A middle ground of abandoned roads and forgotten buildings--a nameless wasteland, Searcher had left the city, walking again without direction. He wasn't searching anymore; he was simply moving. The letter's question lingered in his mind: "If life is a virus, why are you still alive?"
He wandered through an abandoned gas station, rummaging for anything useful. His body was weak and he had barely eaten anything in days.
A pack of stray dogs watched him from a distance, their ribs visible beneath matted fur. He laughed to...