The Wrong Kind of Road

Day 26 – No Safe Choices

Mia Alvarez didn’t believe in luck.

Not anymore.

Surviving this long wasn’t about luck—it was about knowing when to run, when to fight, and when to disappear.

And right now, as she crouched behind the rusted shell of an old pickup, she knew she had made a mistake.

Ahead of her, on the cracked, weed-choked road, were two men.

Both armed.

Both blocking the only path forward.

Mia clenched her jaw.

Leo was beside her, breathing too fast.

Behind them, Ben and Emily—the two wounded survivors they had picked up days ago—waited anxiously, eyes darting toward Mia for answers.

She didn’t have any.

Not yet.

Because for the first time in a long time—

She didn’t know how to get out of this one.

The two men on the road weren’t raiders.

Not the kind that would charge in guns blazing.

They were something worse.

The kind that smiled first.

The kind that waited for you to let your guard down—then put a knife in your ribs.

One of them—a tall, wiry man with sharp eyes—leaned lazily against an old road sign, holding a shotgun across his lap.

His partner—a heavier-set man with a scar running down his cheek—was crouched near a pile of scavenged supplies.

Mia exhaled slowly.

They hadn’t seen her group yet.

Which meant she had a choice.

Mia hated all three options.

But she hated waiting even more.

She turned to Leo. "Stay behind me. No matter what."

Leo nodded once.

Then Mia stepped into the open.

The wiry man with the shotgun looked up first.

His smile was immediate.

Too wide. Too casual.

"Well, now," he drawled. "Ain’t every day we see new faces out here."

Mia kept her posture relaxed. "Just passing through."

The second man—Scarface—stood up, cracking his knuckles.

"That so?" he asked. "Because from where I’m standing, looks like you’re running from something."

Mia’s fingers twitched near her knife.

They were testing her.

Figuring out if she was prey.

She kept her expression neutral.

"We don’t want trouble," she said. "Just looking for a way west."

The wiry man—the leader, probably—tilted his head.

"West?" He let out a small chuckle. "Ain’t nothing good out that way."

Mia didn’t react.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t give them anything.

Because that’s what they wanted.

They wanted to see if she’d hesitate.

If she was scared.

And Mia Alvarez didn’t do scared.

For a moment, it looked like they might let her go.

Then Leo shifted behind her.

The movement was small—barely noticeable.

But Scarface’s eyes caught it.

And just like that, his smile changed.

"Well, look at that," he muttered. "You brought friends."

Mia’s stomach twisted.

She heard Ben and Emily move behind her.

Too late.

The wiry man’s shotgun lifted slightly. Not aimed. Not threatening.

Just a suggestion.

"You sure you don’t wanna stop and talk for a bit?" he asked.

Mia’s pulse hammered.

This was it.

The part where things went to hell.

She had to decide right now.

Run? Fight? Try to talk?

Then Scarface’s hand moved toward his belt.

And Mia didn’t hesitate.

Mia lunged.

Her knife slashed upward, catching Scarface across the wrist before he could pull his gun.

He roared in pain.

The wiry man’s shotgun swung toward her.

Leo shouted something.

Then—

BANG.

Mia dove sideways as gunfire erupted.

Ben had fired first—a single pistol shot.

It missed.

Scarface didn’t.

His own pistol barked, and Ben crashed to the ground, clutching his leg.

Emily screamed.

Leo froze.

Mia’s heart slammed against her ribs.

One second. That’s all she had.

One second to end this.

Mia rolled forward, dodging behind the rusted truck as the wiry man fired.

The shotgun blast tore through empty space.

She came up fast, blade in hand.

Scarface was still reeling from his injured wrist.

She buried the knife in his throat.

His eyes went wide.

A gurgling sound—then he collapsed.

One down.

Mia spun—

Just in time to see Leo.

Holding the wiry man’s shotgun.

And pulling the trigger.

BOOM.

The blast sent the man flying.

Then—

Silence.

The bodies lay still.

Leo was breathing hard, his hands still clutching the shotgun.

His first kill.

Mia swallowed hard, stepping forward. "Leo—"

"I had to," he whispered.

Mia didn’t argue.

Didn’t tell him it was okay.

Because it wasn’t.

But it was necessary.

She turned to Ben—groaning, bleeding, but alive.

Emily was already pressing fabric against his wound.

They were still breathing.

That was the only thing that mattered.

Mia exhaled, rubbing a hand over her face.

Then she looked at Leo.

"We need to go."

He nodded.

And without another word, they left the bodies behind.