Chapter 95 - Spikes in the Dawn

The outskirts of Jackson Township stretched out like a forgotten battlefield, where the remnants of suburbia bled into wild slowly. I'd been slipping out here every morning for the past month, long before the first light cracked the horizon, leaving the house while the others were still wrapped in whatever fragile sleep they could snatch. The air was always crisp at this hour, carrying the faint scent of dew-soaked grass mixed with the metallic tang of rust from abandoned cars. The roads—once smooth arteries connecting quiet neighborhoods—were now fractured veins of cracked asphalt, overgrown with weeds that pushed through every fissure like nature's slow revenge. Scattered houses dotted the landscape, their windows shattered or boarded up, roofs sagging under the weight of neglect. Some still had faded American flags hanging limp from porches.