The Wild West

It had been two days since Cyrus crossed the Mississippi River. What used to divide the East and the West, now divided the law and the lawless. The Gateway Arch, mangled and barely standing, presented more like a threat than a welcoming.

Cyrus made his way across Missouri and Nebraska with little resistance. Most of the abandoned cars on the road had plenty of gas in them to siphon, though Cyrus questioned the wisdom of smoking a cigarette after sucking gasoline into his mouth.

There was virtually no trace of civilization out here. Mauraders and small groups were rumored to be active in Wyoming and Colorado, but so far Cyrus hadn't seen anyone since leaving what used to be St. Louis. He had never come out this way. The silence was eerie.

As the sun began to dip down ahead of him, Cyrus decided it was time to pull over and camp in for the night. There would be plenty of driving left to do in the morning. He'd made it to Wyoming without incident, now it was time to track these people down.