James drove down the cracked, uneven roads of a town nestled within the Tamed Lands of what used to be North Carolina. The place had the remnants of old-world civilization—patchwork power grids, fortified streets, even some working streetlights flickering to life as the sun dipped below the horizon.

  It was one of the towns controlled by what remained of the local government—the T.N.C.G. (The North Carolina Government). A ridiculous name, in James’ opinion. They barely had any real territory, let alone the authority to call themselves a government. But, it wasn’t his place to question it.

  His main concern right now was finding a place to stay.

  The sky had darkened to a deep shade of purple, the last light of the day casting long shadows against the ruined skyline. James scanned the storefronts as he drove past, looking for something that might resemble an inn.

  That’s when he saw it—a bar.

  The neon sign buzzed weakly, half the letters flickering in and out, but it was still readable: "Coyote’s Rest."

  A bar usually meant a place to drink, maybe some locals who knew what was going on in the area. If he was lucky, it also meant rooms for rent.

  Pulling his car into a dirt lot nearby, James shut off the engine, resting his hands on the wheel for a brief moment. The last town he had stopped in had been a ghost town, barely worth the stop. Hopefully, this one had something useful for him or at the very least, a stiff drink.

  With that, he grabbed his bag, adjusted his jacket, put on his sunglasses, and stepped out into the cool night air.

  James entered the bar, his boots echoing slightly against the wooden floor. The place was nearly empty, save for a few tired-looking stragglers nursing their last drinks. The bartender, a broad-shouldered man with graying hair, looked up from wiping down the counter and gave him a once-over.

  “Sorry, pale, last call was twenty minutes ago.”

  James leaned against the counter, unfazed. “That’s fine. I’m looking for a place to stay. Got any ideas?”

  The bartender jerked his thumb toward the door. “Yeah, across the block—Monty’s Inn. But you’d better be quick.” He nodded toward the remaining patrons, a rough-looking bunch who looked more like drifters than locals. “They tend to take up the rooms.”

  James gave a small nod. “Appreciate it.”

  Without another word, he turned and headed back out into the cool night air. Monty’s Inn wasn’t hard to find—a brick-built structure with the charm of an old-world roadside lodge. It wasn’t trying to be sleek or modern like the places you’d find in the cities, nor was it a complete shit hole like Fontel’s. It was simple, functional—warm and welcoming.

  As James stepped inside, the scent of wood and faint cooking oil filled the air. The place was quiet, save for the crackling of a nearby fireplace. His gaze immediately fell on the woman at the center of the reception area.

  She was young—early twenties, at most—tanned skin, dark wavy hair tied lazily into a loose ponytail, with strands falling free to frame sharp, striking features. She wore a simple fitted shirt, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and sturdy cargo pants, the kind meant for actual work. A knife was strapped to her belt, well-worn but not just for show. Her dark eyes locked onto him the second he walked in, assessing, measuring. Not with hostility, but with a quiet, practiced wariness.

  When she spoke, it was without much inflection. “It’s 200 for a room.”

  James pulled out his wallet. “What currency?”

  She gave him a look, brow furrowing slightly. “Are you serious?”

  James smirked. “I get around.”

  She scoffed, shaking her head. “Guess that explains the look.” Her eyes flicked over his gear—the reinforced jacket, the slight bulge where his sidearm rested. “We don’t get a lot of traveling mercs or traders. They normally bypass this town completely, stick to the Creeper Route.”

  James raised an eyebrow. “The Creeper Route?”

  “Yeah. Semi-functional roads, dirt paths cleared through places where the old highways are too torn up. Cuts into the wastelands, but not too deep. Traders and caravans use it since it avoids the worst of the raiders and wildlife.” She leaned forward slightly, arms resting on the counter, her posture relaxed. In doing so, her shirt dipped just enough to offer a view James didn’t mind. Whether it was intentional or not, he wasn’t about to question it. “Couple of boomtowns have popped up along it.”

  That would explain why this town was practically dead. James nodded. “Must not go far north if I’m only just hearing about it.”

  She sighed. “It was supposed to stretch further, with help from the SDS and a few others, but that war broke out a few days ago. Plans got scrapped.”

  James rolled his shoulders. “Figures. So do you take SDS credits?”

  She exhaled through her nose, tapping her fingers against the counter. “No, we don’t. But, honestly? I don’t care. The drunks from across the bar don’t pay anyway, and there’s nothing else worth buying here.” She held out her hand. “200 SDS credits.”

  James pulled out the amount and handed it to her. She counted it quickly before slipping it into a small lockbox behind the counter. Then, in turn, she slid a key across the counter toward him.

  “Room four, to the left. It’s not much, but it’s a clean bed and quiet,” she said simply, her tone neutral, though there was a flicker of something in her expression—maybe curiosity, maybe something else.

  James took the key, his fingers brushing against hers for the briefest second. “Clean bed, huh? That’s good. But I’m not much for quiet I might need some company.”

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  She raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching upward, though whether in amusement or intrigue, he couldn’t quite tell. “That so?”

  James shrugged, smirking. “Long road, longer night. It’s nice to unwind when you can.”

  She studied him for a moment, tapping her fingers against the wooden counter. The silence between them stretched just long enough for the invitation to sink in before she exhaled softly and pushed off the counter.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” she said over her shoulder as she turned away.

  James smirked, taking that as a maybe before heading toward his room.

  That night, James did not sleep alone.

  Nor did he wake up in an empty bed.

  The early morning sun filtered through the half-open curtains, casting soft golden light across the wooden walls. The room was warm, the air thick with the lingering scent of sweat and shared heat. The sheets were a tangled mess, half pulled off the bed, a silent testament to the night before.

  James lay still for a moment, his body loose in a way it hadn’t been in a long time. It was rare to have this kind of quiet, this kind of indulgence. The woman beside him, he never got her name, and she never asked for his slept soundly, her leg draped over his, her breathing deep and steady.

  He smirked slightly, running a hand through his hair before carefully peeling her arm off of him and sitting up. The old mattress creaked under his weight. His muscles ached, but for once, not from battle.

  James turned, glancing down at her. The morning light highlighted the smooth curve of her body , the faint marks left on her skin. Dark hair spilled across the pillow in loose waves, her lips slightly parted as she remained lost in sleep. He let his gaze linger for a moment, then exhaled with a small chuckle.

  No need to stay. No need to make it anything more than what it was.

  Silently, he moved, pulling on his pants and shrugging his jacket over his bare shoulders. His gear was still where he left it, his weapons in easy reach—not that he had needed them last night.

  As he reached for his belt, a soft murmur came from behind him.

  “Leaving already?”

  Her voice was thick with sleep, husky, slow. She didn’t move, just shifted slightly beneath the sheets, stretching.

  James smirked, buckling his belt. “Didn’t seem like the kind of place that serves breakfast.”

  She let out a small, amused breath. “You’re not wrong. However…” she stretched again, arching her back slightly, her tone shifting to something more suggestive. “There are other things to do in the morning.”

  James paused, glancing over his shoulder. She was watching him now, dark eyes laced with something playful, something tempting.

  A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

  It was a few hours later when James finally left the inn.

  The morning sun was still low on the horizon, its light casting long shadows across the town as James stepped outside. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and wood smoke from the chimneys scattered throughout the town. He walked toward his car, the gravel crunching softly beneath his boots. The town was already stirring locals moving about, preparing for whatever the day held. A few people setting up small stalls, the sound of hammering from somewhere down the street.

  James slid into the driver’s seat of his car. He reached into the glove compartment, pulling out a ration pack—some dried meat, a protein bar, a small pouch of nuts. Nothing special, but enough to keep him going. He tore open the package and took a bite, chewing slowly as he pulled out his map.

  He marked the town with a small star, one of many scattered across his map—places he’d been, places he might return to. But this time, he added a small smiley face next to it, a rare indulgence. If he passed through again, maybe he’d stop by. Maybe grab a drink next time.

  With that, he started the engine. The deep, familiar hum of the car rumbled to life, a sound that never failed to bring a smirk to his face. He adjusted his mirrors, took one last look at the town in the rearview, and then shifted into gear.

  It was time to see what the Creeper Route was like.

  It took James about an hour before he found it—a winding path snaking through the wilderness. At first glance, it looked like any other broken road, but as he followed it, the signs of careful planning became clear.

  Where the old roads were too cracked and ruined to drive on, they had been bypassed by freshly cleared paths, either through dense forest or stamped-down dirt trails. Someone had put in real effort here, making it as smooth as possible given the world’s state. Tire tracks lined the dirt where wagons and vehicles had passed before him, proving that this route was actively used.

  James navigated cautiously, letting the car glide over the rugged terrain. Normally, he had to choose between following crumbling highways for as long as they lasted or cutting straight through the wasteland—both options full of risk. But this? This route was different.

  He leaned back slightly in his seat, fingers tapping against the steering wheel as he took in the scenery. Dense forests bordered some sections, their trees standing tall, reclaiming the land. In other areas, fields of golden grass swayed under the morning light. Occasionally, he spotted ruins in the distance—shells of old towns, some reduced to nothing but foundations, others still standing like forgotten skeletons of the past.

  James couldn’t help but think about the future.

  The Creeper Route was a step in the right direction—a sign that people weren’t just surviving anymore. They were building.

  Of course, raiders would catch on eventually. It was only a matter of time before some gang staked a claim and started demanding tolls or setting up ambushes. But for now, it was a beacon of progress.

  And progress was rare.

  After six hours on the road, James spotted it—a settlement, larger than he expected.

  The boomtown stood resiliently against the wasteland, its walls a mixture of repurposed concrete, scrap metal, and reinforced timber. Guard towers had been set up at key points along the perimeter, each manned by sentries with rifles, their silhouettes outlined against the afternoon sky.

  But what caught his attention wasn’t the defenses—it was what lay beyond them.

  The town had outgrown its walls.

  Clusters of buildings, houses, and market stalls sprawled just outside the original barricades, with newer walls under construction further out. Workers hauled supplies, hammering and welding together what would become the next layer of fortifications. Smoke from forges and cooking fires curled into the sky, and the distant sound of livestock carried through the air.

  James slowed the car as he neared the entrance, taking in the details. The people here weren’t just barely scraping by—they were thriving. Farmers sold produce, craftsmen displayed handmade goods, and mechanics worked on battered vehicles, trying to keep them running.

  He drove through the open gates, nodding slightly to the guards stationed there. They watched him closely but didn’t stop him. Mercenaries weren’t uncommon in places like this.

  The main road was bustling. Market stalls lined the streets, selling everything from scavenged tech to freshly cooked food. Children weaved through the crowd, their laughter mixing with the shouts of traders haggling over prices.

  James pulled his car into a small clearing, parking it near a repair shop where a few other vehicles sat in varying states of disrepair. He stepped out, stretching his legs and rolling his shoulders.

  If all the towns along the Creeper Route were like this, then humanity might actually stand a chance at rebuilding.

  The old cities like Norfolk would always be the powerhouses, the places where civilization held on the strongest. But out here? This was where new cities were being born.

  The world was recovering.

  And it was doing so fast.

  Is James to much of a lady's man?