Along the coastal road, the tires of the heavily tinted black van ground against the rough, pothole-riddled dirt path. Gravel kicked up, rattling against the wheel wells, echoing in the silence.
The vehicle lurched forward, kicking up a thick cloud of red dust. The road cut off from the outside world—plunging straight into endless desolation.
Dark green pine forests flanked both sides of the road, so dense that the evening sunlight could barely penetrate. Overgrown branches stretched out, canopying the dirt path like a natural tunnel.
Occasionally, the rotting wooden frames of an abandoned house or a rusted car wreck appeared on the shoulder. The atmosphere was suffocatingly bleak, as if we were driving off the edge of the world.
Inside the dim, dead-silent cabin, there was only the faint hum of the heater and the heavy, ragged breathing—mine.
