“Seeing if he follows us,” Amos said. “You know. In case.”

“You think he will?”

Amos shrugged. “Don’t know. Thing about civilization, it’s what keeps people civil. You get rid of one, you can’t count on the other.”

She smiled. She really wasn’t looking that good. He wondered in passing what he’d do if she died. Figure something else out, probably. “You sound like you’ve done this before,” she said.

“Shit, I grew up like this. All these folks are just playing catch-up. Thing is, we’re humans. We’re tribal. More settled things are, the bigger your tribe is. All the people in your gang, or all the people in your country. All the ones on your planet. Then the churn comes, and the tribe gets small again.”

He waved a hand at the dark gray landscape. This far out, the trees weren’t knocked over, but the weeds and bushes were starting to die from the dark and the cold.

“Right now,” he said, “I figure our tribe at about two.”

Either she shuddered at the idea or else the cold was getting to her worse. He stood up, squinting down the road. The tent guy wasn’t coming. That was good.

“All right, Peaches. Let’s get going. We’re going to have to head off the road for a bit.”

She looked north, up the road, confused. “Where are we going?”

“East.”

“You mean where we aren’t supposed to go because of some crazy asshole shooting at people?”

“Yup.”

The town had been a decent size last week. Cheap little houses on narrow streets, solar panels on all the roofs sucking in the sunlight, back when there had been some. There were still people here and there. Maybe one house in five or six where the tenants were waiting for help to come to them or so deep in denial that they thought staying put was an option. Or they’d just decided they’d rather die at home. As rational a decision as any other, things being what they were.

They walked on the sidewalks even though there weren’t many cars. A police van skidded by a few blocks ahead once. A sedan with an old woman hunched in the front seat who carefully ignored them as she passed. When the batteries ran dry there was no power grid to charge them back up, so all the trips were either short or one-way. One house had words painted across the front: EVERYTHING IN THIS HOUSE IS THE PROPERTY OF THE TRAVIS FAMILY. LOOTERS WILL BE HUNTED DOWN AND KILLED. That left him laughing for a couple of blocks. The supermarket at the center of town was dark, and stripped down to the shelves. So somebody in the place had understood the gravity of their situation.