Each night, the caravan would stop and circle the trucks. We would make camp in the space in the middle, while the armed guards who had spent the day sleeping in the backs of the cabs would sit up on the tops of the trailers and watch out into the prairie.There were about fifty men in the caravan, including the ten guards. Three of them were mechanics, most of them were drivers or just general borers. There wasn’t a clear divide that I could tell between those with a curse and those without it like there was in the bends, but I didn’t go picking at the scab either to figure out if they were considered serfs out here or if they were equals.Most of the towns we passed through were empty, or filled with mutants who would come out and look at us longingly. We never stopped for them.In the mornings we would eat breakfast around the central fire. I got my first taste of coffee. I didn’t see what the big deal was; it was bitter and foul. But the others each had their cup in the morning and as part of the caravan I could have gotten one too. I gave mine to Miguel, who seemed to appreciate the gesture.We didn’t have coffee every day. Just now and then. But when we did everyone got a cup.The coffee was traded from deep south, but while the caravan could afford it as a luxury trade good, most of their cargo was made of more practical items. I guess my grandfather was never a coffee drinker, because when I asked Miguel he said that the caravan could have gotten him a few cans every year but that they never did.It was on a morning like any other that a sudden gunshot interrupted our breakfast. Everyone raced to arm themselves; I yanked out my Ruger and looked about, trying to identify where the danger came from.“Settle down boys, settle down,” Niel said. “Threat’s dealt with. Get back to business.”Everyone seemed to calm down, but I was left wondering what the hell had just happened. I asked Miguel, who just shrugged. Miguel didn’t seem to care about anything except running his truck.So I went to find Niel, who nodded at me. And that’s when I saw what the gunshot was about. One of the guards was busy digging a grave for a serf boy. He looked like he was about thirteen or fourteen. He was shirtless, and had a blotch on the left side of his chest that proved he was cursed.“What happened?” I asked.“We caught him trying to steal from us st night,” Niel said. “We just finished his interrogation. Then we found out he was cursed, so we did the natural thing to do.”“Oh,” I said.“You got a problem?”“No sir,” I said. Grandfather would have probably done the same to a transient who tried to steal something valuable. Assuming they were cursed, at least. If they didn’t have any signs of bloodline decay, maybe they’d get a second chance, but that was in the Bends. I knew better than to question Niel.Niel could put me in the grave next to the kid and nobody would question it.“Then get the fuck out of here.”“Yes sir,” I said, and I went back to sit in the cab and wait for Miguel.