A/N: Welcome! This is a small little taste of a story that's been swimming around my head for a while now, a few characters of my own, mixed with the original Killjoys(eventually).
I currently have no beta, so if you spot errors, or are interested in being my beta, leave a review, and even if you don't, leave a review anyway to let me know what you think. :)
Big brown eyes blinked up at me from the passenger seat as I gulped water from a gallon jug. "What? Are you thirsty Grumbles?" A small growl followed by a bark answered my question. "All right, all right, let me find your dish," I twisted the cap on the jug and set it down before launching my upper half into the back seat of my 1995 two door Chevy Blazer. Anyone who saw it said it was an absolute miracle that it still ran; I always told them it was just excellent craftsmanship, and having a good mechanic on hand.
I pulled myself back up and set a small plastic dish in front of the tan and white Chihuahua, laughing for a moment at the fact that the water jug I had set down was larger than she was. I poured a small ration of the water into her dish before popping the hood and jumping out of the blazer. My original mission, the damn thing ran through coolant like no one's business, especially out in the California desert, where we were now. I wrapped my bandana around my hand before opening the reservoir, into which I dumped more than half of the remaining water. I poked around under the hood for about five minutes, checking this and that, making sure everything was still ticking correctly before I jumped back into the cab, eager to get moving, even though the dry, dusty, wind created when driving with the windows down was barely refreshing. The temperature gauge above the rear view mirror read 95 degrees, typical for this time of day, the sun was on its way to setting, and I wanted to drive a few more miles before stopping for some sleep. I had last slept two or so days ago, after hitting a BL/ind city where things had almost gotten very messy, and I was about ready to drop. I cranked the engine to life and took off, checking my rear view every so often, as well as fiddling with the radio, trying to find the Doctors station for the day.
I parked behind a cluster of boulders of the shoulder of the road, and set up camp, which was just a tiny fire to cook over and a worn blanket to sit on. I scooped some canned dog chow into a tiny bowl for Grumbles, which she went after immediately, sometimes having to gnaw at the too large chunks like a wild animal. I smiled slightly at her as I dished out my dinner for the evening, warmed up refried beans. I had become quite accustomed to them, as Grumbles' had to the brown/grey lumps of 'meat' that she ate every day. I sighed as I chewed and let my mind wander off.
I was born and raised in a small cabin in the woods of Michigan, one of the last places the Better Living Industries took over. I was 16 when the bombs hit in 2012, and when the relief supplies allocated to us never arrived, most of the area moved deep into the forests, looking for food and clean water. Soon small colonies started up, but that wasn't enough to stop the famine that stole over one hundred and fifty lives in the first three weeks. My family remained at our house, along with six others, three were friends, and the other three were my boyfriend and his grandparents. It wasn't long before we started experiencing losses of our own, and it was then that a series of events was set into motion that would change my life forever.