Chapter Two

Alex clambered over the last ridge and stood, staring down into the valley at the city of Colville. Well, “city” wasn't quite the right term; even before the war it had been a pretty podunk town whose prime export was jobs. In the fading light of the typically August evening, King could see the scorched remains of the upper east side, formerly the upper class enclave. Probably a forest fire, he mused, left to blaze a path of destruction with no emergency service to fight it. He'd seen a lot of that during his travels – mother nature coming to collect debts, and mankind not strong enough to stand in her way.

Despite the charing, Colville was still alive; smoke plumed from chimneys, and a few vehicles moved on the streets below. Despite, or perhaps because of the inhabited state of the town, Alex was wary. He'd passed through towns that looked nice from the outside, but had necessitated a midnight escape once the locals showed their true colors. Cannibals, despotic two-bit dictators, and a religious cult that tried to gain converts through applied use of a nail gun; Alexander King had seen them all. This time, he was going enter at the stroke of midnight, poke around, and if the people there weren't how he remembered them? Well, they'd never have to know he'd ever been there. He settled down for a nap.

Alex woke to light. Not the harsh glare of the morning sun, nor the silvery glow of the moon and stars, but pinpricks of light spread out over the valley, driving back the demons of night. Electric light. Alex was amazed – the only other city he'd seen or heard of doing anything like what he saw before him was Salem, before it had collapsed. And this was beyond even Salem at it's peak. Not just a few scattered generators spewing black smoke, cranking out a few watts at a time, this had the look of a centralized power grid capable of a high sustained output. Alex was overjoyed. Had he finally found the mecca of post-modern America? The first city to have risen above the chaos surrounding it, to be a glorious beacon of civilization? It looked that way to King.

He shot to his feet, slung his backpack over a shoulder and stepped forward off a cliff. He may have been smart, but Alexander King wasn't that bright.

Chapter One

The figure trudged along the dusty road, the scraping of his boots on pavement the only other sound besides the chirping of birds. He wore jeans and a simple white t-shirt; sensible clothing for the warm whether. Shading his face was a bright red fedora. On his back he carried a military style backpack, full to capacity. Alongside a pair of canteens lashed to the pack was an M4 carbine.

His name was Alexander King, the only survivor of Salem, Oregon. He'd settled in that community – what was left of it – the second year after the war. He'd thought his problems were, if not over, at least greatly reduced. And for three years, life was as prefect as could be expected under the circumstances. It was hard work, to be sure, but they'd had food, shelter, and an infrastructure not to heavily damaged. They were even starting to repair the power and communications grids, an area where Alex's mastery of all things technical made him a valued asset.

And then the plagues swept through, killing over half of the town's population. With too few able bodied workers, famine soon followed; then unrest and complete societal breakdown. Three months after the first case of illness, the deathblow was struck by the so called Lord Jackson, Emperor of America. He'd been lieutenant commander of Zeus, inc. – the largest private security contractor in America before the war, and the only one left standing after it. Jackson quickly declared himself emperor of the still radioactive ruins of America, and, taking a chapter from Genghis Kahn's play book, began rampaging his way across the continent. What he wanted he got, no matter how many people he had to kill in the process. His army quickly grew – wanton destruction appealed to many. Soon Jackson led not an army, but a mobile city. When he reached Oregon, he decided he wanted Salem. He got Salem.

A metal sign, dusty and stained with bird dung, appeared on the roadside ahead. In white lettering, it spelled the name a town: COLVILLE. And then, 24 MILES. Alex quickened his pace. It was the year 2044, and he was almost home.