Traffic was surprisingly light, even given the late hour. Most of the other engine-powered vehicles that he had encountered were in even worse shape than his own. A few of the ones that had passed him in the darkness appeared to be missing windows; one had even lacked a passenger side door. Seeing those made Harlin feel somewhat better about the sorry state of his own—but no less certain that it might grind to a halt at any moment.
He turned onto the drive that led to his enclave. It had been a gated community once, long ago. The remnants of the security gates that had once restricted entry into the complex were still visible. The metal had long ago been taken to be turned in for scrap or other uses. Only stacks of broken bricks remained, looking very much like the pillars of an ancient, crumbling house.
Bits of shattered masonry crunched beneath his tires. Harlin hoped that was all it was. So little tread remained on the car’s tires that he feared that a small shard of glass might puncture them.
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