Stella's aching stomach woke her from an uneasy sleep. Her once abundant supply of food had finally run out; what had been keeping her alive for almost ten years had been gone now for almost four days. She rose slowly and unsteadily from underneath the disintegrated piece of highway she called home. Her legs ached from the cramped quarters, but that was nothing new. She watched the sun come up over the Washington Monument. The sky was clear. She climbed to the top of the concrete mass to get a better view. Her proximity to downtown DC enabled her to see almost every building in the National Mall. The remains of the Capitol Building peaked up majestically, with the scars of the War blemishing her view.
Her shaky knees nearly made her fall, so Stella climbed back into her little loft, constructed when the highway bridges collapsed as a result of nuclear warfare and neglect. Nestled closely to the base of a steep hill, it was a perfect shelter for an orphan. She was seven years old when she lost her mother to dysentery. They had been roaming from place to place when her mother had fallen ill, dying a few short weeks later. Without a home, Stella crept around at night for nearly four weeks with her mother's few possessions until she found the Cove, the half-affectionate name she had given her home. Its only occupant was a skeleton that she removed swiftly, a reminder that someone else had lived here unsuccessfully. It was sheer luck that she stumbled upon a dank cave that might have once served as someone's bomb shelter. Terrified of caves and darkness in general (moreso of what could be lurking in it), she chose to live in the Cove, but utilized almost all of the supplies from the shelter, especially the food. Now that the food had run out, however, she had to learn how to fend for herself. Her mother had left her a Chinese pistol, an ammo box completely full of 10mm rounds, and a key and a note for a man named Quinn. The ammo was almost untouched and she still had the note and the key. Unread, of course, because her mother had always told her to leave things alone that weren't hers. Not necessarily because it was wrong, but because they would kill you. She didn't know then who "they" were, and now that she was older, she understood more of what her mother was saying-that there wasn't someone designated to come after thieves, but that in this hell, if you stole, you paid with your life. So you didn't steal. Stella expanded that directive to you didn't mess with absolutely anything that wasn't yours. Which is why Stella became a hermit.
After her mother's death, Stella had had absolutely no contact with people. She had tried to make the long trek to Little Lamplight, a sanctuary for orphaned children she had heard of, but she had no way of navigating the Wastes. But now that her food was gone, Stella had to leave her comfortable Cove and look for sustenance. Sitting on the mattress she used for a bed, she began to dress uncertainly for an expedition. She bandaged the sackcloth fabric around herself to protect against the bitter September winds and flatten her breasts, and then pulled on an outfit made from old prewar clothing and dried brahmin skin she had hastily sewn together. She wrapped more fabric around her head and ears, pulling her hair tightly into the wrap. More than anything, Stella wanted to conceal her gender. She would rather be shot dead than caught and raped.
Tucking the Chinese pistol into a makeshift holster that she had sewn into her outfit, Stella grabbed a metal pail and went to the irradiated Potomac River for water. Watching closely for mirelurks, she submerged the pail and filled it with ice cold water. She grabbed a handful and let it run through her fingers, watching the tiny waterfalls slip away back into the bucket. Then she splashed her face, reeling a bit from the shocking jolt of cold water, and drank from the bucket. Stella refilled it and carried it back to the Cove. Then she wrapped her hands in brahmin leather and set out with a huge canvas sack she had crafted the previous evening just for the task of gathering food. She holstered a knife on the bag and headed out. With no navigational skills, a map, a compass, or even any idea of where to go, Stella felt overwhelmed. Climbing unsteadily onto the remaining freeway above her, she could clearly see a huge fort only a short distance away. Assuming it to be filled with radroaches and other edible critters, she started off.