The .357 Magnum was identical to the handgun she’d trained with back in KC, save for the burnished redwood inlay of the pistol grip. Sofia spent so many hours on the government firing range with that weapon, that to hold one again felt as though she’d just rediscovered a part of herself that had gone missing. She would’ve been so much more comfortable on the drive down from Kansas City if she’d had her own pistol. Like all the truckers, Cindy French kept a shotgun in the cabin of her rig, and it had been reassuring to look up and see the weapon there as they rolled through the American wastelands. But it was not the same as having your own piece. On the trail north, she had never been more than a step away from a firearm, even when bathing with the other women.

She took her time, sitting at the kitchen table of this downtown apartment on South Main Street, radio on softly in the background, while she stripped the protective coating from the revolver, fresh from its packaging. One of the great benefits of a revolver was that it was a relatively easy weapon to maintain. She found the familiar movement and rhythm soothing. Concentrating on this task, which felt as natural to her as breathing, she could lose herself, forgetting for just a short time all that had happened to those she loved.

The apartment was a few blocks away from the Federal Center, but even with the windows closed against the chill of the morning, she could hear some light traffic noise drifting across the rooftops. The streets immediately below her were gridlocked with car wrecks, so there was no chance of a patrol driving by. Even so, she wouldn’t be staying here long. When night fell she would move again. Somewhere a little further away from what few inhabitants there were here. She’d heard voices and the crunch of boots on broken glass at one point, sending her flying off into the bedroom, there to keep a silent vigil in the gloom until they had passed.

It had been a nerve-racking experience getting here after the gunsmith’s, but she certainly hadn’t wanted to stay in that part of town. It was very close to the interstate, but removed enough from the Federal Center that she’d worried about falling outside the protective envelope offered by their presence. Even in KC, people clustered around the heart of the city and the relatively crowded resettlement areas; it was not unknown for small raiding parties to prey on homesteads located further out. All of Sofia’s previous experience in Texas led her to imagine that it would be much worse this time, seeing as she couldn’t even trust the authorities to look after her. The federales would return her to a foster home or possibly some form of ‘protective’ detention, if they found her.