EXT. MOUNTAIN BYPASS ROAD - MORNING
The Nissan dies the way old cars die. Not with drama. Just surrenders to the mechanical gods. Fails.
One moment the engine is running. Rough but functional. The next moment it isn't. Smoke coming out the front. The temperature gauge buried in red.
The radiator patch from Chenggong finally giving up. Steam HISSING from under the hood like the car is exhaling its last breath.
Mei-Chen coasts to the shoulder. Kills the ignition that's already killed itself. Sits in the sudden silence.
MEI-CHEN
That's it. She's done.
Behind her, the Toyota truck STOPS. Hsiu-Wei gets out. Walks to the Nissan. Looks at the steam rising. Doesn't need to ask.
HSIU-WEI
How far to Kenting?
MEI-CHEN
Maybe forty kilometers. Maybe less. The mountain roads are longer than the highway.
HSIU-WEI
The truck can make it. Probably. The diesel is old but it's reliable.
MEI-CHEN
Then we transfer everything. Leave the Nissan. Keep moving.
Mrs. Lin is already out of the passenger seat. Already organizing. Already doing what needs to be done because doing is easier than thinking. Easier than feeling. Easier than processing everything they've lost and everything they're still losing.
They transfer supplies in five minutes. Water. Food. The remaining dumplings. The Guanyin statue. The photo album. The things that matter compressed into what one truck bed can carry.
Mei-Chen takes one last look at the Nissan. This car carried them from Taipei. Punching through the barricade at the tunnel.
Past the smart city eating itself. Through darkness and drones and roads that shouldn't have been passable.
Their temporary salvation.
MEI-CHEN
Thank you.
MRS. LIN
You're thanking the car?
MEI-CHEN
You should do the same. It gave us so much. Carried us to safety. Sheltered us for these past few days. It's earned our thanks.
MRS. LIN
(almost smiling)
You sound like your father. He thanked his motorcycle when it finally died. Said machines deserve respect for faithful service.
MEI-CHEN
Maybe he was right.
MRS. LIN
He was right about many things. We just didn't always listen.
They climb into the Toyota. Three women in a truck designed for two. Mei-Chen driving. Mrs. Lin in the middle. Hsiu-Wei pressed against the passenger door. Uncomfortable. Cramped. Alive.
The truck starts on the first try. Diesel engine RUMBLING. Grandfather's gift continuing to give. They pull back onto the road. Continue south. Continue toward Jason. Continue toward Kenting. Continue toward whatever comes next.
The mountain bypass winds through forest. Trees pressing close on both sides. The kind of road that exists because someone needed to move logging equipment fifty years ago. Not maintained. Not mapped. Not worth the infected's attention.
Yet.
HSIU-WEI
How did you know about this road?
MEI-CHEN
The supply coordinator in Chenggong. She said avoid Taitung, take the mountain route. Said people have been using it for days. Said it's the safest path south.
HSIU-WEI
Safest doesn't mean safe.
MEI-CHEN
Nothing means safe anymore. Just degrees of danger. We optimize for survivable danger. That's the best we can do.
MRS. LIN
When did you become so cynical?
MEI-CHEN
Around the time I watched my city eat itself. Around the time I left survivors behind because stopping meant dying. Around the time I learned that government protocols don't mean anything when the government is mostly clueless old men who don't understand robots.
MRS. LIN
You're not cynical. You're tired. There's a difference.
MEI-CHEN
Is there?
MRS. LIN
Yes. Cynics give up. Tired people rest and continue. You're still continuing. That's not cynicism. That's survival.
Mei-Chen doesn't respond. Just drives. Watches the road. Watches for movement. Watches for drones. Watches for the mechanical shapes that mean death approaching.
The forest opens slightly. A clearing visible through the trees. Some kind of old campsite. Fire pit. Fallen log. And—
Movement.
MEI-CHEN
(tensing)
Something ahead.
They all see it now. Through gaps in foliage. Maybe a hundred meters away. Shapes in the clearing. Large mechanical shape. Human shape. Smaller mechanical shape. All moving. All fighting.
HSIU-WEI
What is that?
MEI-CHEN
Agricultural robot. Big one. AG-9 maybe. Current generation. And someone's fighting it.
She slows the truck. Not stopping. Just slowing. Getting a better look. Calculating.
Through the trees: a man. Swinging something. A crowbar maybe. The AG-9's arms grabbing at him. Lifting him. Slamming him down.
The man stops moving.
MRS. LIN
Stop the truck.
MEI-CHEN
Mom—
MRS. LIN
Stop the truck. Someone needs help.
MEI-CHEN
Someone is already dead. Or dying. And that AG-9 will kill us too if we stop.
MRS. LIN
You don't know he's dead.
MEI-CHEN
I know that robot is still functional. I know we have no weapons. I know there are three of us and one of it and the math doesn't work.
The truck keeps moving. Passing the clearing. Passing the AG-9 looming over its victim. Passing the opportunity to help. Passing the choice.
MRS. LIN
(her voice grows louder)
Mei-Chen. Stop the truck.
MEI-CHEN
Mom. I can't.
MRS. LIN
You can. You're choosing not to.
MEI-CHEN
I'm choosing to keep you alive. I'm choosing to keep Hsiu-Wei alive. I'm choosing to reach Jason. I'm choosing survival over heroism because heroism gets people killed.
MRS. LIN
And what about him? What about his survival? What about human decency? Compassion?
MEI-CHEN
He's probably already gone. And even if he's not, even if there's something left to save, I can't risk both of you on a stranger. I can't lose my mother to save someone I've never met.
The truck passes the clearing. The AG-9 visible for one more moment. The man's body visible. Not moving. Then trees close in again. The view disappears. The choice made.
Irreversible.
MRS. LIN
(quiet, hard)
I understand. I do. But I want you to know something.
MEI-CHEN
What?
MRS. LIN
That was the second time. In the town. The face in the window. The people you drove past. I didn't say anything then. I understood then. We were fleeing. We were scared. We had no supplies, no weapons, nothing to offer.
MEI-CHEN
And now?
MRS. LIN
Now we're three people in a truck. Now we have supplies. Now we're not fleeing immediate danger. Now we had a choice. A real choice. And we chose to let a man die.
MEI-CHEN
We chose to survive.
MRS. LIN
Same thing. Different words. But Mei-Chen. If we survive by abandoning everyone who needs help, what are we surviving for? What's the point of reaching Kenting if we've become people who don't stop? What's the point of finding Jason if we've lost ourselves getting there?
MEI-CHEN
Mom—
MRS. LIN
I'm not angry. I'm disappointed. In the situation. In the choices it forces. In who we're becoming. You made the logical decision. The safe decision. The decision I might have made in your position. But I want you to feel it. I want you to remember it. Because if we stop feeling it, if we stop caring about the people we pass, we're not survivors anymore. We're just machines optimizing for our own continuation.
Silence. Heavy. The truck RUMBLING through green patches of open farmland and rice paddies. Three women processing what they just did. What they just didn't do.
HSIU-WEI
(quiet)
She's right. And she's wrong. Both at once.
MEI-CHEN
What do you mean?
HSIU-WEI
I mean you were right to keep driving. That AG-9 would have killed us. Three more deaths don't save one man. The math is clear.
MEI-CHEN
But?
HSIU-WEI
But your mother is right too. If we always do the math, if we always optimize, if we never take stupid risks for strangers, we become something less than human. We become what we're running from. Just biological machines making efficient choices.
MEI-CHEN
So what's the answer? Stop for everyone? Die helping strangers? Abandon the people we love for the people we don't know?
HSIU-WEI
I don't know. I don't have answers. I just know that passing him felt wrong. Even though stopping would have been stupid. Even though the math says we did the right thing. It felt wrong. And feelings matter. Not because they're logical. But because they're what makes us worth saving.
Mei-Chen drives. The road continues. The rice paddies and patches of farmland continues. The weight of what they did continues.
Then. Movement ahead.
Small. Low. Human-sized.
A child. Stepping out of the trees. Into the road. Arms raised. Mouth open.
Screaming.
CHILD'S VOICE
(distant, unclear)
HELP! PLEASE! HE'S HURT! PLEASE HELP US!
Mei-Chen's foot moves to the brake before her mind catches up.
The truck STOPS.
----------
EXT. ROAD - CONTINUOUS
The girl stands in the middle of the road. Maybe fifty meters ahead. Small. Dirty. Exhausted. Pink backpack hanging off one shoulder. Something clutched in her arms. A stuffed animal maybe.
And her face. God, her face. The expression of someone who's watched everything fall apart. The expression of someone who has nothing left but hope. The expression of a child screaming for help in a world that stopped helping days ago.
MRS. LIN
Stop. Mei-Chen. You better stop this time.
MEI-CHEN
I already stopped.
MRS. LIN
Don't move. Don't scare her. Let me.
She opens the door. Gets out slowly. Hands visible. Posture unthreatening. The eternal teacher. The eternal mother. Switching into a mode that transcends circumstance. That survives apocalypse. That knows how to approach frightened children.
MRS. LIN
(calling gently)
Hello. Hello there. We're not going to hurt you. We're people. Real people. Can you hear me?
The girl — Su-Fen, though they don't know her name yet — FREEZES. Stares at Mrs. Lin. At the truck. At Mei-Chen and Hsiu-Wei inside. Calculating. Assessing. Deciding if these strangers are salvation or another threat.
SU-FEN
(voice raw, desperate)
Please. Please help. He's hurt. Christopher's hurt. The robot got him. He was fighting it. He told me to run. But he's hurt. He might be dead. Please.
The words tumble out. Jumbled. Frantic. Four days of silence broken and now everything flooding through at once. All the fear. All the grief. All the desperate need compressed into sentences that barely hold together.
Mrs. Lin walks forward. Slow. Steady. Not rushing. Not frightening. Each step deliberate. Each movement communicating safety. She reaches Su-Fen. Kneels down. Eye level. Human to human.
MRS. LIN
Okay. Okay, little one. Breathe. You're safe now. We're here. Tell me what happened. Slowly. From the beginning.
SU-FEN
(tears starting)
The farmbot. In the clearing. It caught SARAH. I screamed. I used my voice. Then it came for me. Christopher told me to run. He shot at it. He threw his gun. He charged with his crowbar. He was trying to save me. But it got him. It slammed him into the ground. He's not moving. He's not—
She can't finish. The words dissolving into sobs. Mrs. Lin pulls her close. Holds her. This stranger's child. This survivor who found her voice just in time to watch her protector fall.
Mei-Chen gets out of the truck. Walks toward them. Her face doing something complicated. Guilt and calculation and determination all fighting for space.
MEI-CHEN
(quiet)
The clearing. The man we passed.
SU-FEN
(looking up)
You passed him? You saw him?
MEI-CHEN
Yes.
SU-FEN
And you didn't stop?
The question hits like a fist. Simple. Direct. The accusation of a child who doesn't understand survival math. Who only understands that someone she loved was dying and these people drove past.
MEI-CHEN
I... the robot. The AG-9. It was still functional. If we'd stopped—
SU-FEN
He saved me. He was fighting it. And you just drove past?
MEI-CHEN
I had to protect—
SU-FEN
He's probably dead now. Because of me. Because I ran. Because I couldn't help him. And you could have helped. You had a truck. You could have distracted it. Rammed into the robot. Could have given him time. Could have done something. Anything. But you just drove past instead.
The words should be angry. Should be accusatory. But they're not. They're just tired. Defeated. The words of a child who's learned that hope is stupid and help doesn't come and the people in trucks drive past while you watch your family die.
Mei-Chen doesn't have an answer. Doesn't have a defense. Just stands there. Absorbing the weight of what she chose. What it cost. What it might have cost someone she'll never meet.
Someone who might already be dead.
Someone whose death she could have prevented.
Maybe.
Possibly.
She'll never know.
That's the worst part. The uncertainty. The forever-question of what would have happened if she'd stopped. If she'd been brave instead of smart. If she'd chosen heroism over survival.
Mrs. Lin looks at her daughter. Something passing between them. Understanding. Disappointment. Love. The complicated mess of family during crisis.
MRS. LIN
(to Su-Fen, gently)
What's your name, little one?
SU-FEN
Su-Fen. Chen Su-Fen.
MRS. LIN
Su-Fen. I'm Mrs. Lin. This is my daughter Mei-Chen. And Hsiu-Wei. We're going to help you now. Okay? We're going to figure this out together.
SU-FEN
(looking back toward the clearing)
Christopher. And SARAH. They're still back there. The robot might still be there. They might still be—
MRS. LIN
We'll figure it out. But first. Are you hurt? Can you walk?
SU-FEN
I'm fine. I ran. Like he told me. I ran and I hid and then I saw your truck and I thought maybe. Maybe someone would finally help.
She looks at Mei-Chen. Direct. Unblinking. The gaze of a child who's learned to read adults. To judge them. To decide if they're worth trusting.
SU-FEN (CONT'D)
Will you? Help, I mean. Will you go back? Try to save him?
The question hangs in the air. Heavy. Impossible.
Mei-Chen looks at her mother. At Hsiu-Wei. At this child who represents everything they've been running from. Every moral compromise. Every practical choice. Every person left behind.
The clearing is maybe two hundred meters back. The AG-9 might still be there. Christopher might be dead. Going back might kill them all.
Or.
Going back might save a man's life. Might prove they're still human. Might earn the trust of a child who's lost everyone.
Might make them the people worth surviving as.
The choice crystallizes. Everything leading to this. Every kilometer. Every sacrifice. Every person they passed without stopping.
This is the moment.
This is the test.
This is who they decide to be.
SU-FEN
(quiet, almost resigned)
You're going to say no, aren't you. You're going to say it's too dangerous. You're going to keep driving to wherever you're going. And Christopher's going to die alone in that clearing because no one ever stops. No one ever helps. Everyone just keeps driving.
Mei-Chen opens her mouth.
Closes it.
Opens it again.
The words won't come. The decision won't form. Everything balanced on a knife's edge. Logic versus conscience. Safety versus humanity. The person she's become versus the person she wants to be.
Her mother watches. Waiting. Not pushing. Just witnessing.
Hsiu-Wei watches. Conflicted. Understanding both choices. Judging neither.
Su-Fen watches. Expecting nothing. Hoping anyway.
The forest watches. Silent. Patient. Full of machines that hunt and humans who hide and choices that define everything.
Mei-Chen takes a breath.
And decides.
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FADE TO BLACK
END OF CHAPTER THIRTEEN
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