#sl13

Steel Windmill " WindEngine 702". Soft: 3ds Max, 3D-Coat, Substance Painter, Marmoset

Silence.

No machines running, no cars on the streets, no planes overhead. No sound pollution whatsoever. Just...silence, unbroken quiet, where every scuff of worn soles against the pavement sounded like a gunshot going off in the still, warm air.

For a while, they'd done everything right, taken every precaution - he'd found duct tape, they'd layered it on top of their clothes to help ward off teeth; human teeth were blunt, couldn't get through the tough material and double layers, but the closer summer crept, the hotter it got, the less practical it became to bundle themselves up in such a manner. Now? Now he trudged down the street one step at a time. It was a long, empty road - on the one hand, it meant they weren't likely to run into any trouble; on the other, it meant if they did, there was nowhere to run or defend.

Just him, Spock, and a long stretch of road, vaguely leading him in the direction of home. How long had they been quiet? It just kind of happened now, these lapses into silence, like they were afraid of breaking it for the sake of something as mundane as idle chatter. This sort of quiet, though, it wears on him, and every once in a while, he has to break it - humans are naturally social creatures, and he can't stand the constant quiet.

"Do you think we'll make it to next town by night?" It's a tired question - not one he's asked today, but definitely one he's asked before; they've been lucky thus far, haven't run into anything that would hinder their progress, but towns were dangerous. He'd avoid them, except...well, towns had signs, and local maps, towns had buildings that they could defend, buildings occasionally had generators hiding in the basements, had food tucked into the back of cabinets. Towns were good measures of their progress during the day. Towns had the hopes of survivors.

Towns were also often flooded with casualties, which meant those things wandering around.

Adjusting his bag, he shifted it a little on his shoulders, trying to keep focused on the long trek ahead, and ignore the waves of heat he could see coming up off the road. Growing up in Georgia, the heat didn't bother him so much - but back home he'd had an abundance of sunscreen and water, a commodity he'd taken too much for granted, he was realizing these days. His own canteen had, within the last three miles, dipped to the halfway point, and he had been endeavoring since to consume less of it, no matter how thirsty he was. He knew the signs of dehydration, and heat stroke - he was being careful, just not comfortable.

"Maybe we'll find something useful." His tone was, oddly enough, hopeful - the same grudging hope he'd held from the beginning, the almost naive belief that they could still tip this in their favor, that they could still switch this around.

To be honest, he was just glad to not be alone - to have Spock at his side was a greater relief than he'd ever openly state. They had no idea what had happened to most of the rest of the crew, if they were alright, if --

-- but they'd lingered in that place as long as they could. Maybe when this was all over, they could all meet up again. Maybe everyone else was still alright.