Dead Man’s Land

Day 27 – Nowhere Left to Run

Dr. Evelyn Carter hadn’t stopped moving in three days.

Her legs burned, her lungs ached, and the weight of exhaustion pressed like a stone on her chest.

But she couldn’t stop.

Because if she did?

She was dead.

She sat against a rotting tree trunk, forcing her breath to steady.

Voss crouched nearby, keeping watch.

Maggie sat hunched, her hands still trembling from Cross’s death.

Samara was staring blankly at the ground.

They had escaped the militia.

But they weren’t safe.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

Voss finally spoke.

"They’re still looking for us."

Evelyn wiped a hand over her face. "How do you know?"

Voss tilted his head.

Then she heard it—

The distant, faint sound of engines.

A convoy.

The militia was still sweeping the roads.

Looking for them.

Evelyn scanned their surroundings.

They had two options.

Neither choice was good.

But one of them was necessary.

"We need to move," Evelyn said. "Now."

No one argued.

Because they all knew—

If they stayed in one place too long?

They’d never leave it alive.

They moved through the dense tree line, sticking to the shadows, avoiding open ground.

Every step was painfully slow.

Maggie stumbled once, catching herself against a tree.

Evelyn turned. "You okay?"

Maggie nodded, but her eyes were hollow.

She wasn’t okay.

None of them were.

Then—

Voss froze.

His hand shot up. Stop.

Evelyn tensed.

Then she saw it.

Through the trees, just beyond a crumbling overpass—

A gas station.

Or what was left of one.

Windows shattered. Doors half open.

A potential shelter.

Or a trap.

Samara whispered, "You think there’s anyone inside?"

Voss checked his rifle.

"Only one way to find out."

They moved in cautiously.

Evelyn stayed close to Voss as he pushed through the half-broken door, rifle up.

The inside was dark, musty.

Rows of empty shelves.

A rancid smell.

Maggie gagged. "Jesus."

Voss moved deeper inside, checking corners. "Clear."

Evelyn exhaled.

It was abandoned.

For now.

She moved to the counter, scanning for anything useful.

A few empty cans.

A half-used first aid kit.

Then she froze.

On the floor behind the counter—

A body.

The man was long dead.

Face gaunt, skin gray.

He had bled out days ago, a jagged knife wound in his side.

Evelyn crouched, checking his pockets.

Nothing.

But then she saw it.

On the floor beside his hand—

A notebook.

She picked it up, flipping through the pages.

Most of it was scrawled nonsense—half-mad ramblings.

But one sentence stood out.

Written over and over again, in shaky, frantic handwriting:

"They are taking us west."

Evelyn’s stomach turned.

She knew who "they" were.

And she knew what that meant.

The militia wasn’t just killing people.

They were collecting them.

Voss peered over her shoulder, reading the notebook.

His jaw tightened.

"They’re expanding," he muttered.

Evelyn nodded grimly.

"More than that," she murmured. "They’re building something."

Maggie shivered. "Like what?"

Evelyn didn’t know.

But whatever it was—

They didn’t want to be anywhere near it.

Voss shut the notebook.

"We have to keep moving."

Evelyn agreed.

Because if they got caught?

They wouldn’t be executed.

They’d be taken.

And that?

That was worse.