Road Closed

Day 9 – The Wrong Turn

Mia Alvarez had never been good at following maps.

She had always relied on her phone’s GPS, a voice calmly instructing her to “turn left in 500 feet” or “rerouting” when she inevitably missed an exit.

But now, her phone was just a dead weight in the passenger seat. No signal. No power.

No direction except the crumpled road atlas she had stolen from a gas station three days ago.

She had been driving west for nearly a week, navigating through abandoned highways and wrecked towns, sticking to backroads whenever possible.

But now?

She was lost as hell.

And running out of gas.

The sun was dipping below the tree line as she slowed the Jeep Cherokee to a crawl.

Up ahead, a massive roadblock stretched across the highway—abandoned cars, scattered debris, and a crude wall of scrap metal and wooden planks, as if someone had tried to build a makeshift fortress.

Mia’s stomach twisted.

She had seen roadblocks before, but this one felt different.

Not the work of the military.

Not just an accident.

Something else.

She gripped the wheel. Turn back or go through?

She scanned the area. No movement. No people.

But that didn’t mean no one was watching.

She inched forward, her tires crunching over glass. The Jeep rolled past burned-out cars and bullet-riddled truck doors, past a bloodstained highway sign that read:

“TURN BACK.”

Her pulse quickened.

She didn’t turn back.

She should have.

The first gunshot shattered the windshield.

Mia screamed, slamming the brakes as the bullet barely missed her head.

A second shot ripped through the passenger-side window, sending shards of glass across her lap.

"Shit—!"

She threw the Jeep into reverse, tires screeching as she backed up—too fast, too reckless.

Then she saw them.

Silhouettes moving behind the roadblock. Figures in the trees.

More than one.

More than five.

At least a dozen people emerging from the wreckage, armed with rifles and machetes.

Mia’s blood turned to ice.

They weren’t just blocking the road.

They were hunting people who tried to pass through.

Her heart pounded as she spun the wheel, trying to maneuver the Jeep back the way she had come.

More gunfire erupted—bullets pinging off the metal of the car.

Then—BANG.

The Jeep lurched sideways.

A spike strip.

Mia’s stomach dropped as the tires exploded, the entire vehicle skidding off the highway. She fought to regain control, but the Jeep veered off the road, crashing into the ditch.

Her head slammed against the steering wheel.

Stars exploded behind her eyes.

Pain. Blood.

The world blurred.

Then—voices.

"She’s down!"

"Move in!"

Mia’s instincts screamed at her. Move. Run. Now.

She kicked the door open and stumbled out, breath ragged, heart hammering in her ears.

The figures were closing in, moving fast.

She had seconds—maybe less.

And she was unarmed.

Mia ran.

She bolted into the trees, lungs burning as she scrambled over fallen branches and twisted roots.

Behind her, she heard footsteps crashing through the underbrush.

They were chasing her.

She didn’t know who they were. Didn’t care.

All she knew was that they wanted to kill her—or worse.

A shadow lunged at her from the side.

Mia barely had time to react before a pair of rough hands grabbed her jacket, yanking her backward.

She screamed, twisting in his grip, but he was stronger—a thick, bearded man, his face smeared with dirt, eyes filled with hunger.

"Got you, sweetheart."

Mia didn’t think.

She threw her head back, smashing it into his nose.

The man yelled in pain, his grip loosening.

She didn’t wait.

She drove her knee between his legs, sending him crumpling to the ground.

Then she ran.

Faster. Harder.

Her vision swam. Her chest burned.

Branches tore at her skin, but she didn’t stop.

She could hear them behind her, shouting orders.

“Spread out! Don’t let her get away!”

She stumbled down a steep hill, her feet slipping on loose dirt—then suddenly—

She was falling.

Mia hit the water hard.

The icy river swallowed her whole, pulling her under.

She fought against the current, lungs screaming for air as she clawed her way to the surface.

The shock of the cold stole her breath, but she forced herself to stay afloat, her arms slicing through the dark water.

Gunfire ripped through the trees above her, but the current was too strong—they couldn’t aim.

The river carried her downstream, away from the roadblock, away from the gunmen.

Her limbs ached. Her body shivered.

But she was alive.

For now.

Mia crawled onto the riverbank, soaked and shaking.

Her Jeep was gone. Her supplies were gone.

She had nothing now.

She collapsed onto the mud, chest heaving, trying to process what had just happened.

She had been on the road for days, dodging dangers, outpacing the chaos.

But this?

This was something else.

People weren’t just panicking anymore.

They were hunting.

She pressed a hand against her bruised ribs, forcing herself to sit up.

She wasn’t dead.

She wasn’t giving up.

The road to California was still ahead.

She just had to survive it first.