The Story Checkpoint

Downtown - Story, Wyoming

Perrine guided Luna and the wagon cautiously into the outskirts of Story, Wyoming. Seven years after the Rupture, the town had become a shadow of its former self, where nature was slowly reclaiming the remnants of civilization from the outside in. Overgrown vegetation tangled with the ruins of abandoned buildings, creeping through cracked sidewalks and engulfing rusted-out cars. What once might have been a thriving community was now a haunted landscape, its decay punctuated by the stubborn remains of human survival.

As he neared the town’s center, the atmosphere thickened with an unsettling tension. The usual sounds of birds and insects had faded, replaced by an eerie silence that made Perrine’s instincts prickle. His senses were on high alert, even before Gabriel, the raven, gave a low, warning caw from his perch on the wagon before taking off to chart his own course. Luna flicked her ears nervously, and even Peekaboo, the field mouse, burrowed deeper into the wagon, sensing the watchful eyes that tracked their every move.

Perrine knew they were being observed—probably by hidden sentries long before they reached the outskirts. Story was no stranger to rough characters, and while the town’s inhabitants were mostly just trying to survive, the enforcers who kept order were often selected from the toughest, and in Perrine’s opinion, the worst of them.

As the wagon approached the heart of the town, the road was blocked by a series of makeshift barricades. Old cars, concrete barriers, and scavenged materials had been repurposed into a formidable defense, topped with rusting barbed wire. The remnants of a "Welcome to Story" sign dangled precariously nearby, its message nearly obliterated by grime and layers of anti-Gifted graffiti. "No Freaks Allowed" and similar slogans were scrawled across the barriers, a clear warning to any who might think to enter.

…

Perrine slowed the wagon as he neared the first checkpoint, where armed guards emerged from their hiding spots. These men, clad in a mix of military gear and patched civilian clothing, had the hard eyes of survivors—people who’d seen too much and trusted too little. Perrine knew their type well. They were wary, quick to judge, and even quicker to act if they sensed danger. But they didn’t know his secret—that he was Gifted, and not just another human scrounger and trader passing through. He had worked hard to keep it that way.

The lead guard, a tall man with a grizzled beard and cold eyes, approached. "Perrine," he greeted, his voice tinged with suspicion but recognizing him from past visits over a four year period. "Trading again?" The question was more of a statement, his gaze assessing the loaded wagon.

Perrine gave a slow nod, careful to keep his expression neutral. "Yuh...got...supplizz...tuh truhde," he answered, his speech impediment making him seem harmless—a man of few words, unlikely to cause trouble. His eyes flicked briefly to the guard’s weapon before returning to meet his gaze.

…

The guard seemed to relax slightly, though he didn’t lower his guard completely. He jerked his head toward the barricades. "Alright, let’s see what you’ve got. But remember the rules—no funny business." His eyes lingered on the graffiti, a reminder of the town’s stance on outsiders like Perrine if they knew the truth.

With a curt nod, Perrine urged Luna forward. The wagon creaked as it moved past the checkpoint, flanked by the guards who eyed him warily. As they entered deeper into the town, towards downtown, Perrine noted the signs of a community trying to rebuild—small gardens sprouting from what used to be front lawns, homes patched up with whatever materials could be scavenged. But the signs of hostility were never far, from the graffiti to the watchful eyes of the enforcers.

Perrine had traded here before, supplying the town with food, linen, seeds, and other essentials they couldn’t easily obtain. He needed what they could offer in return, and he couldn’t afford to be picky. But he also knew better than to trust too much. Story was a town on edge, and for someone like him, it was always a balancing act between being useful and being expendable.

As they moved further into the town, the tension eased just slightly. The inhabitants of Story might have been wary of strangers, but they weren’t hostile without reason. Still, Perrine remained alert, his senses tuned to the environment and the people around him. The enforcers might be watching his every move, but as long as they believed he was just another trader trying to scrape by, he could do what he needed and be on his way—safely and without incident.