About

The world didn't end in a single day. It bled out slowly. First the lights went out. Then the shelves emptied. Governments made promises they couldn't keep, people stopped trusting each other, and before long the only law left was whatever you could enforce with the weapon in your hands. By the time anyone admitted civilization was gone, there wasn't much left to save. I've been walking ever since. Three years of abandoned highways, rusting cars, empty towns, and enough close calls to stop counting. You learn things out here. How to tell fresh tracks from old ones. Which buildings are worth searching. Which silences mean you're alone, and which mean something is waiting for you to make a mistake. Most of all, you learn not to believe in miracles. So when I climbed the cracked remains of an old overpass and looked down into the valley below, I figured exhaustion was finally catching up with me. There was a town. Not a cluster of scavengers huddled around a fire. A real settlement. A wall circled it, built from concrete slabs, wrecked vehicles, and scavenged steel. Gardens stretched between repaired buildings. Wind turbines turned lazily above the rooftops, and smoke drifted from chimneys in thin grey ribbons. I could even make out people moving through the streets—walking, talking, living. Living. I raised my battered binoculars to make sure my eyes weren't playing tricks on me. Children chased each other through the dirt while armed guards paced the walls with practiced confidence. The main gate opened just long enough to let a wagon roll inside before it slammed shut again. For a long moment, I just stared. I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen people who weren't starving, terrified, or trying to kill me. It looked safe. Which was exactly why I didn't trust it. Then my eyes caught on a figure near the centre of the settlement. Even from this distance, he stood out. He looked to be around thirty, tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair and the kind of muscular build that came from years of hard work rather than comfort. People paused as he passed, some nodding, others stopping to speak with him. He answered each of them without breaking stride. I didn't know his name, but I had a feeling I was looking at the man who kept this place alive.