A black SS Camaro cruised down a stretch of deserted highway, weaving around the odd abandoned automobile. Sometimes it would have to grab some shoulder to get around a large cluster of vehicles that blocked every lane, but it was no problem for the vintage muscle car with it's large wheels and mighty engine. It's previous owner had loved it like a father loves his only son. The man, who shall remain nameless, due to the inevitable fact that anyone who had known his name was no longer alive to pass the information on, had taken extra care to keep it in pristine condition. The leather interior was cleaned and polished on a regular basis. The paint job was cared for twice a week, and renewed on a yearly basis. The chrome detail and rims were inspected and maintained religiously. No aspect of the machine was neglected or left to chance. Which was good news for the man who now possessed the car. 

He didn't care about the leather, the paint, or the chrome. In fact, he had neglected all of these things. The only thing he cared about was speed and performance. The car was exceptional. It got him from A to B efficiently, and as a bonus, in style. 

The reason he'd taken this car over a Hummer, truck, or anything more durable and practical, was because of someone he loved. Someone he missed deeply. 

His older brother had always wanted an SS Camaro. He had fantasized and talked about buying and tricking one out since they were kids. So when he stumbled upon the jet-black beauty, he couldn't help but chuckle, fighting the tears away as he did so. He had taken the car as an unspoken obligation to his now deceased brother. A way of honouring his memory, and an inside joke between them. Because even after the end of the world as we knew it, he still had something close to a sense of humour. 

Inside the Camaro, two adult huskies sat in the back seat. One male, one female. The male was snow-white with rusty brown detail. He was a bit bigger than the female, who was also had a clean white coat, but with a deep grey detail that was sharp and stunning. 

They sat side-by-side, glancing out the windows at the landscape as it rolling by. They seemed happy, content, despite all that had happened. It was a simple, beautiful moment that prior to the crisis which found them in the back seat of this Camaro on this ghostly highway, would have been tragically overlooked. 

The driver observed that tiny, profound and symbolic moment from the rear-view mirror, granting a pleasant smile. That was what it all came down to. Most people would look at this picture and see nothing but a man and his dogs sitting in a car. What he saw, what he knew to be the reality and truth of the situation, was loyalty and love in it's purest, most brilliant and rawest form. Even after the world had gone to shit, when brother had turned on brother, and everything humanity had spent thousands of years building as a civilization had crumbled into chaos and terror, the unconditional love, loyalty and companionship of a man and his dog was left untouched by the hell that lingered just outside the doors of that Camaro. That was what made that moment so beautiful and special. It's the stuff you dig up from between the lines that's worth the most in it's weight. 

Owen Thorne had learned to view the world around him differently since the crisis. He began to recognize and appreciate all the subtle nuances that the universe presented before our very eyes each and every day. They're in those little moments, as well as the big ones. Sometimes it's not what's right in front of you, but rather the things you cannot see, or hear, that truly speak to us the most. Owen had merely learned how to listen to them.