Afternoon -- Near New Sweden, Maine

  “Base…This is Retriever Agent Adem. Mark my location.”

  “Status Report”

  “No Luck yet.”

  “Roger”

  The town sign read Oxbow Junction.

  Someone had shot it full of holes.

  Adem slowed his car as he rolled past the empty main street. The place had died slowly—boarded windows, rusted tractors in front yards, a gas station canopy collapsed under the weight of years.

  No smoke. No voices.

  Just wind.

  The sun was sliding toward the tree line now. Night would come quickly in the north woods.

  Adem scanned the buildings the way he always did: rooflines, alleyways, broken glass, shadows that looked too still.

  Nothing moved.

  Good.

  He parked the car beside a faded storefront.

  He stepped out. Grey Duster, Metal Helmet , Armor Plates

  OXBOW SPIRITS

  The door hung crooked on its hinges. The place was boarded up tight. The board on the door was loose. He wrenched the board off.

  Adem stepped inside.

  Rows and rows of dusty liquor bottles. .

  Whiskey. Vodka. Rum.

  Adem stopped walking.

  The bottles sat there like they had been waiting for him.

  He hadn’t had a drink in months.

  His thumb rested on the cap. Just enough to forget the world for one second.

  He hadn’t come looking for this, but the drink called to him. His hand brushed a bottle as he passed. The glass felt cool beneath the dust.

  He picked it up.

  The label was cracked and faded but readable.

  Kentucky whiskey.

  His thumb rested on the cap.

  He turned it slowly.

  Click.

  The sound echoed in the empty store.

  Adem lifted the bottle and took a swallow.

  The burn hit his throat like fire.

  Warm. Familiar.

  For a moment the world felt softer.

  He took another drink.

  Then another.

  “Enough Adem.”

  Outside, something screamed.

  Adem jerked.

  Another scream followed—high and terrified.

  A young girl.

  He lowered the bottle slowly.

  The screaming came again.

  Adem set the bottle on the counter and stepped outside.

  Two men stood beside a pickup truck in the middle of the road.

  One held a girl by the arm.

  She couldn’t have been more than thirteen..

  Her shoes dragged against the pavement as she tried to pull free.

  “Please,” she cried. “Please don’t…”

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  One of the men slapped her.

  “Shut up.”

  Adem walked toward them.

  The men saw him and stiffened.

  The taller one raised a hand.

  “Easy there, friend,” he said calmly. “No trouble here.”

  The girl looked up at Adem.

  Her face was streaked with tears.

  “Please..Help me.”

  “The tall main said…Shut…the..hell…up.” He slapped her again.

  He shook his head slowly.

  “Listen, pal. This ain’t your business.” He snorted.

  Adem stopped a few feet away.

  “What are you doing with the girl?”

  The second man laughed.

  “What does it look like?”

  “Trade,” the tall one said. “Fuel’s scarce these days. Food too. Girl like this is worth plenty.”

  The girl tried to kick him.

  He twisted her arm harder.

  “Stop squirming.”

  Adem’s jaw tightened.

  “You’re selling her.”

  “Everyone’s selling something,” the tall man said. “You should understand that.”

  He nodded toward the liquor store behind Adem.

  “Hell, looks like you already found something to sell your soul for.”

  Adem didn’t answer.

  The tall man watched him carefully.

  “Look… we’re reasonable people. You walk away, we walk away. No one gets hurt.”

  The girl whispered again.

  “Please.”

  Adem sighed quietly.

  He looked back at the liquor store.

  “Come on, man. What do you care about some stupid girl? I know you want that drink. Your hands are trembling.”

  Then he stepped forward.

  “Listen…”

  The first punch landed before the slaver even finished his sentence.

  Bone cracked.

  The man collapsed into the dirt.

  The second one swung a tire iron.

  Thud. Adem caught the blow on his forearm and drove his shoulder into the man’s chest.

  They crashed against the truck.

  The fight was short and ugly.

  When it ended both riaders lay groaning in the road.

  Adem spit blood. He grabbed the girl’s arm.

  “Can you run?”

  She nodded quickly.

  “Then run.”

  She didn’t hesitate.

  She sprinted down the street and vanished between two buildings.

  Adem watched until she disappeared.

  Then he turned back toward the liquor store.

  The whiskey bottle still sat on the counter where he had left it.

  For a long moment he stared at it.

  Then Adem picked up the bottle to take a drink. He paused at his mouth.

  He tightened the cap.

  And set it back on the shelf.

  Night -- The Last Stop Bar

  Night had fallen by the time he reached the next town.

  This one wasn’t dead.

  Lights flickered in a few windows.

  A generator rattled somewhere nearby.

  People moved through the streets—quiet, cautious figures carrying rifles and scavenged packs.

  Adem followed the noise of voices until he found the place.

  A bar.

  The sign above the door read:

  THE LAST STOP

  Inside smelled like smoke and stale beer.

  A handful of survivors sat at scattered tables. A man stopped cleaning his gun. Bar Patreons turned around. The Jukebox skipped. .

  The bartender wiped a glass behind the counter. He looked at Adem, suspiciously. Squinting

  “Havent seen you in these parts.?”

  Adem nodded once.

  “Just passing through.”

  “What’ll it be?”

  Adem glanced at the rows of bottles behind the bar.

  His throat tightened slightly.

  “Pass, I need information.”

  “Come on, you know how this works.”

  Adem slammed six quantum slugs on the counter.

  The bartender raised an eyebrow and whistled. The bartender examined them.

  “Depends on what you’re looking for.”

  Adem leaned closer.

  “A traveler.”

  “Lots of those.”

  “A woman.”

  The bartender snorted.

  He pointed to a row of prostitutes by the wall.

  “We got plenty of those too. Take your pick..”

  Adem didn’t smile.

  “She’s alone. Real fish out of water. Here’s her picture.”

  That got the bartender’s attention.

  He leaned forward.

  “Ah.”

  “You’ve heard of her.”

  “Everyone around here has.”

  Adem waited.

  The bartender scratched his beard.

  “Quiet type. Doesn’t talk much. Walks like she knows exactly where she’s going.”

  “Dangerous?”

  The bartender chuckled.

  “Depends who you ask.”

  He leaned closer.

  “Couple days ago she passed through here. Took down a Mutie outside town like it was nothing.”

  Adem’s eyes narrowed.

  “What direction?”

  The bartender nodded toward the highway.

  “North road.”

  He paused.

  “Toward the old Lucky Aces Motel.”

  “Appreciate it.”

  As he turned to leave the bartender called after him.

  “You looking for her?”

  Adem stopped in the doorway.

  “Something like that.”

  The bartender laughed.

  “Well friend… if you find her?”

  Adem glanced back.

  “Yeah?”

  “Tell her to keep doing whatever she’s doing.”

  Adem stepped outside.

  The wind carried the smell of pine and dust across the empty road.

  Somewhere ahead in the darkness stood the Lucky Aces Motel.

  Adem climbed into his car and started the engine.

  “Let’s see if you're worth it,” he muttered.

  The car rolled north into the night.