The black SUV was faster.
Alex realized that in the first ten seconds. The Winnebago's engine screamed at sixty miles per hour. The SUV closed the gap like it was standing still.
"How many?" Sarah asked. Her knuckles were white on the steering wheel.
"Three vehicles. SUV in front, two behind."
"Armed?"
"SUV has a gunner. Saw him yesterday."
Sarah swore. Ducked lower behind the wheel. "This thing got any armor?"
"No."
"Weapons?"
"A tire iron and your attitude."
She shot him a look that could curdle milk. "Funny. You're hilarious. We're gonna die laughing."
Alex ignored her. Pulled up his map.
The road stretched straight for miles. No turns. No cover. Just open asphalt and the occasional guardrail.
Behind them, the SUV's engine roared. A gunshot cracked the air. The bullet hit the road ten feet to their left.
"Next one won't miss," Sarah said.
"Keep driving."
"Where? There's nowhere to—"
Alex saw it. A break in the guardrail. A dirt road leading into a dried-out riverbed.
"There," he said, pointing. "Take that."
"That's not a road. That's a ditch."
"It's cover. Go."
Sarah wrenched the wheel. The RV tilted—forty-five degrees, then fifty—and bounced down the embankment.
Alex's teeth clacked together. The suspension groaned. Something in the back slid across the floor and crashed into the wall.
The dirt road was barely wide enough for the RV. Branches scraped the sides. Rocks pounded the undercarriage.
But the SUV couldn't follow.
Too wide. Too low. The first vehicle that tried would rip out its oil pan.
Alex watched the rearview mirror. The black SUV skidded to a stop at the top of the embankment. The gunner leaned out, took aim—
A shot. The rear window spiderwebbed but didn't shatter.
"Lucky," Sarah muttered.
"Drive faster."
---
The riverbed wound for two miles before opening into a clearing.
Alex killed the engine. Sarah slumped forward, forehead against the steering wheel.
"That was stupid," she said.
"It worked."
"This time."
He didn't argue.
They sat in silence for a minute. Two. The only sound was the ticking engine and their breathing.
Then Sarah sat up. Looked at him.
"You said they shot at you yesterday. Who are they?"
"Don't know. Saw them at a rest stop. They wanted the same crate I wanted."
"And you got it?"
"I got away. Barely."
She studied him. "You keep saying 'barely.' Starting to notice a pattern."
"The pattern is I'm still alive."
"That's a low bar."
"It's the only bar that matters."
Sarah shook her head. But she wasn't arguing.
She got out of the RV. Walked to the back. Inspected the spiderwebbed window.
"We need to fix this," she said. "One more hit and it's gone."
"You have glass?"
"I have a mechanic's brain and a tool kit. That's not the same thing."
Alex joined her. Looked at the window. The crack radiated from a central point—a bullet impact, stopped by something.
"Wait," he said. "This didn't shatter."
"No shit. I have eyes."
"It should have shattered. That's a rifle round at close range."
Sarah paused. Looked closer. Ran her finger along the crack.
"Huh," she said. "That's... huh."
"What?"
She pulled out her system screen. Scrolled through something. Frowned.
"Your RV," she said slowly. "When you got it, what did the system say?"
"F-Class. Lowest."
"Anything else?"
Alex thought back. The blue screen. The flickering lights. The smell.
"No," he said. "Just the basics."
Sarah turned her screen toward him.
```
[Vehicle Inspection – Winnebago Brave 1978]
Class: F (Base)
Hidden Modifier: "Reinforced Chassis" – Unknown origin.
Effect: +50% structural integrity. Does not appear in standard stats.
```
Alex stared at it.
"Hidden modifier," he said. "That's a thing?"
"Apparently." Sarah put her hands on her hips. Looked at the RV with new eyes. "Your piece-of-junk death trap has secret armor."
"Huh."
"That's all you have to say? 'Huh'?"
"I'm processing."
"Process faster. Because that bullet didn't bounce off magic. Someone built this RV to take a hit. And I want to know who."
---
They spent the next hour inventorying the RV.
Sarah crawled under the chassis. Checked the frame. The suspension. The places where metal met metal.
Alex searched the cabinets. The storage compartments. The spaces behind the panels.
They found:
· A hidden compartment under the bed (empty)
· Wiring that didn't match the original schematic (upgraded)
· A second fuel tank, disconnected (full)
· And a journal.
The journal was small. Leather-bound. Wedged behind the driver's seat.
Alex opened it.
The handwriting was small. Precise. Dated from before the Great Transfer.
Day 47: The chassis reinforcement is complete. She's not pretty, but she'll survive a hit that would crumple a civilian vehicle.
Day 52: Installed the second fuel tank. Range should be 600+ miles now. If I ever find the right connector, it'll be online.
Day 60: They're getting closer. I can feel it. I need to finish the—
The entry stopped mid-sentence.
Alex flipped through the rest of the pages. Blank.
"Previous owner," Sarah said. She was standing in the doorway, wiping grease off her hands.
"Looks like."
"They knew something was coming. They built this RV to survive it."
"And then they disappeared."
Sarah nodded slowly. "Or they're still out there. Somewhere."
Alex closed the journal. Put it in his jacket pocket.
"One problem at a time," he said. "Right now, we have a crew in an SUV who want us dead. Everything else comes second."
"You're not curious?"
"Curious gets you killed. Focus keeps you alive."
Sarah stared at him for a long moment. Then she shrugged.
"Fine. But when we survive this—and I'm not saying we will—I'm finding out who built your rolling trash heap."
"It's a deal."
---
They drove again at dusk.
The SUV was gone—for now. Alex didn't believe for a second that they'd given up.
He sat in the passenger seat. Sarah drove. The road stretched ahead, empty and gray.
"The tow truck," he said. "Can you really fix it?"
"With the parts from the gas station? Yeah. Give me a day."
"Then what?"
She glanced at him. "Then I go my way. You go yours."
"That's the plan?"
"That's the plan."
Alex nodded. Didn't push.
But he'd seen the way she looked at the RV. The way she'd crawled under it without being asked. The way she'd said "we" instead of "you."
She wasn't going anywhere.
Neither was he.
---
The system pinged at midnight.
Alex was half-asleep in the passenger seat. Sarah was still driving—she'd refused to stop, said she didn't trust the dark.
```
[System Announcement – Regional]
A Gold Supply Crate has spawned.
Location: Abandoned Town – 15 miles ahead.
Duration: 2 hours.
Survivors in area: 47.
```
Alex sat up straight.
"Gold crate," he said.
Sarah read the announcement. Her jaw tightened.
"Forty-seven people," she said. "That's not a hunt. That's a war."
"Gold crates don't spawn every day."
"They don't spawn at all. I've never seen one."
Alex looked at the map. The abandoned town was a cluster of buildings. Tight streets. Lots of cover.
And forty-seven other survivors, all heading to the same place.
"We can't fight forty-seven people," Sarah said.
"No," Alex agreed. "But we don't have to fight them. We just have to be smarter."
"Smarter how?"
He pulled out the journal. Flipped to the last entry.
Day 60: They're getting closer.
They.
Not "it." Not "the system."
They.
Someone—or something—had been hunting the previous owner.
And that someone might still be out there.
"We're not going for the crate," Alex said.
Sarah blinked. "What?"
"We're going to watch. Learn. See who shows up."
"And then?"
He looked at the road ahead. The darkness. The glowing marker on his map.
"And then we figure out who the real players are."