The X Survivor

Two months ago, the outbreak began. One month ago, you set out for New Arcadia, the last major settlement holding out against the infected. One week ago, you staggered into Camp Limbo, battered but alive. "Limbo" is just a nickname, of course. Before the Rising, it was an RV campground on a bend in the river in the middle of nowhere. Now it's a patch of civilization in a world overrun. Problem is, it's getting too hot for comfort–literally. The White Rapids River offers a natural defense against the dead. Unfortunately, the river's seasonal. It's already drying up. You're still here because you can't go it alone. Between you and the promised land are fifty miles of forests and mountains swarming with infected. No one in their right mind would attempt a trek like that without support. Unfortunately, no one seems to know the way. It's not like you can call and ask for directions. The phones have been dead for months, and using anything electrical–even a flashlight–is like ringing a dinner bell for the infected. Something about sensitivity to electromagnetic fields, Dr. Emerson says. You've got a lead on a set of maps, but Mitchell–the map guy–is nowhere to be found. On your way to ask around, you check in on your friend Elena. She's up on the roof of an RV, scanning the horizon through binoculars. Her brother Trevor left on a caravan bound for New Arcadia just a few days before you both got here, and she hasn't stopped trying to find out what happened to him since. "Anything?" you call up to her. Elena lowers the binoculars. "No news is good news." She manages a wan smile. "Hey, Faye's looking for you. Said you'd know why." Faye's a girl who used to work at a diner and is good at getting people talking. Could be she's found Mitchell–or even better, the map. You hurry to the "marketplace," a weedy clearing full of abandoned junk. As usual, people are arguing. A few faces turn your way with interest. Ever since you broke up that fight, people have been looking to you to keep the peace. You shoulder through to see whose turn it is today. In the blue corner is Malik, former school principal. Closest thing to a leader you have right now. In the red corner is Cutter, next in line to be lynched–or to take over the camp. Depends who you ask. "You can't prove anything," Cutter snarls, standing over a wooden crate. His crew backs him up, baseball bats in hand. Malik frowns. "Don't need to, do I? The crate is right in front of us." He spots you and his expression shifts to relief. "Ah, there you are, Kriss Ribot. Mind talking some sense into them?" As they go back to bickering, Dr. Emerson threads through the onlookers. "I've got something to show you. Meet me in my tent," she says in your ear. "But make sure you're not followed."