The Long Road West

Day 1 – First Hour After the Announcement

Mia Alvarez’s flight was supposed to leave at 4:15 p.m.

By 4:07 p.m., the world ended.

She was sitting at Gate C11, scrolling through texts from her mom—Can’t wait to see you, mija!—when the Emergency Broadcast System hijacked the airport TVs.

“This is an official message from the United States Government. Please remain calm and listen carefully.”

The entire airport fell silent.

Mia looked up. Across the waiting area, a businessman in a suit slowly lowered his phone. A mother with a baby on her hip stopped mid-rock, holding her breath. Somewhere near security, a TSA agent turned toward the nearest screen.

"HNV-37 is now classified as an unstoppable global pandemic. There is no cure. There will be no vaccine. Infection is inevitable. Projected human extinction: 365 days."

Mia’s stomach dropped.

That had to be a joke. A hack. Some kind of mistake.

But the news anchors on every station—CNN, NBC, even the local Miami broadcast—had the same hollow, haunted expressions.

No cure.
No survivors.
One year left.

The first screams came from the Delta counter.

A woman dropped to her knees, sobbing, clutching at the carpet like it could hold her together. A man in a pilot’s uniform yanked off his hat, his face ghost-white.

Then the stampede began.

Passengers ran. People shoved past each other, knocking over luggage, trampling a man who had fallen near the Starbucks. A security officer barked orders that no one listened to.

A child screamed. The TVs continued to blare the same message, over and over, as if the world needed to hear it again to make it real.

Mia’s phone buzzed in her hand.

Mom: Sweetheart, did you hear—
Mom: Are you okay?
Mom: Mia, you need to come home.

Home.

Her mother was in Los Angeles. 2,700 miles away.

And there were no more flights.

By the time Mia made it outside, the city was on fire.

It was only the first hour since the world learned it was dying, but already Miami was tearing itself apart.

Traffic was gridlocked. People abandoned their cars in the middle of the street. The distant wail of sirens blended with the sounds of breaking glass and gunshots.

Mia pulled her hoodie tight over her head, moving fast.

She had one goal: find a way out.

She wasn’t supposed to be here. She was supposed to be on a plane right now, watching terrible in-flight movies and drinking overpriced whiskey. She was supposed to hug her mom in the morning and pretend, just for a little while, that everything was okay.

Not this.

Not this.

The parking garage near the airport was already looted—dozens of cars had their windows smashed, alarms blaring uselessly.

Her phone vibrated again.

Mom: Mia, please answer.
Mom: You have to get here. I don’t want to be alone when—

Mia’s throat tightened. She didn’t read the rest.

She needed a car.

A rental lot was just ahead, past a strip of palm trees swaying in the humid breeze. The chain-link gate had been forced open, and half the lot was already ransacked.

But there were still cars.

She ran.

A silver Jeep Cherokee sat untouched near the back, its driver-side door locked. She tried the handle—nothing.

Mia exhaled, glancing around. The city was unraveling too fast. People were killing each other over water bottles at gas stations. How long before it spread here?

She didn’t have time to be polite.

She grabbed a brick from the sidewalk.

With one sharp swing, the window shattered.

Mia winced as glass rained onto the seat. Her pulse pounded in her ears as she reached inside, fumbling for the lock.

A voice behind her made her freeze.

"Need some help?"

Mia spun, still gripping the brick.

A man stood a few feet away, hands raised. He looked mid-thirties, scruffy beard, old Army jacket. A duffel bag was slung over his shoulder, half-zipped, revealing bottled water and supplies.

He had the look of someone who knew exactly what was coming.

"I’m not going to hurt you," he said. "Just saw you struggling."

Mia's fingers curled around the brick tighter. "I’m fine."

He smirked. "Yeah, clearly. You know how to hotwire that thing?"

She didn’t.

But she wasn’t about to admit that.

He took a step forward. "Listen, I’ve got a truck a few blocks over. Plenty of gas. I’m heading north. We could—"

Gunfire crackled in the distance.

The airport was a warzone now—security had abandoned their posts, leaving civilians to fend for themselves.

Mia made a decision.

She dropped the brick, reached into the car, and ripped open the glove compartment.

Spare key.

She grabbed it and jumped into the driver’s seat.

The man laughed, shaking his head. "Damn. Guess you don’t need me, then."

She hesitated.

Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe traveling alone across the country was suicide.

But she didn’t trust him.

Didn’t trust anyone.

She slammed the door shut and started the vehicle.

The Jeep roared to life.

In the rearview mirror, she saw the man watching her disappear into the distance, still smiling.

By midnight, Mia was far from Miami.

She stuck to backroads, avoiding the highways—where abandoned cars and makeshift roadblocks were already forming.

Her gas tank was half full. She had zero food, no weapon, and no real plan.

She only knew one thing:

She had to make it to California.

To her mother.

To whatever life was left before the world finally stopped breathing.

And she had one year to do it.