The Veil of Crimson Dust. Part 1.

 The Veil of Crimson Dust: Part 1/4

A Solarpunk Story.

By Dylan “Clockwork” Thomas

Wayland welded the door together, taking care to wipe away any dust that settled there. The dust was all over the country by now. It was hard to find a place in the states where colossal crimson clouds weren’t suffocating people with fits of coughing. The reasons the dust had arrived were obvious, drought, wildfires, habitat loss and human greed. The world was changing and whatever else people said, the future was going to be a rough time, a time that was arriving soon.

Thus many people decided to take shelter in an attempt to ride things out to greener pastures. Those on the coast often bought boats, yachts, barges and anything that could float to try and rebuild their worlds. Many others decided to flee, going to remote towns in Alaska, Canada, new Zealand, anywhere land was cheap and a minor mansion could be built. Legions of people decided to hunker down in gated communities, under the impression that razor wire fences and security cameras could stop the dust. A few like Mr. Nastrond had commissioned large underground shelters meant to be self-sufficient for a short while. One thing is consistent in every case though. The financers always needed people like Wayland to build them.

“How’s that door coming along?” Erik asked.

“The locks are all on,” Wayland said. “Been trying to keep the welds clean so it won’t fail anytime.”

“Geez look at it,” Erik whistled while handling the latch. “Looks like it was meant to withstand a nuclear war.”

“I think it might,” Wayland replied. “I think a lot of this stuff is based on all fallout bunkers. Not sure if the original company is still in business or someone just took it off an old bunker from the sixties.”

“I think Nastrond grabbed a bit more from the sixties,” Erik pointed out. “Look at some of the stuff he’s having me drag in enough Vietnam era guns to take over Texas, loads of meat in cans, not sure why he isn’t bringing chickens or rabbits if he wants meat.”

Wayland shrugged and responded, “Maybe that’s space and feed that could be better spent on people.”

“Maybe,” Erik pondered. “Still, those last few trucks were full of nothing but luxuries. Barrels of wine and scotch, enough media and vr headsets to give everyone two. A complete movie studio worth of junk we’re talking lights, cameras, props, a freaking rendering server. Does he think he’s gonna be making Hollywood blockbusters or something?”

“Pretty sure he is from Hollywood, he’s some kind of director.”

“That… actually makes sense. He’s probably selling some beds to Hollywood bigshots to pay for the place.”

“Makes sense,” Wayland wondered. “I guess all that stuff is just to keep people from going insane down there. Heck I know that I’d start to go crazy if I had nothing to work on.”

“Got a plan for what we’re going to do when we go down?” 

“Nope, at least he brought plenty of scotch. I can always take up the family pastime of playing, how drunk can you get before noon.”

“You sound like dad.”

“Hey guys,” A beaming young woman covered in paint chirped.

So how do the rooms look Arya?” Wayland asked.

“Better than your welds,” Arya joked. “At least it’s not all gunmetal gray and concrete. Still I had to buy every last paint can in town to finish today. The whole things looks like inside a preschool or some kind of pride parade.”

“Well they are from California,” Erik pointed out.

“And they brought a shipping container full of guns?” Wayland asked.

“Good point.”

“That door done?” one of the project managers asked.

“Ehh 99%,” Wayland guessed. “I’ll finish it soon. Hey when are we getting the next load of supplies? I’m just about out of mig wire over here.”

“We’re about to have a meeting on just that,” the manager stated. “All three of you come with me to the unloading dock.”

The three of them gave each other a look and followed. As they walked to the unloading lot they could see that just about everyone was there. The last trucks to make it in were unloaded and still there. On top of the munitions truck, Nastrond the project owner was getting out a megaphone.”

“Ok is everyone here?” Nastrond blurted out of the megaphone.

There were some nods and general mumblings of “pretty much” amongst the crowd.

“Ok, Nastrond replied. “As I’m sure all of you are aware we’ve been getting more and more behind on supplies. Our project coordinators have all been doing their best to arrange more material to build the shelter. Prospero Springs is nearly a third done as it stands. I want to thank every person who’s worked hard to get where we need to be.”

There was a bit of clapping from some of the younger workers and people on the management side of the project. Wayland looked over to see Arya clapping with a concerned and confused look on her face. Wayland couldn’t see a single older worker in the crowd clapping. They could all tell from the tone of his voice what would next entail.

“Unfortunately we’ve heard today that our cement supplier has gone dark,” Nastrond stated. “That’s the only supplier we’ve been able to find nearby and with fuel shortages in the world, we have no hope to find another supplier. Every person I’ve contacted has stopped producing building materials at this point.”

Nastrond waited for boos or jeers. There was only silence. The air was as thick with dust as it was with tension. 

“We need to make a decision,” Nastrond said. “We just got the electricity and hydroponics installed so at the moment Prospero Springs can support some people. We’re also lucky that most of the people with promised spots haven’t shown up, fuel shortages again. Now we need to make the decision, amongst us the present. Who will have a spot in Prospero Springs?”

“You told us that we were all promised a spot!” Someone shouted.

“I did,” Nastrond replied. “I was also promised concrete, supplies, and tools. We’ve all been lied to, We’re all breaking our promises for one reason or another. I’m going to try and make this right though.”

“We deserve a spot!”

“And you’ll have it,” Nastrond replied. “I’ve been told we have enough room for five hundred people, and we’re going to split them up fairly. You’ve all worked hard, you all deserve it. We’re going to hold a vote.”

There was a minute of silence before people began shouting questions, Nastrond began answering some of them.

“We’re printing out numbers and randomly giving them out. We’ll use a random number generator, people can trade numbers if you want as long as everyone agrees. We’ve counted everyone here, Everyone will have a number painted on their hand and given a slip. Trading will only happen under supervision of management and video-feed that anyone can access. Line up and take a number.”

There was a massive shove to get to the shipping container with the markers. Two people were set up with a laptop with a spreadsheet and an ink stamper. There was a surge of people gunning for the area. It took a good deal of yelling with the megaphone and threats to remove people from the lottery if they didn’t get in line. Eventually something almost resembling a line was formed. Once in it, people were quiet other than a general mumble of complaints and an uneasy hacking from many as the dust storm picked up. Wayland got in line with Arya and Erik, they all had a vague sense of unease. Eventually they got their numbers, a slip of paper and one written on their hand. Alot of people picked at their hands uneasily, grabbed fists and clenched their tickets.

“Does everyone have one?” Nastrond shouted. “Please remember we’re checking both people’s hands.”

There were a few people who got out of the line when he said that. 

“Nine hundred and twenty tickets have been issued, if we have everyone, we’re going to start calling numbers.”

They got out the computer program and began rattling off numbers. One by one people walked forwards to claim a spot. Every time, this happened the project managers recorded them stating that they wanted a spot inside and were then told to gather their things and get ready for entry. The security personnel escorted them wherever they needed. Most people only had a few things in their cars or in bags/tents/cubbyholes. Nearly everyone was a worker who had to move to this job so most people traveled light or out of their car. And with gas becoming scarcer and scarcer, more people just started living out of backpacks and duffle bags. Many got rides from strangers in exchange for chipping in for gas, if you could find gas. 

“Ninety eight!”

“Here!” A plumber in front of Wayland waved their ticket up. Immediately an electrician tried to grab the ticket from them and punch them in the face. Both people were grabbed instantly but another person in the crowd tried to steal their ticket. Immediately nearly every person in front of Wayland was tased by the security personnel. The people involved were separated from each other and cuffed to a big rig truck in the parking lot.

“People please remember that tickets have to be exchanged in front of us or we won’t let you in,” Nastrond announced. “Ok Next up is four hundred and thirty six.”

Another yelp of excitement from the crowd, another round of disappointed sighs by nearly everyone else. Wayland wasn’t sure what to think, he knew that statistically he would have a place inside the shelter. But statistics had a tendency to not work out when you needed to count on them. Wayland looked over at his family, Erik had gone white knuckled from clenching his fists too hard. Arya was scanning the crowd about ready to panic. Wayland prepared himself for the worst to happen, none of them would get in, they would all die out here. Out of the three of them, all their vehicles had maybe a half gallon of fuel. With no trucks on the road, no public transportation and a sea of dust surrounding them. Wayland thought about where they were in the world. On the eastern edge of the rocky mountains in northern Wyoming. There were forests above the mountains but they were on fire half the year. There was at least some water in the mountains though. The entire shelter was fed by an underground river with a peloton wheel turbine carefully built in the lowest level providing power. Wayland pondered how to dig a well in the mountains, or to dam up a seasonal creek. He was so absorbed that he almost didn’t notice Erik’s hand shot up.

“Here I’ve got three hundred and ninety one,” Erik screamed.

“Please come up and confirm your ticket.”

Erik walked forward. Wayland snapped back to reality, he needed to be aware that his number could be called at any moment.

“At least Erik’s getting in.”

“Yea,” Wayland replied.  “You know I bet less than a hundred people have been picked.”

“I think we might get in,” Arya hesitated with a lopsided smile.

The rest of the numbers were called out over several hours. The sun was low in the sky, the pollution and dust had turned sunsets to a nearly blood red to purple color. 

“That’s all the tickets we have, If you want to trade we’ll be here all night.”

It had been several hours, after the final ticket had been called out madness erupted. Shouting, pleading, threats, people begging others to trade. Nastrond yelled back that even he didn’t win one and that he’d do what he could for the people without a spot. After what felt like another hour of yelling, the crowd began to dwindle as people wandered off. A few people with working cars just began to drive off. Many people bumed rides off them to get into town. Arya and Wayland met up with Erik at his pickup truck. 

“Hey,” Erik remarked, not taking his eye off the ticket.

“Well…” Wayland sighed. “Good for you I guess. I’m glad at least one of us got in.”

“Yea…” 

“...”

“One of you should go instead.”

“What?”

“I thought alot about this,” Erik said. “I think I have the best shot out of the three of us to survive out here.”

“Playing shooters for twelve hours a day does not make you some kind of survival expert Erik,” Wayland snapped.

“Yea but I’m just going to go crazy in there anyway,” Erik said. “Shut up and let me do a nice thing. Let’s be real, I'd last for five days before losing it and start trying to tear down the walls to go outside.”

“Then you’d just want to go back inside,” Arya pointed out. “You’d be like one of our cats.”

“Ok listen to me,” Erik pleaded. “I think working down there the past few months has given me a major case of claustrophobia. I feel like around every corner I’m going to find death ready to smother me with a pillow.”

“Do you really feel like that or are you-”

“YES WAYLAND,” Erik shouted. “I’m not going down there.”

Erik marched over to where Nastrond and the project managers were exchanging tickets. Surprisingly there were quite a few who were doing it. People offering to sell their tickets for everything from their cars, property, cryptocurrency, even someone offering a 401k that could buy a ranch. No one seemed sure what anything was worth. 

“Trading a ticket?” Nastrond asked.

“I want to give it to one of my other family members,” Erik said.

“That’s fairly noble of you,” Nastrond noted. “So who to?”

“Erik looked at both of them, “Wayland you’re the person who originally found this job, want a finders fee?”

“Erh,” Wayland looked back at Erik and Arya.

“If I can but in,” Nastrond said. “He doesn’t look partially eager.”

“Well…” Wayland started.

“Out of the three of you, which is the youngest?”

Both Erik and Wayland turned towards, who seemed to be wishing she was anywhere but there at the moment. 

“Guys I’d feel bad if I took the option from either of you.”

“Sounds like either of them don’t quite want it,” Nastrond replied. “Plus if neither of them want it, it'll just go to some other random person. Don’t you want all of your effort to be worth something?”

“Err,” Arya grunted while looking between Wayland and Erik.

“Just think about it,”

The three of them stood for a minute eyeing each other over. Everyone felt like they should say something and no one did for the longest time.

“We’re going to close up pretty soon,” Nastrond said. “Still a few things to finalize.”

“Arya, please take it,” Erik said.

“... ok.”

They confirmed with Nastrond, and Arya began moving her supplies inside. Erik wound up getting the keys to her old car, the gas in the tank was probably worth more the the entire rust bucket.

“I’d say take care of it but I don’t think that’s all that important,” Arya joked.

“We’ll miss you,” Erik replied. “I promise to only wreck it a little.”

“The bunker has wifi, I’ll try to be in contact when possible,” Arya said.

“Thanks,” Erik consoled. “That means alot.”

Over the next few days everything was packed in the bunker that would fit. Entering and exiting the bunker had a complete decontamination procedure, and a few people who had mild illnesses were quarantined in the partially built section. Wayland and Erik helped out with the last few things to install and haul inside. They wanted to give Arya the best shot possible. 

When Arya entered the shelter for the final time, there were tears, promises things would be ok, and a lot of wondering what the future would bring. By that time the parking lot had nearly completely been covered in dust. If you didn’t know where the shelter was, it might have been impossible to find.

“Thanks both of you,” Arya blubbered. “For everything.”

“We’ll see you again,” Erik said. “This is only til the dust stops.”

“Don’t worry about us,” Wayland said, giving Arya a goodbye hug. “Just be strong for us.”

“I will.”

Arya entered the shelter door. Erik and Wayland watched it as the final people entered.

“So got a plan?” Erik asked.

“Nah, just a couple of ideas,” Wayland replied. “I think we should get with the last few people in town and plan out our next moves there.”

“Hmm,” Erik said.

“Thinking?”

“Yea,” Erik replied, not taking his eyes off the door.

“Worried?”

“Yea.”

“... I can tell it’s more than nothing.”

“Erik sighed and turned to Wayland. “Just noticed something, what do you think the man to woman ratio was for people working on the shelter.”

“Fifty fifty-ish.”

“And for who entered the shelter?”

“... Maybe forty sixty?”

“...”

“Coincidence?” Erik wondered.

“I hope so.”

The two brothers took their eyes off the door and began walking to town. The dust storm was already caking their clothes in reds and browns. Erik began coughing and they picked up the pace.

Link to Part 2/4

Feb 20th, Porting through dying suburbia and scavengers. All Roads Lead to a Burning Rome.

All Roads to a Burning Rome.

A Solarpunk Project.

By Dylan Clockwork

Link to Part 1.

Feb 20th, Porting through dying suburbia and scavengers.

Morgan woke to her body completely sore. But there was a scratching noise at the door so she got over herself fast. She tried to not breath and not let the tarp crinkle as she stood up and gripped her shovel.

“I am not dying today,” Morgan declared to herself.

She gripped open the shed door and flung it open, ready to slam down the shovel on whoever was behind.

“Meow?”

Morgan relaxed and packed her bag. She gave the cat one of the few remaining treats, before leaving and hoped it knew how to catch mice. After thinking about it herself, she wished she knew how to catch mice. 

“Ok how am I going to do this?”

She began with the easy part. Throwing everything that didn’t fit in her bag into the canoe. Then came moving it. The canoe was unnaturally smooth and light to haul across the half dead grass. Though it didn’t take long for her to start to get out of breath. Morgan was certain a few days ago she could have done this no problem, as it stood every one of her joints hurt and her legs quietly shrieked as she hauled the thing. Morgan was so tired she nearly forgot where she was going. 

“Ok going downhill, I just need to cut across a few yards and I should hit the Blue river.”

Gradually she got her bearings and tried to figure out which way that was. Thankfully after taking longer than she cared to remember that the sun rises in the east, she started heading in the right direction. Along the way the world seemed strange, everything seemed off from the days before. The first thing that struck her as odd was something that wasn’t there. She couldn’t hear a single car on the road or any wailing siren in the distance. It gave everything an unearthly quiet, one she’d never heard before in four years of living in the city. A quick glance at the sky still revealed the billowing black smoke from housefires, Morgan hoped the sires had just burnt themselves out. Then there were the guards. 

“Get off the lawn,” someone commanded.

“What!”

“Get off the lawn,” someone repeated.

Morgan looked around to see a small whitish house that was falling apart a bit. Sitting on a raised porch poking at a fire pit was a man wearing two coats drinking a mug of coffee.

“I’m sorry I’ll get off,” Morgan apologized, dragging her canoe off to the side.

“Thank you,” the Stranger mouthed. 

“Is that coffee? I’ll trade you for a cup!” Morgan rummaged around in her bag wondering where her wallet was. The thought of having something warm in her stomach was enough to bring her a smile. Morgan hadn't really stopped being cold for the past week. At this point she was surprised she hadn’t lost something to frostbite.

As Morgan pulled out her wallet, she could see the stranger had pulled out a revolver and was beginning to level it at her. 

“I’ll keep moving,” Morgan murmured.

“Please do.”

Morgan dragged her canoe through the street and into the next yard. The stranger continued to eye her. As she dragged the canoe nearby a burnt house she passed by a nearby house that had burnt to the ground. Huddled next to the burnt house she found a person in a sleeping bag huddled up against the burnt wreckage. She couldn’t help but eye as there were few bags nearby, old backpacks full of supplies. Morgan did the math on if she could get away with grabbing one, while walking by. She wondered if the stranger with the gun could see her, if he cared about his neighbors, would the bag clank as she carried it, could the sleeping person hear her even now. From around the corner of the wreckage she came face to face with a kid covered in blankets eyeing Morgan. Morgan tore her eyes away from the bag and gave the child a sad look. The kid looked at her for a minute before walking over to the sleeping person.

“Dad I’m cold, can we go somewhere else?”

“Ermh.”

“Please?”

The sleeper blinked awake and responded, “I don’t know.”

“Ok,” the kid mumbled.

Morgan focused on pushing the canoe forwards and didn’t look back. 

“Bye weird lady,” the kid waved.

“Goodbye,” Morgan responded, trying to push even harder.

Along the way to the river there were dozens of scene’s like that. People sleeping in their cars, people in homes that were partially burnt or had massive damage from the storms. People were lighting fires outside trying to keep warm all the time, she passed by two houses that were eating breakfast outside. One person asked them to go around their house, and after the first encounter she didn’t think twice. On the last street before the river, Morgan was approached by a woman managing a cookfire out of a broken propane grill.

“¿Tienes frío?” they asked.

“Umm, I’m not sure,” Morgan hesitated.

“Quieres cualquier desayuno,”  the woman explained, pointing between Morgan and the fire. “Podría usar un poco de madera, si puedes hacer trabajo.”

“Sorry I think I got the word Si in that,” Morgan apologized.

The woman cooking called back into the house. "Obtener el teléfono del traductor."

“Nice talking to you,” Morgan responded. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Muy bien, adiós,” she replied with a wave.

“Ok that I got.”

Morgan dragged the canoe through the brush. There was a sheer wall of honeysuckle and young trees trying to compete with each other. She followed the wet soil through, it looked as if a deer had run through. After a a few dozen feet she discovered it was a homeless person, in a clearing. The clearing had tarps vaguely in the shape of a tent and several scavenged boxes and castoff scraps of furniture, anything that could be dragged from a roadside. The homeless person had a fire going and seemed to be looking at Morgan with a tilted head.

“Hello?” they asked.

“Hi,” Morgan responded.

“Going fishing?”

“Something like that,” Morgan replied, wondering how much they should say. “The Blue river is down this way right?”

“Yea it’s flooded to high hell though,” they explained. “The floodwaters are still around and the river is up, god knows what’s washed up in there. The current is fast too, don’t think about going back upstream.”

“Thanks... I’m meeting a friend downstream who will help me out,” Morgan articulated.

“Right…” the homeless person said. “I take it you lost your place too.”

“Well, yea,” Morgan admitted. 

“Whole world seems like it just sort of turned off,” the homeless person stated. “There were a few days of panicking but everything has just sort of fallen apart.”

“Well alot of stupid mistakes were made,” Morgan remarked. “I heard that nobody prepared for any kind of storm since it was so out of season. A load of places went offline after floods took out roads, power lines, my own place was burnt down after the natural gas stopped for some reason.”

“Dam, how many people are as screwed as you right now?”

“Nobody is doing well, but most people are doing a bit better than me for now,” Morgan added. “I think I may have just had a bit too much bad luck.”

“Well that’s what happened to me,” the homeless person declared while doing a little dance. “Everyone’s been dragged to my level, chaaa.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Oh I’ve been here a year,” the homeless person explained, straightening themselves out. “Parents kicked me out when I was 18 without telling me their plan. I would up couchsurfing, and when my friends moved away for college I’ve been living out here.”

“Your parents suck.”

“Yep.”

“Uh do you want to um…” Morgan tried to figure out how to ask this.

“I don’t really know any area other than this one,” the homeless person replied. “Thank’s but no thanks, all my friends are around here, I know how to survive here, and I know where to scavenge supplies. If I were to go with you I’d maybe survive wherever you’re going to crash on your couch. Then you’d get sick of me in two weeks. You and the people you live with would get sick of me not having a job despite applying to dozens of places a day having no real skills and no permanent address. Then in a month you’d tell me to get out of your house and open the door for me if I knock. THEN I have to hope like hell that my spot-”

“You ok?”

“NO.”

“...”

“Sorry,” Morgan said.

“It’s life,” they responded. “Don’t trust people, half of em are terrible, the other half are the kind that’ll turn terrible.”

“I guess so,” Morgan replied, looking at her feet. Morgan wasn’t really sure how she got into this conversation and didn’t know how to get out of it. She was also vaguely wondering if the homeless person was going to threaten to stab her like so many other people in the last week. 

“Erm,” they paused, realizing Morgan’s discomfort. “Er, how prepped are you for going down that river?”

“Not very,” Morgan admitted.

“One day journey of multi?”

“Maybe a week?”

“Gone camping much?”

“Nope.”

“Ok I’m going to give you a couple of pointers here.”

Over the next hour Morgan spoke to the homeless person who she learned was called Ana. Ana lived maybe a ten minute walk from her family’s neighborhood. Her parents locked the house on her, although the rest of her siblings still lived there past 18 for some reason. She could meet them occasionally though . Ana ranted a good deal about her parents. Morgan sat around Ana’s fire a good deal just grateful to warm up. Morgan nodded plenty and made sure that she remembered enough of the rants to be quizzed on them later. In between bouts of anger Ana gave her some heads up for how to live in the elements. How to start fires, how to hide a tent, how to dress, stay out of the wind, if you get wet, warm up or you’ll die, how two thin layers were better than a single thick one. When in danger, run or threaten people, nothing else works once they make you a target. Ana even gave Morgan some plastic bags to put her things in. Morgan was going to give her a solar light as thanks but Ana refused. It seemed as though Ana was in a much better position than someone for once and was going to refuse the charity.

“Yea you don’t have anything I need,” Ana mused, poking through Morgan’s bag. “I have a solar charger already and a few flashlights. Wish I could charge them but I’ve already found lights like yours at the dollar store. Hello!”

“It’s just a toy,” Morgan said looking at the fake gun.

“You could kill a squirrel with it maybe,” Ana chirped. “Pew pew pew.”

“I don’t have any bbs,” Morgan retorted.

“Well don’t tell the squirrels,” Ana joked, handing it to Morgan.

Ana then started throwing scraps of paper and twigs inside a plastic bag.

“The heck is that for?” Morgan asked.

“Keep some tinder dry, just trust me,” Ana replied. “If you can find it, paper works great, birchbark, leaves, anything that’s dry. You can even use thin plastic, you can't go two steps without running into it now.”

“Won’t that give me cancer?”

“Yep, same as everything else,” Ana Joked. “Look I have zero faith I’m going to live past thirty given how my life’s been going. And if I freeze I’m going to lose a foot to frostbite and die, no question. I don’t get to worry about my life in 30 years when I'm what, 48? ”

For the first Morgan actually realized that Ana was younger than her and having to deal with all this. She went through the peaks of sadness and anger in an instant.

“Why are you all the way out here?”

“A friend of mine lived maybe a two minutes walk from here,” Ana responded. “It’s one of the better spots I’ve found.”

“No I mean why don’t you live near your family?” Morgan questioned. “I get your parents are awful but why not live near your siblings.

“My dad doesn’t want me on his property.”

“Live near his property then, like you’re doing here. There’s loads of houses that have burnt down in the city since nobody knows how to start a fire.”

“Pretty sure he wouldn’t want me living near him,” Ana stated with a grimace. 

“So, what do you owe him?” Morgan asked. “What’s he going to do, tell you to get off shit that isn’t his property.”

“They’re my parents and I have to respect them,” Ana mouthed. “Well… I have to put up with them.”

“You owe them nothing.”
“Yea… you know I think I’ll check out around the neighborhood then,” Ana reasoned. “It’s closer to the food pantry anyway.”

“Good plan,” Morgan said. “Alright I need to get going.”

“You try not to die,” Ana said tossing the bags of supplies in the canoe. “Have fun making your way to Dixon.”

“Thanks.”

Morgan tore herself away from the fire and got back to her canoe. The thought of lugging the thing even further was getting to her and caused her to look back at the campsite. It was a nice place, a small tent covered in tarps and brush, a fire pit made out of loose stone and tons of scavenged stuff hidden in cardboard boxes. It was all well hidden by thick groves of red cedar trees and brush. Morgan turned around and kept moving, if she didn’t start moving immediately, she’d never find the motivation to do anything. 

“Just keep moving, Just keep moving.”

Morgan trudged through more and more brush. She was moving slowly but moving. It occurred to her that she’d thought she’d be moving faster. She knew she walked at around three miles an hour, around an average speed. Of coarse that was when she felt like walking, when she had food in her stomach, the temperature wasn’t terrible, there was an actual path, she wasn’t hauling a canoe, and she wasn’t getting snagged on every tree and thorn in her way. 

“Fucking thorns,” she said picking off yet another branch that snagged her jeans.

Down her leg she felt warmth and was relived, right up until she realized it was probably blood. She wished she had thicker clothing.

“Just keep moving, Just keep moving.”

She found a railroad as she went through the forest. She wasn’t sure if it was meant to be there but to check and make sure would have meant to boot up her phone which had maybe a 7% charge. Morgan pushed her canoe to the other side of the tracks. She wasn’t worried about any trains. She heard on the radio that all the trains were stopped due to all the downed trees and destroyed bridges. It’s how a lot of gas and oil was delivered and now it was practically impossible to get a tank of gas. Shame her car was gridlocked and looted, it actually did have a nearly full tank. Enough to get home, it’s probably why it was stripped down in the first place.

For a while Morgan sat and caught her breath. 

“Ok I need to get to the river where is it?”

Far in the distance she thought she heard a telltale honk of a train’s horn. While trying to find where it was coming from she discovered it sounded less and less like a horn the more she listened. After a minute of listening it sounded like it wasn’t even coming from the track and Morgan went to check it out. A bit of walking up the rails later and she found a ditch full of water, with a few canadian geese honking at each other. The water was flowing to the north slightly.

“Sweet.”

“Honk.”

“You do you goosething.”

Morgan dragged the canoe through the floating plastic and half submerged brambles. The geese protested and a few hissed at her. Morgan pulled out her shovel and prepared to whack them if they got close. 

“I’ve had a long week, get out of here.” Morgan growled.

“Hiss.”

“Fuck off.”

Morgan pushed off from the bank and grabbed onto floatsoam to push further towards the river. From behind her she could still hear the geese complaining.

“Freaking canadian tourist asshole birds,” Morgan complained.

“Bitch!”

“What?”

“Honk!”

Morgan looked back, there were only geese. She continued forward, there was no energy left to start questioning geese.