Sixty seconds becomes a minute, sixty minutes becomes an hour, and
24 hours equals one day, or at least it used to. No one knows how long
the days are anymore, the only thing to signal the time is the slight
change in the dark grey sky to black. The wind fights you to the point
it's hard to walk, the snow attempts to swallow you with every step and
the ice from the super cooled rivers freezes you to your very core, to
the point where you think one more ice crystal will crack your chest
open underneath your Rig. Your entire body is plagued with violent
shakes from the cold as your heating gear tries to counter act it
while you scavenge the frozen ruins of the Earth with only one
question on your mind. "What happened?"

A harsh, bright blue bolt of lightning pierces through the grey sky as the snow falls on your head, followed swiftly by an ear splittingly loud clasp of thunder. Icy smoke creeps along the surface of the street as you walk, like a stonefish stalking it's next victim. The cold nicks at you from outside your climate controlled snow suit with the help of the howling wind, attempting to find a way into your suit, but having no luck. You decide to cross a narrow, two lane street filled with half buried and rusted out cars of various makes and models, some still containing the shadowy remains of their former owners and use the old skyscrapers on the other side as a windbreak. You step off the side walk one foot at a time, putting your heavy plastic boot into the snow of the road  slowly, checking for thin sheets of ice underneath the snow, after nearly loosing a foot to cracking an ice sheet and dunking your leg into a pocket of Scenyx, you no longer take chances. Having met no ice, you prod a little further before deciding it's safe and cross the street. In doing so you continue your search pattern with a yawn, you haven't slept in a few days and the fatigue is starting to get to you. That is your objective right now, just to find a place to rest. Reaching the end of the street, you happen upon a four way intersection, red lights still flashing in all directions.

“First bit of color I've seen in a while”, You say to yourself as you stare at the almost mesmerizing sight, one of a few old world items that still worked, likely worth good money on the salvage market, but functioning lights means the power is still on and seeing as how you knew that old world power lines carried enough current to char your brain, you decide against attempting to recover them and press ever onward. The blizzard refused to let up as you began down a street that was labeled with a sign covered in so much ice that knocking it off was more trouble than it was worth. On each side of the road are large buildings, containing shops, offices and apartments. Some of them have been barricaded, some of them hadn't. The one's that hadn't were covered in ice on the inside, many frozen corpses encased underneath it, some of them were victims from when the cloud first set in, others were Colonists that had likely run out of heating fuel and frozen to death as a result of their mistake, a stark reminder of what happens to those who aren't prepared. Trying to avoid glancing at the dead, you duck into a small drugstore, hoping that other scavengers hadn't raided it yet, or at the least had left something behind.

The store is no bigger than 20 feet in either direction with a small counter sitting about 12 feet back from the entrance to allow for display shelves, all of which were bare, except for two boxes of empty syringes. You carefully remove them from the ice and slide them into the drop pouch on your vest, hopping the counter and heading into the back of the pharmacy, scouring every inch of shelf and floor, finding nothing more than standard ice shards and rotted cardboard boxes that may or may not have once contained medication of some sort. You leave nothing searched as you turn the store upside down looking for something, anything. Just when you'd given up and were preparing to exit the pharmacy, a gun barrel catches your eye. Turning away from the door, you step to the back of the pharmacy, uncovering a man in a Ranger uniform frozen into a large icicle. The man's frozen fingers are just inches from his M4, which is twisted beyond saving, claw marks go the length of the receiver, likely an encounter with a Husk or possibly a Snow Dragon. Knowing that Husks don't stray far from their nests and often leave things like this out as bait, combined with the reputation of the Rangers to never stray to far from an established trading route, you know for a fact that the Husk nest has got to be somewhere near by, likely inside the store, which puts you in an interesting spot.  Your fist instinct is to get as far away from the Husk nest as possible and warn anyone you can but on the flip side, Husk nests are often found to contain thousands of credits worth of equipment from those unfortunate enough to be captured by them. The thought of all that gear and money makes part of you want to search the store the pharmacy is attached to for the gear, while the rational side is screaming to leave.

You sigh, reaching up the handrail of your XM Armory AR-4 and clicking open the M203 Grenade launcher, loading in a round of incendiary ammunition, turning the safety of both firearms off. Maybe you wouldn't go THAT deep into the nest, just a quick peek, see what you could see and get out, no matter how stupid it might have been. You turned on the infrared laser mounted to the right rail of your weapon's forend, pulling your Night Vision goggles down. These weren't like the old world, pre Cloud goggles that rendered everything green, no these were full color spectrum and needed less than a tenth of the light normally required to operate night vision equipment, but the catch was exposing the lenses to the slightest bit of light would fry them beyond repair. With your right trigger finger hovering over the AR-4's trigger and the left over the M203's, you peer inside the pitch dark store, able to see everything thanks to your NV. The ceiling is hosting possibly thousands of icicles and the floor is a thick sheet of ice. You hear nothing, Husks make no noise, due to a lack of lungs, only the sound of utter quiet lurks around the edges of your ears. It's making your heart race as you slowly step into the small store, knowing, given it's size, a Husk could jump out of literally anywhere. Despite your internal screams to leave, the thoughts that it may not be worth the possible expenditure of all your supplies and ammunition, you take another step, the ice moans and cracks under your feet, the faint sound seems to carry on the wind from the outside throughout the vacant building, maybe alerting whatever mutant shit was hiding in here to your presence, maybe singing to just another abandoned store front. You swallow hard, the sound of your heart thumping against your ribs echos inside your suit, you hold your weapon tightly to your shoulder, restoring the fleeting thought that as long as you can see the Husks before they see you, then you have a fighting chance.

Though Colonists at first, Husks were quickly mutated by something in the Cloud that seems to have gone. At a distance, they look normal, but as you get closer, you begin to make out a skeleton that's been tightly wrapped by perforated grey flesh and crystal like eyes. Closer observation still reveals that their chest and abdominal cavities are completely empty. They have four jointed mouths that open very wide and contain dozens of razor sharp teeth that can rip through the strongest combat rig available. They don't like to kill humans though, for whatever the reason. Some suspect that capturing and infecting humans is how the Husk population has remained stable throughout the years since the Cloud's departure from inside the Atmosphere, though it doesn't hold up to close examination, as Husks, captured and freshly killed are always found to contain no living substances. They don't need water, they don't need to sleep or eat. Defying all laws of nature, the Cloud has created what can be described as a completely self sufficient organism. They'd attacked you before, since their pretty fast and travel in packs of 12 or more, it's not exactly an easy fight when you run into them.

“This is a dumb fucking idea”, you mutter to yourself as you start down one of the isles, taking the slowest, shortest possible steps you can to avoid making any noise. At the end of the isle, you glance down the length of the store to your right and see nothing then to your left, which leads into a decrepit video store, which is so dark even your NV is having trouble translating what you're looking at into something your brain can make sense of. You switch on the infrared flashlight on your weapons left rail, which reveals them.

5....8...10..17, you lose track after that. The Husks are all bunched together, swaying back and fourth as they sleep on their feet. You freeze where you stand as the cold seems to rush into your Rig, settling into your spine The hair on the back of your neck stands on end and your heart rate climbs well past danger zone, so high that the medical system on your Rig takes action and administers a dose of Compound M to lower it. Parts of your body relax and you slowly exhale as you began to quietly back up. One of the Husks who is awake, spies you as you do. It's only a child and judging by the looks on his face he's never seen a human before. He stares at you with soulless black eyes as dark as the night sky, a look of curiosity on it's face. Grey, perforated flesh wraps around his frail looking body, the empty abdominal cavity and visible spine make you sick to your stomach and uneasy, but also feel a bit of sorrow. You can't imagine how much Husks, if the people they used to be are still in there, must be suffering. As dangerous as you know they are and despite knowing how quickly this child could turn you into frozen bait or even force your into their ranks, you simply can't bring yourself to hate them.

Knowing the history of the Husks, you know that their wildly different behaviors from individual to individual is what makes them so damn dangerous to begin with. Some had been known not to attack humans, while one recorded case had three individuals brake into a Hotspot and maim almost 30 people before they were finally shot.

The small Husk held a finger to his mouth, telling you to be quiet as it turned around and went to sleep. You retrace your steps down the isle and exit the store, back into the protective daylight of the pharmacy. Guarded by the sun, you frisk the dead Ranger's frozen corpse, picking his pockets clean of a single C-Ration, Entrenching tool, 2 fully loaded P-Mag magazines of 5.56mm ammunition, a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. You open the lighter and try five times to light it, succeeding on the final try, only to have the wind blow it out. You stick the lighter in your pocket and quickly sort the remaining items into the appropriate spots in your ruck. Standing up, you exit the store and back to the streets, quickly nearing the edge of what used to be the outlet for the Golden Gate Bridge. The bridge lies in ruins, but despite that, traders and caravans use this road frequently as it ties together three of the biggest Hotspots in the country, H19, H40 and H10. You near the end of the road, hearing chatter carry on the wind as you do.

“Which one of you has got the key?”, a man sounding close to 30 said, “in two seconds, if I don't have it in hand, I kill one of you.”

You pause, slowly going down to your stomach. You pull your ruck off your back, unstrapping your favorite weapon. Your KBS Widowmaker, a two round burst bolt action ballistic sniper rifle patterned after the Chy Tech Intervention, is a weapon you know like no other. A perfect understanding of the way the weapons complex mechanical parts work has allowed you to tune it, perfect it, shaping it into a killing machine that can take a target from a range of nearly four miles. You are no stranger to the .950 Tyrannosaurus ammunition used by the Widowmaker either. With the recoil pattern perfectly charted and plotted, you've tuned the normally shoulder braking, jawbone crushing recoil out of weapon via a custom milled muzzle brake, barrel and stock, reducing it to a wimpy, hollow thud while maintaining full weapon damage. You strapped your AR-4 to the pack and slid it back on as you crept forward peering around a car to see what was going on.

You could see multiple bandits holding up several Caravaners. The appearance and cleanliness of their Rigs makes you certain they were from a local Hotspot, probably 40 because it's the biggest. Two of the Caravan guards are surveying the bandits, looking for the perfect opportunity to strike back and save themselves and the woman with them.

“The key”, the lead bandit said putting a sawed off shotgun to the back of one of the guard's head, “I'm only gonna tell you once.”

“Go fall in the river”, the guard spat.

The wind doesn't do much to drown out the sound of the gunshot. The other two bandits laugh like crazy people as the now headless corpse falls into the snow, turning the white a deep red as the bandit moves down the line, putting the short weapon to the back of the woman's head.

“The Key”, the bandit said.

You drop the bipod of Widowmaker, extending it fully and letting it sink into the snow. You load a magazine into the bottom of the weapon, pull back on the large action and load a shell into the chamber. The bolt clicks closed with a really audible thunk, similar to that of a grenade launcher. You flip the safety off and turn on the rifle's thermal scope, focusing on the bandit with the shotgun, who in all likely hood was seconds away from pulling the trigger. You don't bother to line up a head shot. Straight for the mid section and down the bandit goes. The large projectile's only leave the barrel at 2500FPS, slow for such large rounds. The slugs rip the bandit in half, sending his torso flying over the edge of a guard rail. You work the action, sending the shell flying to the side as the Caravaners attack the remaining bandit, who manages to beat off their attack, forcing the two of them to the ground. The next two rounds from the Widowmaker find this man's head, splitting it in half like Moses parting the red sea. You work the action again as the woman stands up and looks around.

“Whoever you are, please show yourself!”, she shouts to the wind.

“Yeah seriously”, the man says.

Cautiously, you stand up, rifle at the ready and walk over to her, looking at the bandits on the ground.

“I'm sorry for your friend”, you say, “I should have been a little faster on the trigger.”

The woman sighs and kneels down, putting her hands on the guard and muttering something before standing up.

“I suppose it can't be helped”, she said, “we knew what we were getting into out here.”

You lower your rifle slightly, “who are you?”

“My name is Teresa Astlin”, the woman says, “I'm in charge of Hotspot 40 just a aways up the road from here. My team and I were out grabbing some parts for our reactor to help increase the power output, this is John Olen.”

“Man I don't know who you are but your timing is fantastic”, the man says, “thanks for saving our asses.”

You lower the Widowmaker fully, “I help when I can.”

“You got a name kid?”, the woman asks.

“Nah, can't say that I do”, you say, hoping honesty will help them to trust you.

“Aw come on”, John says, “you have to go by something.”

You shake your head, “most people I meet just refer to me as a Dirty Colonist, so I guess to could call me DC, but other than that, I don't think I have an official name.”

“Name or not”, Teresa says, “you've saved my and Johns life, so I'll cut a deal with you, if you don't mind me asking a small favor.”

You shrug, “what do you need?”

“Protection”, Teresa says, “I'm no good with a firearm, fighting isn't my strong suit. John's rather handy with shotgun, but a sizable group, or someone who get's the jump on us, as these men did, will overwhelm us. When was the last time you had a hot shower, hot food and a place to sleep?”

You shrug again, holding the Widowmaker close to your chest, “bout a week or so ago? I've been running on what Caffeine I can get out of soft drinks and sugar from junk food. I'm no orphan, but I'm a ways away from home at the moment.”

“Stick with us to the Hotspot”, Teresa says, “and you've got a room to yourself, permanently. I'll give you access to our trading post, doctor and a nice sum of credits of you want them.”

“Deal”, you say without hesitation, stretching your hand and offering a shake. Teresa accepts. You replace the Widowmaker with the AR-4 and climb into the back of their covered truck, sitting in the bed as John and Teresa recover the body of their friend along with his severed head, still held together by his helmet. The truck's engine comes to life and lurches forward, leaving deep trails in the snow and a cloud of heavy black smoke in it's wake, likely diesel fuel. Chains wrapped around the tires clank and rattle the noise reminds you of the Husk net.

“Miss Astlin”, you say, rapping on the cabin window.

“Yeah kid?”, she says sticking her head back.

“I feel I should tell you that there's a Husk nest in the old Pharmacy not 300 feet from where we met”, you say, “there were at least 17 in there.”

“How'd you find them without getting captured?”, John asked.

“A child...he saw me and let me go”, I said, “I suspect he'd never seen a human before and didn't know if I was to be captured, killed or ignored, so he let me go.”

The two exchange glances before Teresa replies, “I'll give this information to my broad and we'll decide where to go from there, thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

You nod and return to watching the back of the truck. Aside from a few bumps in the road, the ride goes without a hitch. The truck pulls up to a Super Tall, a class of building that had sprung up before the Cloud. It houses the Hotspot 40 and rises well over a mile into the air. Most Dwellers had chased you off long before you could get this close to their building and the result of that was you have never been able to get this close, let alone be invited into one. You step out of the truck as John and Teresa exit, greeting two RC8 Guard robots at the front door, who salute as Teresa walks up.

“At ease boys”, Teresa says.

“Were you able to recover the parts mam?”, one of the bots asked, “the entire Hotspot is anxious for your...wait...mam, where's Eli? I don't see him with you?”

“Eli was killed Sarge”, Teresa sighs, “executed by bandits, if it weren't for our friend here, we'd all be dead.”

The bot looks at you and then back to Teresa.

“Permission to speak freely mam?”, the bot asks.

“Granted”, Teresa says.

“Mam I trust a Colonist to shine my chassis and even that is pushing it. I'd be lying if I said I didn't think it was a bad idea to allow him inside.”

“Your concerns are noted and understood Sarge”, Teresa says, “but I'd rather risk a few bolts in giving him a place to stay, than to kick him into the wasteland after what he did. Plus he brought us a lead on a Husk nest, and I know how you like to exterminate those things.”

The bot nods, “I do like killing Husks.” He looks at you, it's hard to read his feelings towards you, though mistrust is obvious.

“I've had some bad experiences with colonists kid', the bot says, “I don't generally trust them, but since you saved my boss, the people here and subsequently my job, you're okay in my book. Just know that as the head of security I have to keep a close eye on you. Don't start any fights or steal anything and you and I will get along just fine. I think that's pretty reasonable.”

“Message received and understood sir”, you reply.

“Fantastic”, the bot says, “mam, the mechanics are waiting inside to take the parts down to Power Generation.”

“Thanks Sarge”, Teresa said, “DC, follow me.”

Lowering your weapon, you follow her into the huge building. The main room is roughly 20 feet to the top. In the middle is a giant glass cylinder with a steamy waterfall inside. The water pours down the glass tube from an unseen source and lands in a large basin that's full of fish of all things, swimming about obvious to the outside world. A large tree also resides in the glass case, flanked by the water fall, it's trunk is soaked a dark brown, bringing out the detail of it's bark. Thousands of ridges and crevasses make it look like a miniature mountain range. Next to the glass case are two large stair cases that lead to a second floor that follow the diameter of the room closely, supported by thick steel cables bolted into the roof. The steps of the stair are some unknown, tan stone that had been varnished to show the detail and near perfectly smooth texture with a metal ring encasing it to keep it from shattering and to provide a way of mounting it to the stair case. The floor of the main room is made of granite with metal inlays that come together in the middle of the room to form a giant compass. There are a bunch of other people scattered around the room, talking to each other, making the room actually quite loud, but a different kind of loud from the howling wind of outside, this kind of loud wasn't something you'd like to have around for too long. Two people dressed in basic heating Rigs with a bunch of tools and protective plastic plates bolted to them are standing close to the door and walk up to you and Teresa.

“Mam”, one of the men says, “were you able to recover the parts?”

“Yeah”, Teresa says, “they better be worth it, Eli died to get these back here.”

The two men exchanged glances before the first one speaks up again.

“I'm sorry Teresa, I know Eli was your friend.”

“Don't worry about it”, she says, “he knew the risks, knew the consequences of failure, we all do.”

“Yeah”, the man replies with a sigh, “failure equals disaster.”

“Get those parts installed”, Teresa says.

“Yes mam”, the mechanic says, “shouldn't take long.”

Teresa motions for you to follow her once again. You follow her up the long stair case and into a large elevator. She presses a few buttons on the panel, the numbers 277 appear on the LCD screen and the elevator doors close. The box lurches and starts upwards as Teresa unseals her helmet, revealing a face you didn't expect to find.

There isn't anyway she's older than you. She has bright green eyes with dark black hair that contrasts heavily with her pale white skin. A scar traces across her left eye and curves down her cheek to end just barely before her neck. She has pierced ears, but isn't currently wearing any earrings.

“Not who I expected to see underneath that helmet”, You say.

“Who were you expecting?”, she asks.

You shake your head, “someone at least in her thirties, given your voice and the way you carry yourself.”

She shoots you a stupid look, “yeah, you can thank my Dad for that one. I had to grow up pretty fast after he left on a scavenging run with Sarge and never came back. People voted me in as the next Admin, figured I'd be just as good if not better than he was.”

“You seem to have things well under control here”, You say.

She sighs, “control that could slip away in a second. If you ask me, I say Sarge should be the Admin, he'd run this place better than I ever could, but every time I talk to him about it, he tells me we're better off with him on security and me the Admin, I tell him he's wrong, but we all know he's right.”

“You must really look up to him to stay in a position you seem to hate based on his opinion”, you respond.

She nodded, “I do, he's all I've got left in this life.”

“Have you considered just appointing someone else to be admin?”, you ask as the elevator stops. The doors slide back, revealing a long hallway with lots of doors on each side. Teresa steps out and you follow her.

“I have”, she says, “but always come to the same conclusion, no one wants to do this job.”

At the end of the hallway, she unlocks a door to a large hotel style room. Just off the entrance is the bathroom. You can see the TV and a coffee table just by looking straight ahead and assume most of the room must be hidden around the corner. She nudged your shoulder and handed you the keys to the room.

“It's yours, feel free to rearrange the furniture however you want, you're free to stay as long as you'd like. Get some rest and recharge, in the morning I have some work for you if you're interested. See you in the morning.”

“Yeah”, you say, “see ya.”

Teresa turns and leaves. You step into the room and close the door tightly behind you. You lean against the door for a brief moment and sigh before unclasping the helmet from your Rig. The heated air rushes out with a pressurized hiss as you pull it off. The temperature in the room is barely lower than the dial on your Rig, which makes it quite comfortable. The one room is revealed to be three as you turn the corner. Behind the Couch which sits behind the coffee table are two doorways, one leads into a small kitchen with a grey marble floor and all the normal appliances and the other leads into the bedroom which is hosting a king sized bed. You step into the bedroom. It's about 10 feet in each direction, making for a rather spacious layout. The walls are painted a warm tan and the multicolored, abstract style carpet matches the stainless steel sheet full of holes hanging on the wall, mixing perfectly with copper lamps by each side of the bed completing a modern style look. You set your equipment at the foot of the bed and pull up the spinning chair from the computer desk, sitting down and untying your boots. You pull them off and the socks come with them, leaving your feet open to the air for the first time in over a week. The feeling is welcome as you remove your Rig piece by piece, laying it all out to air and dry on the computer desk. You peel off the body glove, leaving down to underwear. You set the body glove aside and reach into your ruck for a clean set of underwear and a heavy sweat suit. After a bit of diffing you uncover the soft, woolly light grey outfit and head into the bathroom. You set your clothes on the counter by the sink and turn on the shower head, the water taking no time to run hot.

“Huh”, you say to yourself as you undress completely, “hell of a water system.”

The shower feels refreshing, foreign even. It hadn't been that long since you'd had one, but you had never really considered how nice it was to have them until the past week and the hell that this trip had turned out to be. What started as a simple scavenging run had turned into a nightmare after you'd been turned around in a heavy snow storm. Days of hiding and dodging the mutants the Cloud peppers the wastelands with had led you here, a safe haven, a place you can rest, recharge and get your bearings, maybe new friends in these John, Teresa and Sarge characters, friends would be nice, here was just hoping that they had LiVE Sat. You turn off the shower head and step out, quickly drying off and dressing. As you're pulling on an under shirt, you stop and take it back off, looking at yourself in the mirror. Your appearance isn't exactly normal, black hair mixes with two bright gold eyes with strands of reptilian like orange threaded into them. They'd been that way for as long as you could remember, doctors who'd seen it said it was likely due to high levels of Cloud exposure as a child as it's known to do weird shit to people who lurked around it for too long. As strange as your eyes were, they weren't the only feature that stood out. A large scar traced around your entire torso it 'began' more or less in the middle torso, running to just before your sides began to curve around to your back before branching off at a roughly 60 degree angle, forming a hexagon like shape round your chest. From the same ends the scar also branches down, forming a rounded rectangle that encases most of your mid section almost all the way down to your waist.  Along your sides where these two shapes meet, several triangular scars cover your sides and back, meeting about halfway down your spine to form an X. You weren't the only one with this nasty thing either, in fact it's a rather common occurrence and it's a result of crystal removal surgery.

Pockets of whatever the Cloud is made out of can be found down here at home, often near pools of the bubling, blue liquid that everyone has come to know and love as Scenyx. While it's natural form is liquid, it also has a solid, crystal like state, in which it is at it's most deadly. In crystal form, Scenyx becomes semi sentient and is driven only to grow bigger. It does this by feeding on biological matter, any it can get it's hands on, Human, Animal, Husk, plants appear to be the only exception. It baits in it's victims with a kind of acoustic vibrations which alter thought patterns and drive the victim closer. Just stepping on the stuff is enough to get grabbed, and once it has you, you're done. You'd never seen it happen yourself, but had talked to people who had. Luckily for you, once such person reconfigured the feeling and warned you. Doctors had pulled a crystal the size of a fist out from between your spine and the skin on your back and several more out of your chest and stomach regions. It's nasty stuff, nothing you would wish on your worst enemy, or maybe you would if you had one.

You shake your head and pull the sweatshirt over your shoulder as hungry as you are right now, sleep takes priority.

You sleep in extremely late the next morning, awaking to the sound of the wind howling outside your room. Sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you peer out the window to find a full on snowstorm in effect, conditions outside are close to whiteout of not already there, a sure sign winter is coming early this year. Just your luck too. Now curious as to what the weather would be like for the next few days, you pull on your spare body glove and then put the heating suit on over it and step into the living room turning on the radio and tuning it to 101.4, a station that goes by Radio New America, and the only one you know of that still broadcasts, a song is just ending as the RNA theme starts playing over it.

“Hello America”, a rather elated sounding man says, “this is DJ Spark of Radio New America coming to you live from the middle of the bum fuck nowhere glacier that was once the megalopolis of Metal City Texas. Happy winter everyone, first big cold front is moving in on Metal today, yo Fish, what can the good people expect?”

“Not good for the most part, got a rather large snowstorm moving in from the gulf of Mexico, make sure your Geo Thermals are working because tonight is gonna be a bone chiller with temperatures dipping close to negative 250 around midnight. It's looking a bit warmer once the sun rises in the morning, with a high around -197. The blizzard should last a couple of days, looking like it'll move south towards what used to be Mexico around Wednesday, having mostly dissipated. Over the next five days we're going to see some bitter cold as the first front of the winter season moves in, Monday morning we're looking at a low of negative 200 with a high of 100, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday will see some slightly warmer weather with lows of 180, 130 and 140 respectively with highs of -100, -90 and -110, respectively. Gonna have to keep the Rigs on all week and spend most of it in bed it seems.”

“Luckily for me I just got mine worked on”, Spark says.

“What you do to it?”

“Had the heat output turned waaayyy up”, Spark laughs, “lowest setting leaves me rather toasty.”

“I don't have the time to work on my Rig”, Fish returns, “too busy giving the Colonists the weather report.”

“Ain't that the truth”, Spark says, “anyway folks, 101 hrtz is the frequency you need to tune into to call into the show, and we happen to have a caller right here.”

You sit back on the couch and listen as the caller start's talking, you can here the sounds of a turbine in the background. Likely a train or maybe even a jet of sorts.

“How are things up there at RNA brother?”, another strangely happy sounding man asks.

“Great all things considered brother, Radio is life”, Spark answers, “what's your name.”

“Captain Deimos Rodgers of the HST 240”, the man says, “no doubt you've seen us blowing past the studio, train's hard to miss.”

“Yeah I've seen you boys out here”, Spark says, “that rolling hunk of armored iron shakes the studio to it's very core, reminds me we've still got people out here fightin' the good fight, what song you want us to play?”

“Josh Turner's Hometown Girl if you happen to have it on file”, the captain says.

“Brother are you in luck”, Spark laughs, “we just happen to have it right here. Folks you're listening to 101.4 Radio New America, keep it right here. Here's Josh Turner's Hometown Girl.”

“She grew up around here on that southwest side, where the corn grows up to the road side. Went to high school here, got that Panther pride, she'll be cheering them on every Friday night. She couldn't hide her beauty with a baseball cap. Couldn't help but shine with a heart like that. New York called when she turned 21, but she never forgot where she came from. I need a pretty little homegrown hometown girl, with a ribbon tying back those waterfall curls. I've been looking all over, all over the world, for a pretty little homegrown hometown girl”

As you sit here listening to the song, you glance out the window, thinking over your route out of the city, and you begin to wonder how you're going to get back across the Texas Canal. It's a giant thing, nearly half a mile across and runs about 100 feet deep, the largest man made canal to ever exist. It follows a strange route through the state, a relic of the Pre Cloud world, you're unsure why it was built the way it was, but what you did know is that the bridge that ran over it was drawn up, probably been that way for a 100 years, so now the only way across the canal was by ferry. The problem with that is that ferries make so much noise they often attract Bandits, Husks if it was dark out and if you get really unlucky, Snow Dragons. Since wasting all of your supplies and ammo for a half mile river crossing isn't very appealing, that leaves Rafting. It's dangerous, has a high fail chance and if you don't sink to the bottom right away due to the weight of your waterlogged Rig and get electrocuted due to failed electronics, the temperature of the water runs well below what it takes to kill any living creature. Even though you know for a fact the cold can't kill you on it's own, the fact that it can still render you immobile would lead to drowning. The upside to Rafting was that it was free and quiet as long as you could locate a piece of scrap that could float, around the Canal, that shouldn't be to hard to find. You suppose you can also Ice Hop, go from ice sheet to ice sheet until you reach the other side, assuming of course that the ice is thick enough. That was how you made it across the first time, though it's not easy even if the conditions are optimal. The last, craziest, loudest and most unlikely option is trying to lower the draw bridge across the Canal. It would be a challenge no doubt, but if you could do it, then a lot of the problems of crossing the Canal would disappear. The Ferry owners might get a little angry at you for it, but it'd probably be worth it. As you sit there contemplating your options, there's a knock on the door.

“Hey DC, you up yet?”, Teresa asks from the other side of the door.

You rise from the couch, pieces on your Rig knocking together making sounds you'd started terming “gear noise”, a collection of low plastic thuds and metallic like clanks that wasn't very loud, but without your full rig there was a lot of it. You unlock the door and Teresa is standing there with Sarge next to her, some how you didn't hear them walk up. Teresa is wearing her full Rig, an Infantrymen model, likely taken from a US Army Remnant.

“Sleep well kid?”, Sarge asks.

You shrug, “compared to the rest of the week? Yeah, I did.”

“Wanna come down to the food court? I'll fill you in on the work I've got for you if your interested”, Teresa says.

“Sure”, you answer, “let me get the rest of my Rig.”

You return to the bedroom and pick up the rest of your rig, several pieces mixed and matched from various different models, Top from an Infantryman, Helmet and Chest Rig from a Pilots, pant's from a Merc, arm bands from a pilot and gloves from a sniper. You cobble the bits and pieces together and rejoin Sarge and Teresa outside. They lead you back to the elevator and enter. It get's really crowded really fast as Sarge takes up most of the space, but thankfully the ride is only a few floors down. The elevator doors open to a large, mall like area where the entire left side and front wall is a giant open window, looking out over the frozen landscape. The court is dotted with steel tables and chairs bolted to the floor for the most part and about 10 feet in front of you is a child's play area that is empty. There are six different restaurants lining the right side of the food court and six more behind them. There's a smell lofting around in the air that is absolutely torturous, you wonder how anyone could work in this place without going crazy. The space in between the restaurants for the necessary equipment and storage leaves a lot of blank space on a wall about 30 feet long from end to end, it's covered by colorful menus and logos and flanked by fake looking greenery. There are a couple of other people looking like they spent some time outside the Hotspot looking over the menu, likely just back from a scouting run.

“Hey Sarge”, a young woman with the people say, “when are we moving on the Husk nest?”

“I did it over night”, Sarge replies, “left nothing but bodies.”

“Aww man, why do you get to have all the fun?”, the woman asks.

“Because I got off my ass and hit a target”, Sarge says as you near the group, Teresa starts looking over the menus. Two members of the group glance at you.

“Never seen your face around here before”, the woman says, “what floor you live on?”

“Which floor is the Wasteland?”, you ask.

“You live out in the wastes?”, the woman replies, curiosity hinges on her voice.

“I do”, you answer, “I was rolling through town on chance. I got caught in a snow storm 'bout a week back and lost my way. Ran across your boss being held up some bandits, I got rid of them and she asked if I wanted to stay the night and recharge, so I said why not?”

“Smart kid”, one of the guys says, “thought about hanging around?”

“I have”, you answer, “the problem is that I just don't like hanging around too many people, I prefer the ice and snow of the wastes.”

“What reason could you possibly have to prefer the wastelands to a Hotspot?”, the man asks.

“I'm certain he's got his reasons Issac”, Sarge says, “leave the kid alone.”

The people in the group back off and head to the other side of the food court. Teresa turns to you, “see anything you like?”

A quick glance at the menu's reveals two places that catch your eye, Red Light Pizza and John's Pastas. The menu's are very appetizing, but at the end of the day, you knew what you wanted.

“Yeah”, you say, “let's go to Red Light Pizza.”

“Cool”, Teresa says, “follow me.”

You follow her and Sarge along the six restaurant line with the pizza place on the end. It's styled similar to 1930's buildings with copper décor accenting old style brick construction. Another menu is attached to the wall above the head of the only person who appears to be working right now. She's about 5 feet tall with brown hair and green eyes, bearing the scars of frostbite all around her neck and lower face. Not such and uncommon sight.

“Teresa”, the woman says, “what brings you my little slice of hell?”

“Rough day?”, Teresa asked.

“You have no idea”, the woman said, “can I get you guys anything?”

“I'll take two slices of pepperoni and some salad”, Teresa says, “what about you DC?”

“Gimme a whole stuffed crust sausage”, you say “along with a cheesy bread.”

“What about you big guy?”, the lady says looking at Sarge, “you want anything.”

“Nah”, Sarge laughs, “I don't have a stomach to put it in.”

“I'll have your order's out in a minute boss”, the woman says, “I'll be a little slow since I'm by myself today.”

“No worries”, Teresa says, “it gives me time to fill our friend here in on some things.”

The woman smiles and disappears into the kitchen. Teresa steps away from the counter and heads over to a table by the window which has a nice overview of the Canal, or it would if it wasn't white out conditions outside. The two of you sit down while Sarge remains standing beside the table. Teresa sighs and leans back.

“I take it you'll be moving on soon”, Teresa asks.

“Yeah”, you say, “after I'm done eating and get my stuff together, I just wanna try and find my friends again, so I need a good place to send out a distress signal, gotta get across that damn Canal though.”

“Good luck with that”, Sarge says, “the only way across without the risk of a slow death is the Ferries, which will eat your wallet alive, or through the tunnel underneath the canal used by 240.”

“240?”, you ask, “whose 240?”

“What is more appropriate”, Sarge says, '240 is a massive armored train controlled by our Hotspot. It tools around the city making sure main roadways are clear and Ranger outposts stay supplied. The crew would be happy to take you under the canal if the Conductor wasn't wrapped around a stripped out screw.”

“Sarge”, Teresa scolds.

“I call it as I see it”, Sarge replies, “sometimes I feel like that man has the serious stick shoved so far up his ass that you couldn't pull it out with the gravity of a black hole.”

“Sarge will you just shut up?”, Teresa says, “we've been over this.”

Sarge shakes his head, 'whatever, he still needs away across the Canal, and since most of the people here can't afford a trip, I doubt he can.”

“Sarge is right”, you say, “as light as my wallet is I couldn't even get ammo for my side arm, much less a ferry trip. I was planing on either Rafting or Ice Hopping.”

“Or you could just take one of these”, Teresa said handing you a white card with a Hotspot Logo and a magnetic strip on the back.

“What's this?”, you ask.

“Passport”, Teresa says, “the ferrymen and I have a standing agreement, my people get free rides, in return, they get all the diesel fuel they need to keep those piles of scrap running, show them that and you'll get across the canal for sure.”

You discuss matter's with Sarge and Teresa further as your order's come to the table. It had been a long time since you'd taken a bite of pizza, and it hit the spot like nothing else. After that nasty expired food you'd been living off of since you got separated from your friends, this tastes like heaven. Over lunch, Sarge tells you that there's a large clearing about a mile's walk from the bridge that would be perfect for you to send a signal to your friends. Sarge hands you a distress pulsar as well as a portable radio painted a bright orange with a black lantern on the back.

“If you brake that I'll be impressed”, Sarge says, “those were produced for us RC8's by Sierra Outdoor before the Cloud set in. If you need help at that clearing, don't hesitate to call me, I can close that gap in less than a minute.”

“I won't ask how”, you say as you stand up, “thanks for letting me in overnight, I needed the rest.”

“Your welcome”, Teresa says, “remember that your welcome back anytime you like. I'll send word to Jacob to let you out. One last thing”, she hands you a map, “that has the pier's location marked, if it's whiteout conditions outside, follow the metal poles with orange bands tied to them every 750 feet, there all along the edge of the canal and if you follow them you'll make it without too much trouble, stay safe bro.”

You nod and throw a two fingered salute to Sarge and Teresa before stepping onto the elevator. You return to your room and are packing up your things when you notice and envelope on the bed. Opening it, you find 3000 credits and a note “Some money for the road, don't die-Teresa”. You smile, pack the rest of your things and then endure the long elevator ride to the bottom floor, where security has already gathered, six humans and two RC8 guard bots are watching the heavy iron door. Focus shifting slightly off the door to you as the humans put on their helmets.

“You the one the boss was letting out?”, a black guy asks.

You nod.

“Open it up boys!”, the man says readying a K45.

Two other guys unlatch the door and pull it open, snow and ice shards rush in as a thin sheet of blued ice creeps along the floor and around the doors and walls. The two RC8's step outside the Hotspot and quickly survey the area before sounding an all clear. You affix your helmet to your Rig and step out into the frozen landscape, sinking into the snow and coming to rest on the icy pavement beneath it. The bots return to the Hotspot and the door closes behind them with a really audible crashing noise. Outside the building, the audioscape of the wasteland takes on an entirely different tone, the really high pitched, audible howling sound of the wind becomes a low pitched, distant rumble complimented by much quieter, higher pitched whistles as the wind blows through the smallest holes and cracks on your Rig and gear. You can hear faint squeaking all around you as old attic fans whip around like crazy in the gale. The ice shards try to tear into your rig, but the plastic fiber stops them in their tracks. You start down the road, attempting to read the map to the pier that Teresa gave you during lunch, the wind blows it hard, it's extremely difficult to control the edges of the map and read it at the same time. You pull open the door of an old car, spreading the map out on a seat so it's easy to read. The map has the Hotspot, pier and general points of interest marked, if you weren't so eager to reconnect with your friends you might decide to scavenge them. The pier is listed as being a three building complex built beside the Canal, according to the map, it's two miles directly in front of the Hotspot. Normally two miles would be easy going, even in deep snow, that wasn't going to be the case today because the wind was blowing the opposite direction, hard enough that it would be very difficult to walk in it.

“There's always gotta be one problem or another”, you sigh to yourself as you fold up the map and stick it in a pocket on your gear. You don't bother to take any of your weapons from your ruck as you figure your hands will be busy for the next several hours as you make your way down to the pier. With them both raised to keep as much ice and snow out of your face as possible, you start to make your way towards the pier, and almost immediately the gale begins to protest. Your chest and legs catch the wind like a net, which makes it impossible to walk normally as the first step sweeps your feet out from under you, sending you face first into the snow covered asphalt. You land with a soft thud and look up, searching for a windbreak you can use to get back onto your feet as the wind picks up even more. Spying a car about 100 feet away, you align yourself with it and try to stand up, but the car is to far away to lessen the force of the wind and you are forced onto your back when the gale rushes underneath your body to occupy the empty space. An annoyed grunt escapes your mouth as you roll back onto your stomach and lowcrawl the 100 foot gap between yourself and the car. Rising to your knees to catch your breath, you pull open the rear passenger's side door and climb inside. You don't intend to stop here, rather use this car as a tool to advance your standing. You push open the driver's side door, fighting against the wind and plant the crampons on your boots firmly into the ice beneath your feet, using that as traction to force the door all the way open. Reaching around the door, you scrub the ice and snow off the window, using it to locate the next windbreak, which is a cluster of cars about 100 feet, give or take, from where you are right now. Taking a few steps back and slowly easing the car door shut to avoid it tearing a limb off, you plant your crampons as deep into the ice as they'll go and one step at a time to advance towards the cluster of cars. Warning systems go off on the HUD pasted to the inside of your helmet as the temperature dips towards -200 degrees with the wind chill factor dropping it even lower, but you can't stop and wait it out. The storm could blow over in two hours or two weeks, maybe last longer, or maybe it'll last only 30 more seconds. The simple unpredictability of the weather forces you ever onward. One step at a time, you slowly close the 100 feet to the car cluster, checking them for scrap as you try to locate the next wind brake, but fail to find either. Realizing with a sigh that it's time for more low-crawling, you drop to your stomach and dig through the snow like an Earthworm, staying close to the edge of the road to watch for the orange markers, the visibility is low, but it's enough where you could see them a good distance before you missed them.

After what felt like hours of bone chilling crawling, you reached the first marker. As elating as it is to know that yes, you are making progress and yes, you are indeed on the right track, the joy quickly transforms into depression as you realize you still have another two miles to go. Groaning to yourself and turning the heating element in your Rig to Insane mode, you continue on, taking advantage of windbreaks wherever you can find them and whatever they may be. Hour after hour passes as you slowly but surely pass markers. It's 3PM when you glance out from behind the sleeper truck you're using as a windbreak and finally spot the pier. You climb into the truck for a quick rest. You are extremely cold, numb to the bone and your rig is soaked through from all the melted snow. Your legs are screaming in agony and your upper torso is weak. Throbbing arms make your grasp weak and lessens you control over them, if something were to attack you right now, drawing your side arm would only grant you one shot as the .500 Magnum round used by your revolver recoils so hard the weapon would be ejected from your hands. Your line of sight wanders around the dull gray interior of the truck, pictures of the previous owner's family and friends are stuck to the center console and a frozen box of candy bars remains in the center console. You push aside the piece of cardboard covering the box, finding several frozen chocolate bars.

Jackpot.

Now if only you didn't feel like complete shit while making one of the best food related find ever. High in fats and oils, chocolate is a coveted Pre Cloud treat that has all but disappeared. This box of five sitting in this truck was probably worth thousands of credits and that was before there tastiness in rations was factored in. Since smiling was all you could do to celebrate right now, that's what you do as you slide the candy into your rig and glance to the back of the truck. There's a frozen laptop, probably been dead a hundred years, sitting on the counter next to the bed which has a thick sleeping bag on it that looks freshly disturbed and several bits and pieces to a MPD-14 are laying on the counter opposite the laptop, what's worse is there's a small heater on the counter that's still on. Fearing you have just pilfered someone else's hideout and not wanting to be here when they come back, you return the candy to where you found it, exit the truck and run to the pier with a renewed vigor. Knocking on the door when you arrive, a man in a Merc Rig answers' the door. You can't see any of his features under the suit, but he's a good 5 inches taller than you and has Akimbo Mac-11's on his hips, probably not the best idea to demand entrance.

“Mind if I come in?”, you ask, “I can't take much longer out here in this storm.”

The man steps aside and let's you in, you start shaking the snow off your Rig, taking in the room's details. It's about 12 feet long from the front door to the wall and stretches about 20 feet to the right, ending in a metal door with six frosty windows. Six tarnished shelves full of neat organized tools, boat parts and daily supplies line the back wall and Marine décor adorns the walls. Directly in front of the door is a desk with a working computer and a hot plate, which is currently boiling vegetable oil. What looks to be a large mouth bass sits on a cutting board next to the hotplate and a fillet knife flanked by a rough looking plastic bowl full of handmade batter. An old airplane seat sits behind the desk and several lobster traps are stacked up in the corner behind the desk.

“Kid you must be next level desperate to brave that storm”, the man says as he shuts the door behind you, “I've lived in the wastes my whole life and the second that wind picks up I'm inside.”

“I am kind of desperate sir”, you explain, “about a week ago I was separated from my friends and got turned around in a snow storm, eventually I ended up here, now I'm trying to get away from the city to send a distress call. I have some idea where I'm at and I know home is South of here.”

“Right”, the man says, “Sarge called ahead and said you were coming, I'll be happy to take you across the canal, just say the word.”

“Let's head out then”, you answer.

“Well alright”, the man replies, “follow me and watch yourself, the stairs outside will be slicker than ice on wet glass.”

The man walks to the back of the building and opens a small metal door which is grabbed and flung into the wall by the storm. He pulls one of his handguns off his hip and checks the stairwell. Motioning it's safe, you take your AR-4 off your ruck and follow him outside. The stairs leading down to the small ferry are caked with ice several inches thick. Though your crampons sink into the soft material with ease, they also crack them quite heavily. So much ice braking off at once is bound to reduce your grip on the stairs to zero instantly and send you tumbling down the staircase and possibly into the super chilled water below. You onto the rusty railing with your free hand as you descend the star case. The wind is rather weak down inside the canal itself, which is a welcome relief from the past few hours. You step onto the ferry behind the man and the old metal emits a horrible scratching noise when it connects with the titanium crampons on your boots. You sit down, leaning up against the side railing as the ferryman goes to start his vessel. Down on the ship, even further out of the wind's influence, the temperature rises from -200 to around -180, ten percent warmer, but still not doing you any favors. You unstrap the crampons from your boots as an electrical hum pierces the rusted deck of the ferry and settles around the edges of your ears, just barely audible over the howling blizzard above you. The man steps out of the Ferry's bridge.

“We set off in about ten minutes, engine just needs some time to warm up”, he says.

You nod.

“So what's your story kid?”, the man asks, “everyone who come's through here has one. If you tell me next ride's free.”

You shrug, “for the most part I'd say outstanding average. If I hadn't gotten turned around in that storm I wouldn't even be out here, but you know how that damn weather changes.”

“Don't we all”, the man replies, “where you headed?”

“With some luck and a good distress signal, home”, you answer, “I need to make it to a clearing outside of town to send a beacon to my friends to come get me. If this storm holds out I'll never make it home on my own.”

“How far is this clearing?”, the man asks.

“The first one with a clear view of the sky and a good place to set up a shelter”, you say, “might be a mile outside of town, might be 15, won't know until I find it.”

“Risky move”, the man says.

“Gamble I gotta take, otherwise I'll never find my way back”, you answer.

“Fair enough”, the man says disappearing below deck once again. Sometime later the ship's diesel gurgles to life and the ferry slowly begins to cross the Canal. You stand up, walk to the front of the ship and stare into the frozen nothingness in front of you. Even down in the Canal, the gale more or less stops, the windchill stops, except, the snow doesn't stop. It never does. It continues to fall until you wonder if it is even possible for another flake to come down and land silently between your rig and vest or settle down into the vents on the top of your helmet. But it does, it always does, The Cloud can't be reasoned with, can't be controlled or circumvented, everyone feels it's effects in some way or the other. The lucky ones died when it came in on the first Cold Front no one even knows how many years ago. Those less fortunate continued their day to day lives in Hotspots, the Cloud outside came with passing time to only be a minor inconvenience, as everything that needed to be done outside was more or less taken care of by Robots, or people with powerful Rigs that more or less saw the Cloud as just one more thing to put up with in the line of work. Colonists got the short end of the stick, for the time being at least, they were the ones who couldn't afford homes or storefronts in a Hotspot, or didn't care to run to one and hide. Some of these people chose to face The Cloud head on, some of them chose to give up, but life went on for most of them, until the Scenyx showed up and the mutants followed suit. You weren't around when the Mutants, specifically the Husk, first arrived, none of your friends were, but stories from older colonists about those days have kept you awake at night. They tell of when the Husk first showed up, at the time an Apex Predator, killing anything with a heartbeat and capturing humans to drag them off to only God knows where. Getting captured by a Husk is one of your worst fears, mainly because no one really knows how the process to become one is initiated. The only thing more dangerous than a Husk is a Demon, a carnivorous, plant like creature that is completely undetectable until it grabs you and so named because of how it hunts. Root like tendrils pierce through your boots and lace themselves into the flesh of it's victim braking your body apart like wet tissue paper as it pulls them down into the snow, leaving nothing uneaten. By the time the process is complete, all that remains is an empty Rig. No blood stains the snow, screams are usually not heard, the only warning is a sudden searing pain in the legs, but by the time it comes, the only option left is to kill yourself.

A lurch from the ferry stirs you from day dreaming, you peer over the edge of the hand railing and see a large, crab like shell disappear underneath the icy waters. With renewed stamina, you step away from the front of the ship and enter the bridge, locating the ferryman you inform him of what you saw.

“We got company sir”, you say, “looks like some giant crab.”

“I figured that's what it was”, the man says handing pulling a box out from underneath the control console he was using to steer the ship. He sets the box on the counter and opens it, revealing about a dozen Electric Grenades.

“Dump these presents in the water for our friends”, the man says, “otherwise they may sink us.”

Nodding, you take the box off the counter and head back to the bow of the ship, taking one of the grenades from the box, you peer over the side. Two of the creatures are swimming around near the front of the ship, while waves in the water in front of you signal two more on approach. You press the button on the top of the grenade, wait for the creatures to get slightly closer and then toss it in.

“Present for ya”, you say as the device splashes into the water. A mere two seconds pass before the grenade goes off. There is a really deep and audible thunk as electrical pulses arc underneath the water and off the bow of the ship. The shock charge fries the crab like mutants and they float to the surface, their dim shells now a bright red as the voltage instantly cooked them.

“Such a waste”, you say closing the box. You return to the bridge, sticking your head in the door, “jobs done, those shrimp are cooked, literally.”

“All that food wasted”, the man says, “make sure to watch for more, and to keep your eyes on the shore line, just in case we get company there.”

You nod and return to the bow. You keep the box of Electrical Grenades close by and your AR-4 at the ready. Several more of the mutated shrimp attempt to attack the ferry during the short crossing and you make use of the free supplies the ferryman gave you. Several minutes and about a dozen shrimp later, you arrive at the other side of the canal. The ferryman stops his vessel in a covered dock next to another that looks very similar, dropping two heavy looking anchors overboard before tying a rope around the front handrail of the ship, securing that to a large chunk of iron bolted to the brick wall acting as a sealant between the river itself and it's banks. The ferryman motions for you to follow, leading the way up the stairs again. Inside a ferry station that's a carbon copy of the one you just departed from, but had been converted into a small shop, with tomato, eggplant and lettuce planter's replacing the shelves full of boat supplies and shelves of field gear lining the opposite wall. The door had also been moved to make way for a rack full of Rig parts. There's another man sitting at a computer wearing a Pilot's rig. His feet are on the table and his weapon and helmet are on the floor beside him, he's eating a can of something steaming. As you enter, he looks up.

“A customer”, the man says setting aside his food, “your fee is 500 credits.”

“Stow the shit”, the ferryman said, “this guy's one of Teresa's people, no paycheck today.”

“Of course he is”, the man said sounding annoyed, “we need to start charging her people for rides.”

“Then we get no more fuel”, the ferryman said, “you have no idea just how good we got it in this job.”

The man sighed, “either way kid, if you need supplies for the road, I've got a ton of heating fuel, boxes of rations and a good store of 5.56 ammunition.”

“I've got a few minutes to browse”, you answer.

“It's all salvage, but nothing's junk”, the man tells you as you begin to look around. Prices are listed, and for what he's selling it's all reasonable. You check your Rig's information to see your heating fuel count, it's low, very low. You add heating fuel to your list along with the only box of .500 magnum he has. You also get two Chicken Noodle Soup C-Rations, two large, fresh tomatoes and a small bag of lettuce, some eggplant and a bass, it's not often you get to have fresh food and with the money that Teresa gave you, you take the opportunity to get what you can. The bill comes to 400 credits and though most of it is heating fuel, it's money well spent. The first can is more than enough to fill your Rig's heating element. You figure each can will last about a week or so at full power, which gives you comfort in the fact that you've got some time for either your friends to find you, or to find your way home. You pay the man, say thank you to both of them and then step outside into the blizzard. The wind is quick to welcome you back outside as you find the bridge and locate the road. Going with the blizzard, you start walking.

The snow is thick and heavy, the ice underneath it is thick also, but soft enough that your crampons bite into it, giving great traction. For hours you brave the blizzard, taking advantage of what windbreaks you can find and eventually make it out of the city, into the surrounding country side, where you stumble upon an old military checkpoint. It's a small one, only two portable barricades and a rusted out APC with a hatch that's not opening to anything short of a blow torch. The snow is piled on top of the walkway on the barricades, raised lumps in it signals the presence of the dead. You quickly rummage through a few ammunition boxes underneath one of the platforms, finding a snub nosed .38 caliber revolver and a few shots before quickly moving on. As the sky begins the daily transition from grey to black, you find a clearing with a good treeline and decide you'll stop here and set up camp. The wind has died down, so you have to make haste and set up your tent before it picks up again. You drop your ruck and lean your guns up against a tree, keeping your sidearm close in case you need it.

You dig your tent, a Sierra Outdoor Company 30 below series out from the bottom of your ruck and quickly unpacking. You quickly set up the snow camo tent and then head deeper into the forest to collect firewood, a task not so much hard as it is long. Using what you know about fire wood, you know to collect enough fuel to sustain a fire long enough to dry out more wood to establish a cycle, you'd done it before, the problem with this is finding enough dry wood to get the fire going in the first place, a task much easier said than done. After an hour or so of searching under every leaf, soaked twig and icy rock, you uncover enough dry wood to light a fire. You return to camp and proceed to dig two holes. The first hole is a very simple half sphere in the ground with rocks lining it, this is the fire you'll use to help to stay warm and dry the fire wood for the cooking fire, a Dakota Hole. Your favorite way to make a cooking fire, for a number of reasons. Native Americans used Dakota fire holes to hide cooking fires from their enemies, the small pits also excel in windy conditions and consume less wood while burning hotter than open fires. The fire hole works by sucking fresh air into the combustion chamber. Hot air rises from the hole, drawing air through the air vent and into the base of the fire. The cycle is self-sustaining, and digging the air vent on the upwind side of the fire hole helps capture the breeze like the air scoop on some of Toyota's newer pickup trucks. You dig the fire chamber first, excavating a pit 1 foot in diameter and 1 foot deep. Now you widen the base of the chamber a few inches so it has a jug-like shape, which allows you to burn slightly larger pieces of wood. You dig the air tunnel next, starting about a foot away from the edge of the fire hole, on the upwind side, and carve out a mole-like tunnel 5 or 6 inches in diameter, angling down to the base of the fire chamber. As you light both fires, the sky finishes the transition from grey to black and night falls. The wind has more or less died, leaving you with quiet snowfall. As tired, cold and sore as you are, as much as you want to just sit in front of the flames and cook your fish, after all the preparation and effort that went into setting up those fires, it seems pointless to let all the valuable heat it generates to literally go up in smoke and disappear, without warming the person it’s intended for. This is where a a fire wall came into play. Without a reflector, the heat produced by the fire would dissipate not only upwards, but also in all directions around the fire.

Fire walls can be constructed of wood, rocks or even dirt. They can be simple or elaborate and take varying amounts of time to make. Given that night has already set upon you, you dig your metalized blanket out of your ruck and pin it to the ground about a foot away from the fire. Using your spare tent poles, you hang the blanket up in a shelter like fashion. The black background would blend into the dark and the silver side facing the fire wouldn't be burned through. With everything set up, you prepared your fish for cooking, placed it in your mess kit and put it over the fire. Activating the distress pulser, there was nothing to do now but wait.

And hope you were found by the right people.