#post shock

The truck was still moving, every bump in the road shaking Anna to her bones. She clutched her gun just a little bit tighter as she looked at the other people of Los Palos. Most had - somehow - managed to fall asleep, or at least gave the appearance of such, but she and a few others were still awake. They had been driving for hours, and we're somewhere in the desert.

Her gaze settled on Miss Azura, the feisty archer lady from the SOTA people. She had seemed more tolerant of Anna with their shared experiences earlier that day - after all, Miss Katie had somehow ended up in the body of one of her friends, and Anna had been there and ready to help.

"You can't help everyone."

Mr Phil's words came back to her, as well as the thought she had blurted out in response - "I know. I'm not a Medic."

Well, she might not be a medic, but she was certain Miss Azura was. And she had seen the cut on the woman's arm - it looked deep, but she hadn't tended to it. Anna wondered if that was because she didn't have the right things, or if she didn't want to. Some people were crazy like that, not wanting their injuries to be fixed. But Miss Azura wasn't that crazy, was she?

With most people having fallen into sleep, there was a little more space, and Anna moved closer to Miss Azura. She had seemed upset earlier, but Anna was quickly getting used to telling if the SOTA people were upset enough to try and hurt her or not.

"Miss Azura?" She asked tentatively, "Are you okay? Your arm looks bad. Is there anything I can do? We should get it covered, so it doesn't get infected."

Azura sighed as this ‘young girl’ approached. Anna was persistent; she’d give her that. “It’s fine! Not even that deep, I’ve had deeper wounds before.” She turned to the left moving her arm outta sight. “Why do you care anyway? No one cares about anyone but themselves in this shithole.”

"I know," Anna sighed, "And it's dumb. You gotta care about stuff and people, or else you're as bad as a daemon. They don't care, 'bout anything."

She sat next to Miss Azura and tried to look at the injured arm. Hesitantly, she lowered her voice.

"I seen you cut yourself on purpose," she admitted, tilting her head to one side. "Why'd you do that?"

Azura continued to hide her injured arm. “You’re particularly nosy aren’t you? If you really must know, some... information was in my arm that I needed to find out.”

Anna frowned at the statement. "Why would anyone put information in a real human arm? You've got the special arm right there," she gestured to the cyborg arm. "That's kinda dumb, giving you info but making you hurt yourself to get at it."

Azura frowned “Are you squeamish little one?”

"What's squeamish?" Anna asked, tilting her head. "Is that like, where you faint from seeing blood? Cos, no."

With a sigh Azura bought her left arm into view and turned to the right to face Anna. With a quick glance around the truck to see if anyone was watching she quickly revealed her injury. Clear as day, the wires running through Azura’s body were visible to both girls.

The temptation to poke was overwhelming, but Anna remembered her manners at the very last moment. She frowned slightly.

"It all looks fine, but I'mnot an engineer. Why'd you need to get in at it? Was something not working right?"

“I’m a human! Humans don’t have wires in their bodies now do they!” Azura raised her voice but quickly quieted herself, glancing at the others in the truck. “Something about my past is fucked up, and I’m gonna work out what!”

Anna shrugged. "Well, some humans have wires in 'em. Doesn't make you not human, it just means you're different to other humans. And that's okay! I'm different, Mr Windsor's different, Miss Stella and Mr Preacher and Mr Phil - all of 'em are different. Doesn't mean none of 'em are human. Same for you - you got a thing, it makes you different. But it hurt when you cut yourself, didn't it? Only synths don't actually get hurt from stuff like that."

She paused, thinking about the other thing Azura had said. "I'm good at puzzles, and people tell me stuff, a lot. So if you want, I can help you find out. You don't gotta do stuff on your own, Miss Azura. That's how people get so angry at the world, 'cos they think they're alone when they're not really."

Reaching for a bandage Azura started covering her wound. “I’m used to doing things alone; when your father only used you and your sisters as a fucking personal army, or being sentenced to death cause the asshole decided to kill your twin, you learn to deal with people’s bullshit by only trusting yourself in this fucked up world.”

"Yeah, that doesn't sound like something any real dad would do," Anna admitted, her eyes on the bandage. An idea popped into her head suddenly, and she was speaking before she really even thought of the words.

"Hey, can you teach me to be a medic? It helps people, and I know you're really good at it. And it's gotta be hard to bandage up something with only one hand, too," she added, nodding at the injured arm. "I can help you, if you want to show me how."

Azura looked up at Anna in confusion. “You wanna be a medic? You realise that being a medic kinda puts a target on your back in this group. Not everyone likes medics, and they'll use you as leverage to get what they want."

Anna shrugged. "I mean, I wanna help people. Not everyone likes medics, but not everyone likes me already, so what's the difference? I just wanna help, because people are scared and it makes them angry. Maybe if they knew there was always help around, they wouldn't be so scared, and then they'd be less angry."

Anna hurriedly grabbed her bag and ran to the shack, ducking under Alaric's arm as he held the door open for her. They had a safe place for the night, it seemed.

After the fire was going and some food had been cooked, Alaric finally settled onto the moth-eaten sofa and relaxed. Anna was brushing out her hair, and looked over at Alaric as he put his feet up. His face was so lined that she wondered how old he really was. She knew it was rude to ask, but her curiosity sometimes got the better of her - and he looked like he was in a good enough mood to answer her.

Sometimes, however, he seemed to know exactly what she was thinking.

"Fifty-six,"

Anna stared at him, her mouth dropping open. "Huh?"

"I'm fifty-six, Annaleigh."

"How'd you know I was gonna ask?" She asked.

"'Cos you always do," he snorted softly, but it seemed like he was laughing. "Any time we've found a safe place for the night and fed well and get comfortable, you ask. And if you don't ask, you get this look on your face, like you're gonna ask. But you don't, not always. You just stare."

"I'm sorry," she dropped her head, feeling embarrassed, "I know it's rude to ask--"

"It's only rude if the person you're askin' gets upset," Alaric told her. "A lot of things ain't polite to do, but if nobody knows you're doing it, nobody's gonna get upset. Remember that, Anna. You'll need that cunning one day," he muttered to himself. Anna looked down at the brush in her hand, before looking back up at Alaric. He seemed to be in a better mood than usual, so she decided to press her luck.

"Alaric?"

"Hm?"

"I miss Elizabeth."

He opened his eyes, staring at the wall for a few moments before sighing deeply.

"Me too."

Anna frowned slightly. Did he regret sending her away? She knew that sometimes he'd wake up at night with nightmares, and Elizabeth used to be the one to throw cold water in his face so he would stop panicking. Anna was always too scared to get close, so she would just wait for him to realise that the dream was over.

"Anna," Alaric sighed again, "Do you know why I had to send Elizabeth away?"

Anna shook her head, pursing her lips. "No."

Alaric sat up and leaned forward, looking at Anna carefully. "Anna, what happened about... thirty years ago?"

"I don't know. I wasn't born then."

"Daemons spread," he stated. "Now, thirty years ago, I was twenty-six. I had a wife. Most beautiful lady you've ever seen. She looked like Cinderella, with big blue eyes and beautiful dark blonde hair."

Anna didn't know who "Cinderella" was, but she guessed that Alaric must have thought she was really pretty, just from what he was saying.

"We married way younger than most thought right," Alaric explained, "We weren't even out of school, but we knew it was right. Probably a good thing, too, because my folks got sick when I came out of school. Med bills weren't cheap, so I joined the military to help ease the pain of the bills. Did two tours in Mongolia, saw some shit, then got out and came home. I took shrapnel to the leg while on duty, and they botched the surgery not once, not twice, but four times. So, they let me out, paid out the rest of my expected salary, plus all the bonuses, and a nice little somethin' extra so I wouldn't go runnin' to the media about it. I was fine with that - the money was enough to pay off my folks' medical bills, and buy myself a house, and give Gisele the weddin' she deserved. It was worth it to see the way her face lit up when she walked into that church," he shook his head, smiling with his eyes closed. Anna closed her eyes as well and tried to imagine what "the wedding Gisele deserved" might look like. All she came up with was something like that wedding they went to in Sarc, where there was lots of dancing and fun. She decided to add a few more flowers to her mental image - she figured Gisele might have liked flowers.

"We moved into my house together, and within a year she gave me a daughter. We called her Sienna, and her little sister Demi followed four years later. And that's... where things got bad,"

He exhaled softly, as if trying to keep himself calm, and Anna wondered if she might need to get some of the washing water to throw at him, in case he started to panic. But he seemed to get a hold of himself, and shook his head. He looked over at the fire they'd lit, watching the flames.

"Where we were, it was pretty safe at night. The daemons had already happened, and by the time Demi was ten, they were everywhere. We mostly knew how to avoid them, so we kept our house surrounded by lights at night and if any of them did dare to come too near, we'd throw them poisoned or rotten meat. They'll eat anything, as you've seen, but they had a semblance of intelligence then. If a few of them got sick eatin' at one place, most of that pack would stay away from that place. Daytime, we lived normal, night time we stayed indoors and hoped they didn't develop immunity to light."

"Sienna was around sixteen when she started to chafe. People've since told me that it was normal. Teenagers start arguin' with their folks a lot sooner, that we were lucky we had so many good years before puberty got the better of her. But it's no comfort. See, I don't tell them that I told her to go outside that night,"

His voice was shaking, and he took a moment to compose himself. Anna was watching him carefully, watching as he tried to stop himself falling into the emotions.

"We were arguin', like we usually did. She didn't want do the dishes, wanted to know why she always had to do the dishes and Demi never had to Demi was twelve by this time - just like you and Elizabeth," he added. "She'd been tryin' to get Demi to help with her chores, since she had started doin' them when she was twelve. But Demi... Demi was a bit clumsy. She was more likely to run the water too hot and burn herself, or accidentally cut herself washin' up knives. We had her doing the less dangerous chores, stuff like helping with the laundry, or dustin' the sideboard. Sienna had a bit of a tantrum, and I lost my temper. Told her if she didn't like it, she was welcome to find somewhere else to live. So she grabbed her coat and a torch and went outside, into the night."

Alaric dropped his gaze to the floor, screwing his eyes shut, but Anna could tell from the shake in his shoulders that he was fighting back sobs.

"I thought she'd come back..." he finally managed to say, his voice tight. "But when she didn't, I went out to look for her. And while I was out... I-i don't know. The power went out, and--"

He didn't need to continue. Mr Fischer had told her a long time ago. Daemons were a constant threat to life almost everywhere, so it was no surprise to her that they'd swept in and seemingly claimed everything that was left. It was a story many people had told her already; they'd turned their back for just a few seconds, and when they turned back, their family and friends were gone.

It took him a long time to recover himself, and she waited silently and patiently, letting him have his grief. She looked away, watching the fire while she heard him pulling himself back together behind her.

"Elizabeth fought with me, a lot like Sienna did," he finally said, "Sometimes, I'd forget that I was talking to Elizabeth. Horrific things like the things I've seen, they do funny things to your brain. When something sets it off, "triggers" it... It puts me back in that place when the bad things first happened. The last fight we had, me and Elizabeth, I forgot I was fighting with Elizabeth. I was lookin' at Sienna, yellin' at Sienna. And it was Sienna who said she could make it on her own, but that wasn't what Elizabeth said. I didn't hear Elizabeth, I only heard Sienna."

It was starting to fit together. Anna had heard of the brain problem Alaric was describing. A nurse at Sarc had told her about it. PTSD. She didn't know what the letters stood for, but sometimes it would make people just stop, unable to go on - and sometimes, it would make people forget where they were, what they were doing, and make them think they were in a different place, different time, with different people. It could make people violent and aggressive, or make them silent and submissive.

She knew Alaric had it. The nightmares were a symptom, the way he'd sometimes stare vacantly, or ramble almost incoherently about how things "used to be". Mr Fischer had said that he could get help, but he wasn't and didn't seem to want to. Anna knew she should suggest he get it fixed, but she didn't think it was her place to make that comment.

"It was because of that, that I knew Elizabeth couldn't stay," Alaric admitted finally. "Oh, I've been keeping track of the man she went off with. Noah Everett. Don't know where exactly she is all the time, but Joe keeps in touch with him, and he mentions her from time to time. She's doin' okay. And I think that, given everything I was goin' through, it was better to send her away with someone who'd keep her safe, rather than keep her here. I learned from last time, I guess."

Anna had turned to look at him, curious now that he'd mentioned Elizabeth. Why didn't he ever tell her that he knew she was safe?

The sky over the southern plains was almost always tinted a deep red-orange these days, and it had been this way for as long as Liz could remember.

She was crouched over a small device, fiddling with some of the wires that hung out of the back of the casing, a lighter in one hand as she held two exposed wires together with a pair of pliers. It was a shitty way to solder wires back together, but she was good at fiddling with things.

Satisfied, she wrapped a small piece of tape around the exposed wires and tucked them inside the casing, before flipping the device over. Most people this way didn’t seem to bother with radio communications any more, so it hadn’t been too difficult to find the parts to fix up the ute’s old UHF radio.

Liz flicked the switch on the side and a burst of static sounded as she began to turn the dial, trying to find the right wavelength. The digital display showed the frequency as she slid through, finding the familiar numbers. Smirking with pride, she raised the handset to her mouth.

“Yo, Sensei. You there?”

There was a soft hiss of static as she waited for a response, before the sound changed slightly.

“Padawan, switch to wizard code.”

Liz quickly fiddled with the dial, finding another frequency, and paused, waiting for a response.

“Noah?”

“Hey chicka, how’re you doing?”

A small smile tugged the corners of her lips as the familiar voice cut through the static. “Hey Noah, how’s things?”

“You sure blew up a storm wit’ how you left, girl. Mama ain’t too happy you took the ute and left Mitchy just sittin’ in the cold.”

“I gave him the shit he’d need to get home safe. Mama can suck my dick.”

“You know she probably would. But anyways, took you long enough to get in touch. What’s goin’ on?”

“I got your message, obviously,” Liz replied, “So, what do we know about Los Palos?”

Noah sighed heavily on the other end, and she could almost envision him leaning back in his chair. Since the rollover crash, he’d struggled with reaction speeds, which was crucial for a driver. Mama Everett never left a man behind, so she’d given him a job working with the comms setup at home base. Liz, ever eager for adventure and excitement, had stuck to the road, becoming a freelance gunner - and one of the most popular, at that.

“Not a lot, funnily enough,” he replied, “It’s one of those kind of black spots on our radar. Some intel we got from these guys, the Iscariots, suggests it’s one of those gated kind of places. I don’t know what you’ll have to sell to get in there, though.”

“We both know there’s no price too high,” Liz reminded him, “And you’re sure she’s there?”

“Not me,” Noah replied, “Friend of mine, Fischer, he had a sketch that Alaric was in, and I’m pretty sure the girl with him was her. You can find him at what’s left of the San Antonio refuge.”

Liz felt her face twist into a grimace at the thought of the refuge. They’d passed through it a few years ago, but she doubted it had seen much improvement - most of those kinds of places didn’t have enough stability in their population for there to be any sort of progressive action.

“What sector of the refuge?” She asked, noting the info on her arm anyway. “If this place is a black spot, how am I supposed to get in there?”

“Beats me. I’ll get in touch with a friend, see if we can pull a string or two, but for now just get in touch with Fischer, he’ll be in zone six. Radio back in if he doesn’t have any messages for you from me.” She heard a voice in the background of Noah’s end. “I gotta look busy, one of the boys is comin’ through. You stay safe, chica.”

“I’ll kick twice as much ass on your behalf,” Liz chuckled. The radio static returned, and she sighed, turning the device off and looking down at the notes on her arm.

Fischer, SARC 6

San Antonio - or what was left of it - was still a couple of days’ travel away. The nearest settlement was a solid half-day walk away, but she knew there was the remains of an old town somewhere in the next valley - the main reason she was hesitant about heading there was the inevitable shelter it offered for daemons.

There were dangers to driving in this part of the country, dangers that Noah Everett was all too aware of - but he knew that he didn't have time for fear. Let the passengers deal with the racing heart beat and sweaty palms that came with dangerous territory.

Ever since he'd known Elizabeth Johnston, Noah had been aware of the girl's sole driving purpose in life. He had been there when she had been separated from her sister, exchanged for food and ammunition that her so-called father figure had sorely needed at the time. Noah had been the one on the other end of the exchange, after all - and the second that the old man and Elizabeth's younger sister were gone, he had told Liz she was free to make her own decision on what she wanted to do next. It was a luxury she had never been awarded before, but one that she would be offered time and time again in the decade that would follow.

Noah had taken her on as a gunner. He needed a second pair of eyes when he was on the road, and although she had never shot a gun before, Liz had picked it up pretty fast. She wasn't a very talkative type, having lived as a servant to a bitter old man who was trapped in his memories of the past. But over the years, she had broken out of the shell she had been forced to develop. Noah was proud to say that he had been a direct influence on that - he'd quickly grown attached to the strange teenager, and insisted on ensuring she knew how to protect herself. He had taught her to fight, shoot, drive, haul cargo, and actually enjoy the chaos that was modern life in the States.

But that fire he had helped her to build up would undoubtedly get her into trouble, one day. And that one day was coming soon - if it hadn't arrived already.

Noah had spent the past six months in the comms house at Base. The Everett Trading Company was by no means a small operation, and obviously there was a need to maintain constant contact with everyone involved in the operations - whether they were out on runs, resting up, or waiting around in Base. Being the main trading group on the eastern seaboard, the various members of the Everett "family" had access to all sorts of information, and being the youngest son of the original family, Noah was one of the few people who had the security clearance to be privy to all of that knowledge.

Liz had spent the better part of the last ten years looking for her younger sister, Annaleigh Johnston. Noah had seen an opportunity in the comms house to track down the girl's location; he'd been able to trace the girl's guardian, a man named Alaric, but since Anna was mostly kept out of sight, she had been difficult to track.

Until a week ago.

Noah had made contact with an old friend, who had once been a photographer. Though the decline in civilisation and culture had ebbed away at the need for his trade, Fischer, hadn't given up on his old skills or hobby. He had some of the almost ancient photography equipment he also maintained, and the second Noah had made contact, Fischer had mentioned "the little girl you're lookin' for".

There was only one "little girl" Noah was trying to track down, and after Fischer had described her, he had known it was the right one.

"Her and her dad come through. He set her up with nice new clothes, since she’s gettin’ big now. But she came back a week later, alone. I helped her get on a truck for somewhere west of here," he had said, "Lost Palace? I dunno, some place out near the Nemexa camps."

Noah had checked the maps, and the only place in the area Fischer had described was a shady town called Los Palos. He double checked and triple checked, just to be certain, and then just before dawn, he had sent a message to the last camp Liz had been in, one he signed off on himself: Los Palos, Old West.

That had been three days ago.

Noah glanced at the treeline bordering the road again, before flicking the headlights on. Night fell faster in these hills, but the tracker told him he wasn't too far away.

Liz had stolen the pickup, abandoning the driver and almost all of ETC's company gear. At least she'd had the sense to do that - Mama wasn't happy about her stealing the truck, but if it came back in good condition then such a misdemeanour could be excused. Usually, they were able to track the vehicles, but Liz was one of the few people who knew how to disable the tracker - she'd had the sense, however, to reconnect it once she was apparently finished with the vehicle. Or in distress.

Noah knew Liz too well to imagine she was in any sort of distress.

Still, the girl had left behind a hell of a mess to clean up, and Noah had unfortunately volunteered to do that. At least it got him out of the office.

Night had fallen by the time the headlights illuminated the white shape of the missing pickup. Noah sighed as he pulled up on the side of the road behind the vehicle, killing the engine and climbing out. At the same time, the original driver and Noah’s own gunner both jumped down from the tray of the ute he’d been driving.

"Why the hell would she drive it this far out and then ditch it?" The other driver, an almost naive youth known as Skitz, was shaking his head. "If she ran out of gas, we're gonna have to find some of our own to get it home."

"She'll have left it with gas," Noah reassured him. "She brought it to this point so it was out the way, less likely to be targeted by raiders and scavengers. But she also stopped here because it's half a tank from the last refill station - which means, if you economise, you'll get it back there without trouble."

Skitz huffed, clearly disgruntled by Noah's knowledge. Skitz was relatively new, only two years into the family, but he had already adopted the attitude that he knew everything. Noah hated people like that.

"I'mma check it out," he told Skitz and the gunners, starting for the vehicle, "Y'all keep ya ears peeled. We don't want no daemons sneakin' up on us."

He didn't wait for a response, approaching the ute and scanning it for any signs of a trap. The door was unlocked, and he pulled it open to find the keys sitting on the driver's seat.

"Liz, you considerate bitch," he chuckled, scooping them up and pocketing them quickly. He scanned the interior of the vehicle, and was about to close the door and give Skitz the all-clear to take over, when he noticed something tucked under the front passenger seat.

Leaning over, Noah tugged at the fluorescent yellow box. The device was easily dislodged from the hiding place, and he frowned at it as he looked it over. If he didn't know better, which he did, he would have guessed that he was looking at an old VLF radio.

While most communication radios used the ultra high frequency spectrum, VLF radios had been used almost exclusively by military units, particularly naval units, back in the days of submarines. The density of the radio waves made it much easier to communicate without environmental disruptions, and the waves tended to actually follow the curvature of the earth's surface - though they were more susceptible to interference from higher radio frequencies. Given their current location, Noah figured that such things wouldn’t be a problem - they were too deep into Georgia, and most people actively avoided the wooded mountains because of daemons and raiders alike.

The fluorescent yellow paint job told him that it was definitely left by Liz. She had a love of obnoxiously bright colours, for some inexplicable reason. Noah wondered why she’d leave a radio behind when she was heading out west, but he realised almost as quickly as the thought occurred - she would want to say goodbye. If not in person, then at least over radio.

The land had changed so much. Wastelands, zones, settlements, and camps. Forestland that had once covered entire mountains had been burned away, summer fires unchecked by the human force that once confronted it. Feral animals feasted on corpses of the fallen, sharing their meals with the infestation that had cursed humanity to this new world.

But pockets of humanity had survived.

Predawn illuminated the horizon over the Atlantic Ocean as the tide rolled in, waves lapping at the cement wall that shielded the large camp from high tide and seaward attacks. It was beginning to weaken in places, particularly as the water eroded the supporting sand base beneath it - but for now, it held.

The tents were misshapen, mismatched collections of weatherproof materials thrown together haphazardly to provide basic shelter for people to sleep in. Nobody cared about the rain, the winds, or the other weather when they were awake - they only wanted dry places to rest.

The largest structure, in the very centre of the camp, was an old military command tent. Several figures lounged around the embers of a fire in front of it, their sombre discussion having lulled into silence as the sky began to lighten.

Inside the main tent, a young male reread the note he had just taken down, before tearing the piece of paper out of his notepad and rising from his desk.

None of the camp's security questioned him as he exited the tent, though he paused as if expecting to be challenged. As the silence persisted, he started across the camp, making a beeline for one of the old pickup trucks parked just beyond the tent city.

Knuckles rapped sharply on the passenger side window, and the young messenger waited for a response. After a few moments, the window slid down slightly.

"What?"

"Message on the traders' channel just came in for Liz Everett."

He slipped the piece of paper through the window as he spoke, and it was snatched from his fingers. He waited for a moment as a light became visible inside, shining on the paper slip.

"Who signed it?"

"No idea, ma'am. It sounded like an N E, but the N seemed stuttered."

There was shifting for a moment in the cab, before the door opened.

She'd been introduced to him as Liz Everett, one of their infamous "shotguns". The Everetts controlled most of the supply chain along the eastern coastal camps, and their shotguns were loyal companions to the traders themselves. It was their job to keep the vehicle safe from attack while taking the shorter but more dangerous routes between various camps. The stories bandied about camps often didn't match with the reality, but the youth had had enough direct encounters with Everetts to know that the shotguns were accurate, lethal, and almost completely sociopathic.

"Here," Liz grunted, dropping a couple of 9mm bullets into the messenger's hand. Bullets had become a form of currency used by gunners along the coast. "Use them or trade them. Don't send a reply."

The Messenger thanked her quietly before hurrying off. Liz watched him go, green eyes following his movement between the tent city until he was out of sight. She looked down at the untidy scrawl on the note in her hand.

Los palos old west

"Old West" was slang for the darker parts of Texas, New Mexico, Nevada, and southern California - places where most trading groups didn't bother with. Those pockets had either regressed into tribal communities, or had advanced tech they preferred to keep hidden from other survivors. "Los Palos", she figured, was the name of a region or camp in that area. Given that the sender - the seemingly mysterious N.E. - hadn't provided any additional information, she figured it would be on the map.

Checking to make sure she wasn't being watched, Liz slid from her seat and walked around to the back of the old pickup. Keys chimed softly as she drew them from her pocket, selecting one and unlocking a hidden drawer beneath the ute's tray. She pulled out a small, folded piece of what looked like canvas, glanced around again, and unfolded the canvas, smoothing it out on the tray.

The Everetts had maintained a monopoly on the east coast trading by making their own routes, cutting across country and through dangerous black spots to shave a few minutes to a few hours off a trip. In the early days, traders were sought after for both their wares and their knowledge, and the Everett family had plenty of both. The maps detailing the various safe routes not only along the coast, but throughout the entire remnants of the US, were hand-stitched onto canvas sheets, protected from corruption from water, blood, petrol, or anything else that might damage other maps.

Liz now leaned over this canvas map, the thin beam of light from her torch illuminating the different town and camp names. Although their trade was on the coastline, the Everetts made it their business to keep updated on region changes beyond their jurisdiction, and every map was turned in when they returned to base camp, to be updated by the old seamstress synths before being handed out to those taking another adventure into dangerous territory.