The fog was thick, around the Redwoods. So thick, that at the base of the old Gate Bridge, you can't even see the first arch.

A herd of elk were grazing, browsing about over some broken, overgrown pavement. In the distance behind them, dark shapes stood deathly still. One could pick out which weren't trees when the wind blew; cell towers and structures of the old world didn't usually bend with the wind.

The elk were upwind; there was no smell to warn them. They were caught by surprise when one of the shadows in the fog quickly charged! The scattered around it's feet, half the size of the rusted old cars on the bridge as it slid into a crouch and swatted down one of their number. It's trumpeting scream was cut short as it was lifted in that same hand, and crushed in the rotting flat teeth.

The giant chewed with it's mouth open, looking this way and that, like it didn't understand the fog, or the bridge before it.

Another bite, and most of the elk was already gone. It halted it's crunching to sniff the air, swallow, and raise it's eyebrows thoughtfully. A smell made it lose interest in what little was left of it's kill. One that killed curiosity, and compelled it to brave the fog, and cross the bridge.

The smell of humans.



6 AG; After the Giants
Central Cali Colony Prime
Briefing Room 34, 09:23AM

A handful of middle aged men and women sat around a table in a boardroom, their faces showing a mix of hesitance and concern.

"So, you're proposing... An expedition, of sorts?"

The younger man standing at the head of the table nodded, "yes, sir. We've been fairly stable, here, but I think it's important for new generations to know that we're looking toward the future, and not just..."

A woman seated at the table interjected, "-Waiting to die?"

"W-well-"

"Don't worry about my feelings, Mr. Gordon. The older among us, the one's who remember life before They came, certainly haven't struggled to maintain the age old tradition of gossip, rumors and general grumblings. It just so happens, we feel that we're beginning to understand enough that we can consider... Bolder actions."

A pause. "S-so, are you willing to approve my proposal?"

Another man spoke up, this time, "Not as written; Alaska might as well be on the Moon. But, if you think we have people that could manage re-exploring the Northern California Coast, maybe even push into Oregon, and make it back alive? Then we could proceed with furthering a push North in similar stages, reconnecting with any colonies outside our radio range."

The woman from before resumed control of the conversation, "While some of us are nervous about asking people to do something so dangerous, I must admit, a number of your candidates seem encouraging. 'If Anyone can do it', as we used to say."

The meeting wrapped up in a rather mundane fashion, and afterward the so-called "Mr. Gordon" began composing a message, "Congratulations, Mr. Bramworth..."



The Stockton Ruins,
Zone 5, 10:07AM

What remained of the city was in varying states of 'destroyed'. Just like everywhere else.

The only thing to interrupt the blowing of the wind through the ruins was the tremors; feint, but steady, and getting stronger. One vehicle in particular shook, dropping a scrap of it's own structure clattering down a half covered manhole, followed by a clattering of cans, or something. Some crude alarm system...

@RickyG85

“Congratulations, Mr. Bramworth.

Due to your satisfactory quarterly performance, your success rate, as well as excellent customer feedback, you are selected to be Mapmaker for our next expedition. Please report to Mister Gordon’s office on Monday to receive your next assignment.

Signed and Sealed,
Matthew Woods”

“Father, we have gathered here today to listen to your teaching and in worship of your Name. We are thankful for your protection over our loved ones. We are thankful for the meals you have provided us. And the safe shelters you had given us. As your flocks return to their daily lives, I ask you to continue protecting them. Grant them strength to face the hostility of their world with perseverance. Of refuge when danger lurks. And for those who are no longer with us, may their soul returned by your side.

In your name we prayed, Amen.”

“Amen.” The crowd said, Lucas included.

He has never been as devout as his mother, but he knew it brought hers comfort when he accompanied her to the church. Especially days before he left for an expedition. His mother would dress in her best, in white dress made of silk and fur gloves from the era before the fall. And like always, she would nudge him by the elbow, said in a hushed tone for him to follow, before approaching in the one of the priest for blessing of safe passage.

“Lucas, come.” Martha said, tapped him on his shoulder before sneakily left on the east side. She walked fast, but stopped and motioned him to get on with it before approaching one of the priests.

Lucas tried to do this on his own. This… blessing asking all by himself before. But for some reason, when he did it, his mother asked to do it again. As if double blessing was somehow doubling the protection he would receive. Actually, she was the one that said it. Something along the line of “Ask for a double blessing never hurts no one.” Of course he isn’t so stupid as to not notice that perhaps the reason why she asked him to do it again was for her own reassurance. But still,....

HAIZZZZZZZ
It’s kinda weird that a person of twenty something is still waiting for his mother to open up for him. The “momma’s boy” title is not gonna leave him early. But he isn’t going to fight her about it. It’s kinda futile trying to …

“Hello Lucas.” The priest said, offering him a warm smile as well as a soft pat on the back. His mother, Martha, stood by the side. A polite smile can be seen on her face.

“Father.” Lucas nodded in response. He knew the person before him. Well, maybe? He heard that there is supposedly this separation of lives before service and life after entering it? So the person he knew before is supposedly different from the person he is seeing now? But anyway, he knew the priest. Sam Taylor. His parents were Lucas’ middle school teacher. Heck, they were neighbors before Sam had to move for his theology studies. It was only a one hour trek toward the deeper end of the colony…
“Well, Miss Martha has come to ask me to give you the blessing of safe travels.” Father Taylor said…

“If you can, Father. And Redwood, Father” Sam nodded before taking the Bible from a nearby pew and offered it to him. Automatically, Lucas put his right hand on the book. His head lowered, and words from his mind reverberated with the words that Sam spoke.

“All-powerful and ever-living God, when Abraham left his own land
and departed from his own people, you kept him safe all through his journey. We asked you to protect Lucas Bramworth, who also are your servants: walk by his side to help him; be his companion and his strength on the road and his refuge in every adversity. Lead him, O Lord, so that he will reach his destination in safety and happily return to our arm. We ask this through Christ our Lord” Sam prayed.

“Amen.” He and his mother replied.

And then, the rest of the day went on. And the night went on as usual. It wasn’t Lucas' first time being a mapmaker. He did something similar a few times now. Five to be exact. Beside, he has been to Redwood before. But it would be a lie to say if his mind didn’t drift toward the worse outcome. Probably because he chose to keep some informations of the meeting from his parents. He isn't just going to Redwood. He is going to Oregon...And his mind imagined of painful death, of diseases…

But the sun always rises.

Lucas Bramworth, mapmaker, left Central California Colony Prime at 5 am local time. His mission, as was detailed, would be to travel past the San-Fran ruin and headed toward the border of the old Oregon-California border before turning back. The estimated distance traveled would be around 500 miles, spanning across one month gives or take. Proof of arrival would be any valid dossier from Sacramento Supreme Court, with its office’s seal visible. A map of the border would be desired, however information and paths to any settlements on the roads are also accepted.

---

Location: Stockton outskirts—
sewer tunnel beneath the old highway
Time: Nightfall, 6 AG

---

The fire was small, controlled, and deliberately ugly—fed with scraps of treated wood and broken plastic that smoked more than they burned. Emily sat closest to it anyway, knees pulled up, staring into the flame like it owed her money. Around her, the rest of the group occupied the sewer tunnel in loose clusters: muttered conversations, quiet laughter dulled by exhaustion, the metallic clink of gear being checked for the third or fourth time that night.

Six of them in total. Too many to move quietly. Too few to feel safe.

And to make matters worse, someone was hurt.

Emily shifted her attention to the man leaning against the tunnel wall, his right hand wrapped in a blood-soaked rag that had already turned a deep, unpleasant brown. The injury wasn’t life-threatening—she knew that much—but it was bad enough to slow them down. Torn flesh, swelling, maybe a fracture if luck was feeling cruel. He tried to act like it didn’t hurt. Everyone did.

She sighed and leaned forward, tugging her pack closer. "Stop moving," she said flatly, already unwrapping the cloth.

A few of the others watched with mild interest. One of the women, older, sharp-eyed, stayed close to Emily’s side. Not hovering, exactly. More like keeping watch. Emily pretended not to notice, but she was aware of it. She always was.

"Your hand’s gonna be stiff for a while," Emily muttered as she cleaned the wound. "You’ll still have feeling. Eventually. But climbing’s off the table for now. You're lucky it's not your leg."

That earned her a couple of sharp looks. No one denied it.

The talk circled back, like it always did, to the road ahead. To Stockton. To the dead sprawl beyond it. To the thing none of them liked saying out loud: San Francisco.

They’d been holed up near the outskirts of what used to be Stockton for two days now—long enough to draw attention if they stayed longer. From there, the route west funneled straight into the ruins. Collapsed highways. Tilted towers. Giant paths burned permanently into the city like scars. No reliable maps. No clear landmarks. Just a maze of death that people only crossed if there was something on the other side worth the risk.

And there was.

Whatever waited north of the city wasn’t just supplies. It was information. Access. A deal with a faction that controlled movement north along the coast—safe paths, maybe underground crossings, and maybe just enough knowledge to survive another month. In a world without reliable maps, knowing where not to go was priceless.

Which was why the argument started again for the third time today.

"He can’t do his job like this," someone said. "You know that."

“He can’t keep pace,” someone said. “One hand out of commission and he’s done.”

“He’s not useless,” another snapped back.

“He was our 'climber',” a third cut in. “He’s the one who could scale collapsed structures, set anchors, find vertical routes when the streets were blocked. Without that hand, he’s baggage.”

Emily didn’t look up as the tension crept in, voices sharpening, words getting closer to something uglier. She finished bandaging the hand and tied it off with a practiced knot. Her fingers were steady. Too steady, some people thought, for someone who claimed she didn’t want to be a medic.

"Then we cut him loose," the man contiued. "Before he slows us all down."

That was when, one of them, whos been silent until now, finally broke the lull. "You're thinking in short-term. We don’t cut loose assets." It was the older woman in their late thirties, hardened by years on the road.

"C’mon, you’re getting sentimental now?"

"No. I’m getting practical."

That shut them up.

The woman met their stares one by one as she stepped closer to the fire, light catching the lines on her face, the scars people never bothered asking about. "You want to argue again? go ahead. But let me remind you: without him, you won’t cross the vertical breaks. Without me, you won’t even reach the coast. Without us, you won’t reach the other side. And you won’t reach whatever deal you’re so damn eager for. So, you can slow down, adapt, and survive—or, you can gamble blind and die faster."

The fire crackled. Somewhere far above, the wind howled through broken streets.

Emily finally leaned back against the tunnel wall, wiping her hands on her pants. She glanced over the group, eyes dull with disinterest. People always revealed themselves when survival got inconvenient. It was the same argument every time. Just new faces. Whether they stayed together or not didn’t matter much in the long run. Groups broke. Cities fell. People disappeared.

She just needed to survive long enough to see what waited beyond the ruins.

And if that meant patching people up so they could argue about abandoning each other later?

Fine by her.