Their sleep-deprived minds are erratic and stressed, unable to hold a clear thought. Anne leans the back of her head into the metal wall, clutches her backpack to her chest. Closes her eyes, feels the vibration in the back of her skull. Reverberating through her body. She wonders where they are headed, where the train is going. She twists her neck, looks to Cinnamon, who sits beside her. “Any idea where the train’s headed?”

“Once we get a ways down the tracks, I’ll peek out. See what looks familiar. See if I can guess a direction, a destination.”

“Let’s hope it’s Louisiana,” Dredd interrupts. Seated directly across from everyone and looking like a stain. His shirt is torn, his face scuffed by dirt, lip scabbed. “One of those pigs busted me up good. But he got his. No worries, my people,” he tells them. Always about him. “We will rebuild. Start anew.” Holds a fist up.

No one knows where the train is headed. But Cinnamon tells Dredd, “Settle down, Che. My best guess is, we’re headed to Louisiana. It’s the only thing that makes sense.” Talking over the clatter of wheels on rail joints, she turns to Anne. “My hope is we can hop another train line in Louisiana, head out west.” She eyes Dredd across gap between them.

Shaking his head, crinkling his busted lip, chewing on disgust, he tells her, “I think we should stay in Louisiana. It only makes sense.”

The smells of dirt and unbathed bodies pervade everything.

Cinnamon’s eyes narrow to slits, and she tells Dredd, “If you wanna stay in Louisiana, stay. We’re not interested. We got other plans.”

“We? These are my people. We just lost our entire encampment to a bunch of fascist pigs. Got beat down and roughed up. Barely escaped, and now you’re all of a sudden the newly elected leader? You been out on the rails. Away from the group. Now you return and you’re running the show?”

“You don’t own nobody,” Cinnamon retorts. “Someone wants to stay with you, they more’n welcome to. Unfortunately, there’s nobody on this train that wants to. You always preaching about freedom, then we get a say in this.”

“Look, you’re too new to have an opinion. I know what’s best for everyone on this train. I’ve given my life’s blood for everyone.”

“Life’s blood,” she snorts. “Last I remember, it was a group effort. Everybody chipped in, put their time in on the street corners, the garbage cans and dumpsters. Everybody but you. All of us went out and earned and sorted through trash. Brought it all back for you to rummage and take. Throw us whatever you don’t want.”

“It was my encampment.”

“No, that’s where you’re wrong. It was our encampment. Meaning everyone. We’re a family, not a dictatorship.”