Inside the jeep, the air was so still that the steady hum of the engine was clearly audible.
The night wind blew through the half-shattered window, carrying the scent of dried blood and dust. Thuong Sinh kept one hand on the steering wheel while the other rested loosely by the window, his gaze fixed on the dark road ahead.
He said nothing.
The woman in the passenger seat remained silent as well. She clutched her backpack tightly to her chest, her body leaning back instinctively as if trying to maintain a subconscious distance. The little girl in the back curled her legs up, gripping her bag straps tightly, her eyes stealing glances at the back of the front seat.
The silence stretched on. Too long.
Thuong Sinh frowned slightly. It wasn't because he was annoyed... it was because this feeling was too strange. Since the Apocalypse broke out, he had grown accustomed to roars, the clashing of metal, and the stench of blood. Suddenly sitting in a car with living people nearby—yet no one speaking—made him feel a bit... out of place.
The woman finally spoke. Her voice wasn't loud, slightly raspy from tension.
"Would you... like something to eat?"
She carefully opened her backpack and took out a sealed package of biscuits and a dented bottle of mineral water. "I have a little food left, not much... but you must be tired from driving."
Thuong Sinh glanced over. After a brief pause, he shook his head.
"No need." His voice was calm—not cold, but carrying a hint of appreciation.
The woman froze, the biscuits hanging in mid-air. She quickly pulled her hand back, looking a bit embarrassed.
"Ah... sorry."
"It's not that," Thuong Sinh continued, his eyes still on the road. "Food is precious in the Apocalypse. Keep it for your child."
Hearing this, the little girl in the back looked up. Her large eyes were fearful but remarkably clear. The woman pursed her lips and eventually let out a soft breath, as if to reassure herself. She adjusted her posture and took the initiative to speak again.
"Thank you, anyway. If not for you, the two of us would have..." She didn't finish the sentence.
Thuong Sinh didn't reply. The woman hesitated for a moment, then lowered her voice.
"My name is Lam Uyen. And this is my daughter, Tran Nghien."
Hearing her name, the girl sat up straight, her hands folded neatly on her knees. Though her face was pale, she bowed politely.
"Hello... Uncle." Her voice was small but clear.
"....."
Uncle? Thuong Sinh tilted his head slightly, glancing at the rearview mirror. His gaze lingered on the girl for half a second before he gave a slight nod.
"Hello."
Just one word, but it was enough. The girl clearly sighed in relief, her shoulders relaxing a bit. Seeing this reaction, Lam Uyen felt much lighter. She gathered more courage.
"What is... your name?"
This time, Thuong Sinh didn't remain silent for long.
"Thuong Sinh," he said briefly.
"Thuong Sinh?" Lam Uyen repeated, nodding. "That's a very nice name."
Thuong Sinh didn't respond to the compliment. He looked at the road ahead, his voice steady. "I'm also heading south. I heard... there's a military zone still operating down there."
The atmosphere in the car shifted instantly. Lam Uyen froze, her eyes lighting up visibly.
"Really? You heard that too? We were planning to find a way south, but we didn't have a car, and we didn't dare travel at night..." She spoke a bit faster, but realizing she was talking too much, she stopped abruptly. "I mean... if it's convenient..."
"I can't guarantee safety," Thuong Sinh said first, still looking forward. "We'll encounter zombies on the road, maybe even people. Traveling with me means taking responsibility for yourselves."
It wasn't a warning; it was the truth. Lam Uyen gripped her bag straps, went silent for a few seconds, then nodded firmly.
"I understand."
Tran Nghien said nothing, merely looking ahead, her eyes reflecting the long-extinguished streetlights.
The jeep continued southward. In the darkness, three strangers shared a vehicle, each carrying a different fear. Thuong Sinh, with a steady hand on the wheel and a cold, sharp gaze, didn't know if this was the right or wrong decision.
Night eventually swallowed the road ahead. The jeep roared out of the inner city area; the streetlights grew sparse then vanished entirely. Ruined buildings were left behind, replaced by an old asphalt road stretching straight into the distance. Plains lay on either side. Further off, weeds swayed in the night. Past the plains, the shadows of trees began to thicken—low forests and dense thickets obstructing the sky.
There was only one road—no turns, no lights, no signs of life. Inside the car, no one spoke. The engine's hum and the sound of tires on the pavement became the only soundtrack. Lam Uyen sat in the passenger seat clutching her bag, occasionally glancing at the mirrors. In the back, Tran Nghien curled up, her forehead leaning against the cold glass.
Thuong Sinh kept his hands on the wheel. He didn't talk—not out of coldness, but because he didn't know what to say. After another hour of driving, the fuel gauge dipped low. He glanced at the dashboard, then at the road ahead, which was being consumed by the forest. The darkness was so thick the headlights only illuminated a few dozen meters.
He slowly decelerated. "We'll rest here for the night."
His voice rang out, not loud but clear. Lam Uyen was slightly startled and turned to look at him. A moment later, she nodded. The jeep turned off the main road, stopping at a small clearing near the edge of the forest.
The engine died, and silence rushed in almost immediately. It wasn't a pleasant quiet, but the kind of silence that made one hold their breath to listen for the wind or the rustle of insects. Thuong Sinh got out first. He stood for a while, his eyes adjusting to the dark, his hand resting on the hilt of the sword hidden under the cloth. Confirming there was no movement, he signaled.
"Get out."
Lam Uyen led the girl out, her movements very light, as if afraid of waking the forest. He switched on a flashlight attached to his belt, illuminating the surrounding woods, low trees, and thickets. Dry leaves lay thick underfoot. There were no signs of movement within the beam's reach.
Thuong Sinh clicked off the light and said briefly: "Stay near the car."
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and stepped into the forest's edge.
While the day was sweltering, the temperature dropped quickly at night in this region. The night wind carried a chill that seeped through thin clothes—especially dangerous for a child who could easily fall ill. A campfire was necessary, not just for warmth, but to maintain body heat and keep spirits sharp.
Thuong Sinh only picked up dry, fallen branches—dark-barked and easy to ignite. Ten minutes later, he had gathered a sufficient bundle of wood. Not much, but enough for a small fire to last until morning.
Returning to the clearing, he saw Lam Uyen sitting close to the car with the girl, her eyes constantly searching the forest. Seeing Thuong Sinh return, her gaze relaxed slightly. He set the wood down and carefully arranged it, not building a massive blaze, but a low fire meant to radiate heat within a few meters.
The fire caught. The pale orange flames flickered, chasing away some of the cold. The air immediately felt different—warmer, more alive, and less terrifying. Tran Nghien stared at the flames, her eyes reflecting the dancing light. Lam Uyen pulled her daughter's coat tighter and whispered:
"Thank you."
Thuong Sinh didn't answer. He sat down at the edge of the firelight, facing the forest entrance—one side in the light, the other in the dark. If anything approached, he would be the first to see it.
In this rare, brief moment, the world seemed to slow down. No more roars, no more pursuit—only three survivors.