Dawn City, north of Qingbo, the grand convoy of survivors proceeds along the roads and rail tracks towards Jinhe and Tian Ji.
Under the sunlight, the convoy of millions moves in an earth-shaking manner, raising clouds of dust and flowing slowly yet orderly towards the horizon. This is not an escape, but a well-prepared migration.
Various vehicles are packed with people, and the pickup truck beds loaded with folding tents, buckets, solar panels, and other supplies, the cabin crammed with a family of four, the man driving with one hand on the steering wheel while the other holds a half-smoked cigarette, the ashes drifting in the wind like tiny snowflakes.
At the back of a modified off-road vehicle hangs a basket made of iron sheets and old clothes, where a golden retriever lies alert, its tongue lolling as it has long grown accustomed to traveling through the dust, watching the flow of strange modified vehicles along the way.
