What Gavin Saw at the Guard Posts

Gavin climbed out of bed early the next morning, still reeking of last night's drinks.

He threw back the covers and went to the window. Frost had formed on the RV's glass.

He raised his right hand and lightly wiped the pane.

A trace of cold and frost clung to his fingertips.

The temperature was falling fast, faster than Gavin had expected.

Winter had come far too early this year, at least a month earlier than last year.

I need to speed up the negotiations and try to get home as soon as possible.

With that thought, Gavin got up and opened the door separating the RV's bedroom from its living area.

Outside, the guard dozing against the wall woke at once. Seeing that Gavin was up, he nodded and smiled.

"Morning, boss."

"Morning. Thanks for the effort, Bjorn. Go wash up and get some rest. I don't need watching anymore, good man."

Gavin patted Bjorn's shoulder, signaling that he could leave.

Bjorn was a burly Norwegian who had worked moving goods in an Oklahoma warehouse and occasionally dabbled in storage-unit auctions.

When the apocalypse broke out, he hid in a storage container for three whole days. He escaped the first wave and joined an Oklahoma survival group.

He had been lucky. His group was small, but its members stuck together.

They made it through the early days of the apocalypse, until Gavin and the Alliance's extended-family crew absorbed them.

Gavin and the other senior leaders had not been particularly inclined to trust people from groups the Alliance had forcibly absorbed through armed raids.

Their recruitment, after all, had involved bloodshed, death, and fighting.

Bjorn was different. As a Norwegian, he had always held Odin in extraordinary reverence.

To Bjorn, a leader with a crow on his shoulder and wolves