I know what Ethan and Gilbert mean. It’s hard being a traveler on the road all the time. Generally there are three types of people. First, there are those that are part of a group, village, or town, holed up in a secure or at least semi-secure location. Everything they do is done from their home base. Second, there are people like us - travelers who are looking for groups or villages to join, but rarely find success. People are wary of travelers because they often believe they are part of the third type of people - raiders. Raiders loot, murder and take over small groups, relying on people’s weaknesses in order to survive. Instead of going out and making runs at a hospital or deserted town, they take from those that have done so themselves. Raiders are the reason why it’s so hard to find a group to be a part of. Lucas and I had been traveling for three years and we had only recently heard that the town Crestwood opened its doors to people. Up until now, the two of us sought out temporary shelters in small villages for a month or two at a time. But those were often attacked and plundered so we were forced to keep moving. I just hope Crestwood isn’t too good to be true.

Ethan and I cover the fire pit with dirt while Gilbert shuffles through the back of the SUV again.

“If this works out,” Ethan says, “it will be the start of a new life. Just think what it will be like to not have to worry about things like sleeping.” He shakes his head. “I can’t wait.”

“We still have a long way to go,” I say.

“Hey guys,” Gilbert calls out to us, “come check this out.”

I kick dirt over the last bit of coals and the two of us walk to the back of the SUV.

“I didn’t think to check under the seat last night, but I found this,” he says, holding up a black briefcase.

“Is it locked?” Ethan asks.

Gilbert sets the briefcase down and fiddles with the latches until they pop up. He looks up at us. “Nope.” When he opens the briefcase, there is nothing but a little box at the bottom of it. He pulls out the box and takes off the top revealing a short, metal cylinder. “It screws open in the middle,” he says. When it’s open, he finds a smaller glass cylinder within it.

“What is it?” I ask.

Gilbert holds the glass into the light. “It’s filled with liquid,” he says.

As the light hits it, there is a crimson tint to it.

“Is that blood?” Ethan asks.

“Looks like it,” Gilbert says.

“But why would it be so well preserved?” I ask.