The wind was bitter in the morning, a sharp chill that bit at skin and bone alike. The road stretched before them like a yawning scar across the land, the Skeleton Road, so named for the wrecks that dotted it.
The convoy creaked and groaned as it crawled, the wheels of the wagons crunching over shards of rusted metal and sun-bleached bones. The road, if it could still be called that, stretched out in fractured lines of cracked asphalt, splitting like the veins of some long-dead giant. Abandoned vehicles lay strewn across the path—hulking carcasses of the Once-World, gutted of fuel and scavenged for parts long ago. Beyond them, skeletons of both human and machine lay tangled together, their stories long forgotten.
The Niners moved in a tight formation, their wagons covered with patched tarps and bristling with makeshift weapons. Despite the wealth of scavenging opportunities littered along the route, Bricks had ordered the convoy to press forward without stopping. "Skeleton Road's no place for sightseeing," he'd growled that morning. Snow knew he was right. The road was a lure, tempting scavengers to linger too long, until something—or someone—found them.
At the rear of the convoy, Snow rode her horse, a lean gray mare with scars across its flanks. Her longshooter was strapped across her back, her sharp eyes scanning the horizon behind them. Rain clung to her waist, her arms wrapped tight around Snow to keep from slipping off the horse.
"This road gives me the creeps," Rain said, resting her chin on Snow's shoulder. "Do you think the Old Ones ever imagined it'd end up like this?"
"No," Snow replied, her voice flat. "If they had, maybe they wouldn't have wasted so much building it."
Rain chuckled softly, undeterred. "Did you know the Old Ones used to fly through the sky? I read about it in one of my books. They had machines called Metal Birds that could carry people and cargo wherever they wanted."
Snow snorted. "Sounds stupid. Why waste all that metal and fuel to fly when you can use wagons and horses?"
"Because wagons and horses always mean raiders," Rain said brightly. "And they're slow."
"We get where we're going," Snow said. "That's all that matters."
Rain sighed, resting her cheek against Snow's back. "You're no fun."
Before Snow could respond, a sharp crack echoed through the air. The horse beneath her jerked its head, its ears flicking back nervously.
"What was that?" Rain whispered, her voice tight.
Another crack followed, and this time Snow recognized it: gunfire.
"Hold on," she snapped, pulling the reins and sliding off the horse in one fluid motion. She helped Rain down quickly, then shoved her toward the nearest wagon. "Hide."
"But—"
"Go."
Rain obeyed, scrambling under the tarp of the wagon as Snow unslung her longshooter. Ahead, the convoy was in chaos. The lead wagon had come to an abrupt halt, and the Niners were scattering, diving behind whatever cover they could find.
"Everyone down!" Bricks bellowed, his voice cutting through the commotion. He crouched behind a rusted car, his weapon at the ready.
Snow moved quickly, darting behind the skeletal remains of a truck. She peered over the hood, scanning the surrounding terrain. The source of the gunfire wasn't immediately visible, but she could hear shouts and the shuffle of movement in the distance.
A figure emerged from the shadows of a crumbled overpass: a man in tattered clothes, holding a rifle. More figures followed, armed with pipes, wrenches, and other makeshift weapons. They spread out, forming a loose line as they advanced toward the convoy.
"Steady," Bricks called to the Niners. His voice was calm, but Snow could see the tension in his shoulders.
The leader of the attackers stepped forward. He was a wiry man with a face like sunbaked leather, his teeth yellowed and uneven. On his hand is a longshooter, battered and seem barely usable, but not worth taking a chance to prove that.
"Greetings, friends," the man called, his voice dripping with false cheer. "No need for anyone to get hurt. We're just here to make a deal."
Bricks stood slowly, keeping his shotgun at his side. "What kind of deal?"
The man spread his arms, as if presenting an opportunity too good to refuse. "We're the Highwaymen. Maybe you've heard of us."
Dug, crouched near another wagon, snorted. "Bandits is more like it."
The man's smile tightened. "We're just folks trying to get by. Got kicked out of the trading station down the road, through no fault of our own. All we want is a little help. Say, half your wares, and we'll let you pass through our territory without trouble."
Snow's grip tightened on her rifle. Half their wares was a death sentence.
"That's not a deal," Bricks said, his voice steady. "That's robbery."
The man's smile widened. "Call it what you like. But if you say no, we'll take it all."
Snow could feel the tension rising among the Niners. Dug muttered something under his breath again, and this time Bricks shot him a warning glance.
"Half's too much," Bricks said. "We'll give you a quarter."
The man, who had introduced himself as Slag, scratched his chin thoughtfully. Snow narrowed her eyes, watching him carefully. This wasn't just a negotiation. Slag was testing them, sizing them up. Behind her, she could hear Rain shifting nervously under the wagon tarp.
Snow's fingers brushed the wood casing of her longshooter, the weapon in her hands feeling like an extension of her own pulse. her gaze darting across the broken terrain. Something gnawed at her, a gut instinct honed by years of survival. The Highwaymen, for all their bluster, weren't moving with confidence. They had a trump card, and Snow had a sinking suspicion it was perched somewhere high, hidden.
Snow's eyes flicked over the ruined road, scanning the horizon, and then, just as the thought crystallized in her mind, she saw it. A flicker of movement. A flash of metal in the jagged remains of an overturned truck far above, near the broken edge of a crumbling bridge. The sniper.
They've only got one up there, Snow thought to herself, her expression betraying nothing of her calculations.
They needed to neutralize the threat, or they'd never make it to the trading station.
She didn't hesitate. A single breath, a careful aim, and then the sharp, deafening crack of her longshooter echoed across the battlefield. The figure in the distance jerked backward, and Snow saw the flash of a body tumbling out of sight.
The immediate danger was gone.
"Move in!" Bricks barked, his voice a rough command. The Niners, hearing the signal, sprang into action. Weapons were drawn, and the remaining Highwaymen, now realizing they were outgunned and outnumbered, hesitated. Snow stepped forward, her boots crunching over the shattered road as she raised her longshooter and aimed it squarely at Slag's head. The sight was steady, unwavering.
Slag's eyes widened, his mouth opening in disbelief. "You don't have to do this," he muttered, his hands lifting slightly as if to show he wasn't holding any more weapons. His ragtag group of Highwaymen shuffled behind him, looking just as uncertain as he was.
"No," Snow said, her voice cold, not even a hint of mercy in it. "But you're going to leave. Now."
The rest of the Highwaymen, seeing the looks of resolve on the faces of the Niners, began to back away. Slowly at first, like cornered animals, but the movement grew more frantic as they realized they couldn't escape without giving up everything. Snow's finger rested lightly on the longshooter's trigger, her aim never wavering. She knew Slag's type—he would try to negotiate, to talk his way out of it.
Bricks didn't let him. "Leave your weapons," Bricks called out. "Or we'll shoot you where you stand."
Slag hesitated, his eyes flicking between his people and Bricks, the heavy weight of his decision pressing down on him. He raised a hand, an almost pleading gesture. "We're just folk," he said, his voice wavering. "Just trying to survive, just trying to make it after the trading station… they kicked us out. It wasn't fair!"
Snow's longshooter barked again. The shot was quick and precise, grazing the side of Slag's head. A streak of blood painted the air, and Slag's voice caught in his throat. He stumbled back, one hand reaching for his temple, his face contorted in pain.
"Shut up," Snow said quietly, her finger still steady on the weapon's trigger.
Bricks stepped forward. "Last warning," he said, his voice hard and final. "Weapons. Now."
The Highwaymen, with no other choice, began to throw down their arms. First, a wrench, then a pipe. A few knives were discarded, clattering onto the cracked asphalt. Slag was the last to release his longshooter, his fingers trembling as he let it fall to the ground with a hollow thud.
Without a word, the Highwaymen turned and began to scatter, moving quickly and cautiously away from the Niners, their shoulders hunched in defeat. Slag, still holding his head, looked back once, his eyes full of resentment and helplessness, before disappearing into the ruin.
Snow exhaled, lowering her weapon but keeping it in her hands. Bricks waved for the Niners to collect the discarded weapons and supplies, the scavengers immediately converging on the piles with eager hands.
Snow moved away from the scene, heading toward the wagon where Rain was still crouched, watching the entire confrontation unfold with wide eyes.
As Snow approached, Rain looked up, her face pale but unshaken. Her eyes flickered with something almost sad. "Did you have to?" she asked quietly, her voice small. "They were desperate, Snow. You could see it."
Snow crouched beside the wagon and rested a hand on Rain's shoulder. "You're right," she said, her tone softer than before. "They were desperate. But that doesn't mean we can let them take us down with them. We had no choice."
Rain bit her lip, looking down at her hands. "I know. But it's just... it's so hard sometimes. They were just like us, Snow. Just trying to survive."
Snow nodded. "I know."
Rain glanced at the discarded weapons, her brow furrowing. She moved to one of the wagons, rummaging through the supplies until she pulled out a bundle of clothes and a small sack of rations.
"What are you doing?" Snow asked, her tone sharp.
Rain turned, her expression resolute. "Leaving this for them. If they come back, maybe this will keep them alive a little longer."
Snow opened her mouth to argue but closed it again. She didn't have the heart to tell Rain no. Instead, she watched as Rain carefully placed the bundle by the side of the road, a quiet offering to those who had nearly taken their lives.
Rain returned, brushing her hands on her coat and giving Snow a small, hopeful smile. "They'll find it. I'm sure."
Snow sighed, extending her hand. "Come on. Let's get moving."
Rain grasped her hand, her grip warm and firm. Snow pulled her onto the horse, and Rain settled behind her, her arms slipping around Snow's waist once more.
"Thanks," Rain said softly, resting her cheek against Snow's back.
Snow glanced back at her, the corners of her mouth lifting ever so slightly. "You're too soft for this world, you know that?"
Rain chuckled. "Maybe. But that's why I have you."
As the convoy resumed its journey down the Skeleton Road, Snow tightened her grip on the reins. The weight of the road ahead felt lighter with Rain behind her, and for a moment, the harshness of the wasteland seemed just a little more bearable.