ᴛʜᴇ ᴍʏᴄᴇʟɪᴜᴍ ᴘʟᴀɢᴜᴇ// 𝙅𝙤𝙚𝙡 𝙈𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙧

||ᵀʰᵉ ᴿᵒᵃᵈˢ ᴬʰᵉᵃᵈ||

we weren't survivors of a world gone mad. We were just a ragtag group, crammed into an old Chevy, about to hit the road—seatbelts and all.

Ellie leaned over the backseat and rummaged through the glove compartment before grabbing a CD and shoving it into the car's ancient stereo system. The sound crackled for a second before a familiar tune filled the air.

"Put that back, Ellie," Joel grumbled, eyes fixed on the road, but Ellie ignored him, reaching to turn the volume up. The car was soon filled with the unmistakable voice of Linda Ronstadt. I couldn't help but chuckle as the music played, recognizing the song instantly.

"Linda Ronstadt," I said, smiling at the sound. "This song was released in what—?" I paused, looking to Joel for help with the date. "The '70s, right?"
Joel furrowed his brow, thinking for a moment. "I reckon that's right," he finally said with a nod. He glanced at me, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. "This song's older than you are."
I laughed, shrugging. "What can I say? I'm an oldie at heart."

Joel chuckled, shaking his head as he relaxed just a bit behind the wheel. For a moment, it felt like we weren't just surviving; we were sharing something from the past, a piece of the world that once was.

"Do you two know who Linda Ronstadt is?" Joel asked, glancing in the rearview mirror at the girls.

Ellie rolled her eyes dramatically, her tone dripping with mock exasperation. "Joel, you know we don't know who Linda Ronstadt is. We don't even know who Britney Spears is."
Elena, sitting beside her, nodded thoughtfully. "I've heard of her... but only from Elysia," she admitted, giving me a small smile.

Ellie turned to Elena with a playful expression, raising an eyebrow. "Oh gosh, Elysia's got you all old, too!"

"Hey!" Elena protested, her voice filled with mock indignation. "I'm not old—I'm just... educated!" She crossed her arms, feigning seriousness, which only made her look more endearing.

I laughed at their antics, the playful banter a welcome change from the usual tension. Joel and I exchanged a knowing look, a silent acknowledgment of how these small, light-hearted moments were keeping us all going. Even amid the chaos, it felt good to connect over something as simple as an old song on a beat-up CD, a little reminder of the world before everything fell apart.

We pulled into a rundown gas station, the kind that had seen better days long before the world went to hell. The faded paint on the building flaked away, and the old pumps stood like forgotten relics, covered in grime and rust. As we came to a stop, I watched Joel grab the siphon hose and a couple of Jerry cans from the back.

I walked over and squatted down next to him as he shoved the hose deep into the gas tank of an abandoned car. Ellie, leaning against the truck, let out an exaggerated sigh. "Do we have to do this every hour?" she complained, kicking at the dirt.

"Gas breaks down over time," Joel explained, not looking up from his work. "The stuff's almost like water now. Back in the day, we'd drive ten, twelve hours on one tank." He began to siphon the gas, his movements practiced and efficient. The gas trickled into the Jerry can with a soft gurgle.

Ellie watched, her eyes lighting up with curiosity. "Nice! How does that work?" she asked, leaning in closer.

"It's a siphon," Joel said, pausing to think through his explanation. "It's when liquid... travels against gravity—because of pressure."

I couldn't help but laugh softly at his attempt. "You don't know," Ellie teased, grinning at Joel's vague explanation.

Joel shot her a look but didn't break stride. "I know it works," he said, a hint of defensiveness in his tone.