a fragile truce between fear and survival.

They drove on, the truck’s old engine growling low as it cut through the empty streets. The world outside slid past in muted shades of gray and brown, the occasional swirl of wind lifting scraps of trash that danced briefly before disappearing into the cold.

Every few miles, Sawyer would slow down and pull over beside an abandoned car. Addy watched as he moved with practiced precision—checking under hoods, prying open gas caps, working a small rubber hose into the tanks. He’d crouch low, listening for that faint “glug” that meant he’d struck something worth the effort. Then came the steady pull of the siphon, the stream of fuel trickling into a red plastic can.

She stood a few feet away, her gloved hands shoved deep into her coat pockets, breath fogging through her mask as she kept watch. It amazed her how calm he seemed, how sure, how methodical. Every movement was efficient; no hesitation, no wasted effort. He’d clearly done this before, maybe not in this exact nightmare, but in enough bad places that it didn’t shake him.

“You make that look easy,” she said quietly as he straightened up, tightening the lid on the gas can.

He shot her a quick glance, the faintest shadow of a smile beneath his mask. “Practice. And luck.” He wiped his hands on a rag. “Usually more luck.”

They kept moving. Sometimes they’d spot movement far off—a figure darting between buildings, or the faint flicker of light from a window, but they didn’t stop. Sawyer always steered them clear, eyes narrowing, posture tightening just slightly until the shape was gone. Addy didn’t ask questions. She could read enough in his silence.

As the miles stretched, the empty roads gave way to the outskirts of town, fields of dead corn stalks bowed under frost, and driveways leading to houses that looked swallowed by quiet. The sun was little more than a pale smudge behind the clouds, the air sharp with cold and the faint metallic tang of decay.

“Keep your head down if we see anyone close,” Sawyer said after a while, his voice low but steady. “People get desperate when everything collapses. Desperation’s worse than the virus.”

Addy frowned, glancing at him. “You mean they’d… hurt us?”

He didn’t look at her, just kept his eyes on the road. “Some would. Not all. But enough that it doesn’t matter. When there’s no law, when food runs out and no one’s coming to save you… people start doing things they never thought they could.”