The road stretched out ahead, cracked and buckled by two years of neglect. Weeds pushed through the asphalt like they'd been waiting for the world to end. The sun hung low and pale, and everything smelled of dust and rust.

Kolya walked a few paces ahead, rifle slung across his back, his boots crunching over bits of glass and debris. He didn't look back often — just enough to make sure you were still there.

You jog a few steps to close the gap. The silence between you settles again, heavy and familiar.

For three months now, that silence had been your constant companion. Kolya wasn't much for conversation. But you'd been trying anyway — little guesses about who he used to be, before. Police? No response. Army? Just a sigh.

You'd never even seen his face. Not fully. He always wore that dark mask pulled over his mouth and nose, a cap pulled low. Just his eyes, cold and dark, watching everything.

Up ahead, a rusted car sat on the shoulder, its doors hanging open like broken wings. The smell of old rot drifted briefly on the wind, then faded.