The thick wheels of the truck edged over the red-stained tarmac, softly crunching with every millimetre gained. The odd snap of bone-on-tyre cracked through the air like a sniper, but they were not travelling through a warzone, it was a graveyard. Row upon row of cars, either hastily abandoned by their living occupants, or now eternal coffins for the dead. Every main road was like this now, a maze of metal, near impossible to complete.
Dawson eased her boot down onto the accelerator for what felt like the thousandth time that day, creeping forward an extra yard or so before hitting the break once more and waiting for the others to clear another path.
She glanced up at the great, dirty signs hanging high above the road: '70' they read.
"We'll be lucky to do seventy metres at this rate
