There weren't many people left in the world now, but everyone who remained had one thing that drove them forwards in life. For some it was love, for others it was a desire to rebuild the world as a better place. For most it was just sheer stubbornness and the refusal as the human race as a whole to roll over and die. However, as he slowly drove along a long since forgotten and abandoned highway, its surface dusty and cracked while nature slowly starting to reclaim the land once more, John McAleese could only think of one reason why he had survived so long.
It was hope that drew him onwards, a hope that one day he could at least find the fate of his fiance. He knew that she was alive and well when they were last together, and he knew that the raiders that had attacked their little colony were now all filling shallow graves somewhere back west, so there was a chance, there was hope that she survived.
His truck spluttered and coughed, snapping the young survivor from his thoughts as he looked at his fuel gauge. Damn, near empty again...Sighing now he pulled over at the side of the crumbling highway, shut off the engine and moved to the last of the 6 fuel cans he had hung from the side of his truck, a vehicle that seemed to be the illegitimate offspring of a Mad Max interceptor and a civilian Land Rover.
Moving to the fuel cap he unscrewed the caps from both the tank and the can, before starting to refuel his truck, shaking his head as he started to hear the quiet rumble of distant vehicles, putting it down to his fading sanity and prolonged absence of human contact.