The world should not be quiet.
Tang Li Yue had learned that very quickly.
The apocalypse was many things. It was filthy, inconvenient, loud, smelly, rude, wasteful, and deeply offensive to anyone with even half a standard for hygiene. But quiet?
No. It was never truly quiet.
There were always groans somewhere. The wet drag of feet against asphalt. The scrape of fingernails on metal. The distant crash of something collapsing because civilization had apparently been held together by fragile hope and properly functioning traffic lights.
Even the nights were noisy.
Wind through abandoned streets. Stray flames eating through buildings. The occasional shriek of an unfortunate survivor making poor choices with excellent volume.
So when the road became quiet, Tang Li Yue immediately disliked it.
The convoy moved along a narrow countryside road bordered by dry fields and scattered trees. The city had long fallen behind them, though not without leaving its stink on their memories.
