It’s been one year since I moved to Fort Hope. Stuffed everything worth taking into a truck and headed East, towards the ocean and the promise of a new beginning. Brad Morse followed me in his truck. Later on we found out that Janet Calcaterra was from town, too. That made three, and in a town our size, three was a statistical anomaly. Hell, one was almost a statistical anomaly.
Everyone else was dead.
We started at Fort Hope with 881. Eleven died. Three arrived. Four were born. That’s 877. Sherwood Forest has less than half that. That’s what’s left of us. 1200 souls and 72,000 square miles of wilderness, farmland, decaying suburban sprawl, and cities filled with the dead.
They shot a dog today.