The motorcycle's engine hummed beneath me as we carved through the empty highways, leaving the skeletal remains of New York City far behind us. Hours had passed since we'd fled.
The air itself seemed to breathe easier out here. Gone was the thick, putrid stench of decay that had clung to every street corner in the city—that nauseating cocktail of rotting flesh and stagnant water that made your throat close up with every breath. Here, beyond the urban sprawl, the wind carried hints of pine and earth, reminding me that somewhere beneath all this chaos, the world was still trying to heal itself.
My hands had long since gone numb from gripping the handlebars, and my thighs burned from maintaining balance on the bike for so many consecutive hours. Even with my excellent stamina the constant vibration and tension were taking their toll.
