“Chief, you should check this out. A Greyhound’s coming.” Max said as he looked out into the adjoining highway. “Hope they’re going to the SafeHouse.”
Only a week ago, Max was hitchhiking from L.A. on a freight truck whose last stop was Chief Blackthorn’s QuickStop in the middle of the parched desert. The truck would turn around back to LA, so Max decided to wait a few days in the gas station and hitch a ride to the SafeHouse with some passersby. By that time, all that were left in his backpack were his cigarettes, colored pencils, and his beloved sketchbook.
“Can you believe it, man?” He asked as he slurped a Coke, “Only the people with the mutation or the vaccine are alive now.
