— Desmond’s eyes opened to the relentless sun overhead, beating down on the cracked earth beneath him. He wiped the sweat from his brow and looked around, taking in the vast expanse of barren land that stretched in all directions. “You sure we’re heading the right way?” he asked, his voice carrying a hint of doubt. A figure on a horse turned around, revealing Russel’s familiar face beneath the shadow of his cowboy hat. “Trust me, Desmond. Aspen’s just over that ridge. Stay sharp and keep moving.” Desmond adjusted the straps of his makeshift backpack, filled with the bare essentials he’d managed to scavenge. The long walk had taken its toll, and every step seemed to demand more effort than the last. As they approached the ridge, the landscape began to change. The barren land gave way to patches of wild vegetation, and the occasional ruin of what once must have been opulent buildings. Desmond’s spirits lifted slightly at the sight of overgrown greenery—an unusual sight in their world. “This place used to be a paradise,” Russel remarked, a rare flicker of nostalgia in his voice. “Ski resorts, luxury hotels. Now? Just another refuge for the desperate.” The two of them descended into what remained of Aspen. Makeshift shelters stood alongside the skeletal remains of luxury resorts, their grandeur lost to time and decay. Shay waved them over from the edge of the train, a reassuring presence amidst the chaos. Desmond watched as Shay checked the stability of the wagons, her movements precise and methodical. Nearby, Quentin stood watch, his bow ready and eyes scanning the periphery for any threats. In the center of their makeshift camp, Francesco tended to a small fire, cooking something that, to Desmond’s surprise, actually smelled somewhat appetizing. “Welcome to Aspen,” Shay said, giving Desmond a nod. “Get settled. We’ve got work to do.” Desmond felt a sense of purpose wash over him.
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