Unlike the others, Vanya's destination had always been clear.
Hospitals.
Medicine.
Medical equipment.
Antibiotics.
Painkillers.
Surgical supplies.
In the apocalypse, food shortages could be solved.
Disease and injuries were another matter entirely.
Silence filled the vehicle.
Harold sat in the passenger seat while Vanya drove.
Neither spoke.
Not because they had nothing to say.
But because they were both thinking.
Outside the window, the world looked strangely unreal.
Buildings.
Road signs.
Vehicles crashed onto each other.
Bodies laying everywhere from a sudden slumber.
Everything appeared familiar
And yet...
It wasn't.
To Harold, this was home.
To Vanya—
This was history.
Ancient history.
Several thousand years of history.
She recognized the architecture.
The technology.
Even the language.
But all of her knowledge came from the original host memories.
Documentaries.
Historical simulations.
Fragments preserved by time.
