The road had a rhythm.
Drive. Stop. Search. Fight. Drive again.
Alex had lost track of the days. Four? Five? The sun rose and set the same way every time—gray dawn, pale noon, sudden dusk. No clouds. No rain. Just endless asphalt.
They'd covered maybe two hundred miles since the overpass.
Found two white crates. One common. Zero blue.
No gold.
No purple.
Nothing worth writing home about.
"Credits are stuck," Sarah said. She was driving. Again. She always drove now. Said she didn't trust anyone else with her baby—the Winnebago, which she'd started calling "Old Bessie" despite Alex's protests.
Alex checked his system.
```
[User: Alex Chen]
Level: 2
Credits: 125/200 to next level
Vehicle: Winnebago Brave 1978 (F-Class)
Crew: 4/4 (Sarah, Jade, Danny)
```
Level two. After four days.
"You're leveling slow," Jade said from the back. She didn't look up from her rifle—still broken, still useless at range—but Alex could feel her attention.
"I noticed."
"Because you're not killing enough."
"Because I'm not killing people enough. That's what you mean."
Jade shrugged. "Monsters give credits. People give more."
"I'm not running a slaughterhouse."
"Then don't complain about being level two."
Danny sat in the corner, quiet. He'd barely spoken since joining. Spent most of his time staring out the window or reading the labels on the first aid kit.
Alex felt a pang of guilt.
Kid's traumatized, he thought. And I'm dragging him across a nightmare.
But leaving him behind wasn't an option. On this road, alone meant dead.
---
The service station appeared at noon.
Not a gas station—something bigger. A truck stop. Multiple buildings. A parking lot the size of a football field.
And vehicles. Dozens of them.
"Pull over," Alex said.
Sarah killed the engine behind a billboard. Same strategy. Same caution.
Alex grabbed his tire iron. "I'm going alone."
"You always say that," Sarah said.
"And you always ignore me."
She grinned. "Learned from the best."
Jade was already on the roof, scanning through her cracked scope. "Thirty-one vehicles," she called down. "Could be more inside the buildings. No movement."
"Thirty-one vehicles means thirty-one crews," Alex said. "Or one big crew."
"Or a graveyard."
He didn't like that option.
"Sarah, stay with the RV. Danny, you stay inside. Jade, cover me from the roof."
"Finally," Jade muttered. "Something interesting."
---
The truck stop was silent.
Too silent.
Alex moved between the vehicles. Cars. Trucks. A school bus with a hole in the side. An ambulance with its lights still flashing—dead battery, probably.
No bodies.
No blood.
No signs of struggle.
Empty, he thought. But not abandoned.
The main building had a sign: "FINAL STOP CAFE – BEST PIE ON 66."
The door was open.
Alex stepped inside.
Booths. A counter. A kitchen in the back. And on the walls—
Writing. Everywhere.
DON'T TRUST THE RADIO.
THE ROAD IS HUNGRY.
LEVEL FAST OR DIE SLOW.
THEY WATCH FROM THE DARK.
And one phrase, repeated over and over, in different handwriting, different colors, different languages:
ZERO MILE. ZERO MILE. ZERO MILE.
Alex's skin crawled.
He pulled out the journal. Flipped to the back. The photograph fell out—three people, one RV.
He looked at the wall. Looked at the photo.
Zero Mile, he thought. What is Zero Mile?
A sound behind him.
He spun.
A man stood in the doorway. Mid-forties. Gray beard. Missing an ear. His jacket was covered in patches—some military, some not.
"You're alive," the man said.
"Last time I checked."
"Then you're luckier than most." The man gestured at the walls. "You see this? Warnings. From people who came before."
"Before what?"
"Before they died."
Alex tightened his grip on the tire iron. "Who are you?"
"Name's Cole. Used to be a trucker. Now I'm just a man who reads walls." He stepped inside. His hands were empty. "You're new."
"Everyone's new."
"Some newer than others." Cole looked at Alex's jacket. His boots. The tire iron. "You've got a crew. A vehicle. Still have your fingers. That puts you in the top ten percent."
"And you?"
"I'm in the top one percent." He tapped his missing ear. "Cost me this. But I'm alive."
"Why are you here?"
"Same reason you are. Looking for answers." Cole pointed at the wall. "Zero Mile. You see it?"
"I see it."
"Everyone who comes through here sees it. But no one knows what it means. Not yet." He walked to the counter. Leaned against it. "I've been following the road for two weeks. Talking to survivors. Reading walls. Piecing things together."
"And?"
"And I think Zero Mile is the end."
Alex's heart beat faster. "The end of the road?"
"The end of everything. Or the beginning. Depends on who you ask." Cole pulled out a crumpled map—hand-drawn, covered in notes. "There's something out there. A place the system doesn't mark. A place the system doesn't want you to find."
"How do you know?"
"Because everyone who's found it never came back."
---
Jade's voice crackled through Alex's system. Private message.
[Jade: Someone's coming. East side. Three vehicles. Fast.]
Alex straightened. "I have to go."
Cole held up a hand. "One more thing."
"What?"
"The RV you're driving. Winnebago Brave, right? '78 model?"
Alex froze. "How do you know that?"
"Because I've seen it before." Cole's eyes were sharp. "Before the Transfer. On the road. There was a woman. She drove that RV like she was born in it."
"A woman?"
"Red hair. Green eyes. Mean as a snake." Cole smiled. "She saved my life once. Back when the road was new and we were all still pretending this was a dream."
Alex's mind raced. Red hair. Green eyes.
Sarah.
But Sarah was twenty-five. Too young. Unless—
"Her name," Alex said. "What was her name?"
Cole tilted his head. "Elena. Elena Chen."
Chen.
Same last name as Alex.
His blood turned cold.
"She had a son," Cole continued. "Talked about him all the time. Said he was back home, delivering packages, living a normal life. Said she did this so he wouldn't have to."
Alex couldn't breathe.
His mother.
His mother had been here. Before the Transfer. Before any of it.
She'd driven the Winnebago. Built the hidden modifications. Written the journal.
And then she'd disappeared.
"Where is she now?" Alex asked. His voice was barely a whisper.
Cole's face darkened. "That's what I'm trying to find out."
---
Gunfire outside.
Alex ran.
Cole followed. They burst through the door just as three black SUVs skidded into the parking lot.
The same SUVs. The same crew.
The one with the gunner leaned out the window.
"Alex Chen!" someone shouted. "System says you're the one with the unique skill. Hand it over, and we let your friends live."
Alex looked at the RV. Sarah was in the driver's seat, engine running. Danny was crouched in the back, knife in hand. Jade was on the roof, broken rifle aimed at nothing.
Four against... he counted. Twelve. Maybe more.
"Who are you?" Alex shouted back.
The SUV's door opened. A woman stepped out. Tall. Gray hair. Leather jacket.
The same woman from the gold crate. The one who'd been shot.
She's alive.
"My name is Vera," she said. "And I'm going to give you one chance."
"I don't want your chances."
"Then you're going to die." She pulled a shotgun from her coat. "Your skill. Your crew. Your RV. I'm taking it all."
Alex looked at Cole. The old trucker nodded once.
Together, the nod said.
Alex raised his tire iron.
"Come and take it."