Sun was just peaking up over the horizon when he heard a rapid and heavy knock on the inn door. "I'm leaving I'm leaving, Jesus!"

A booming voice from the other side didn't seem happy, "Get your fucking shit out of here stranger, we have no room for scum like you."

Colin laughed, "Scum? Come on, I'm an asshole, but scum?"

That statement didn't get a reply, "What? Too good to reply to me now?" Sighing Colin grabbed his bag and flung it over his shoulder, and grabbed his saddle, rife, and saddlebag, which was heavy from trading last night. Tightening his belt, the door burst open and two men, with a head or two on Colin grabbed him by the arms and began dragging him out of the inn. "Hey, come on now, this isn't necessary." The two men began laughing, "Oh we think it is."

Boston really didn't take kindly to drifters like Colin, he never stayed long enough to figure out why. But he assumed it had something to do with the goods and services he and his kind traded in. Traders like Colin didn't trade in coins and common currency, they traded in secrets, finery, contraband, and some traded people. Not Colin, as he said he was an asshole, but not scum. He was thankful he was smart enough to sleep in his boots, since he was not willing to ride half naked across the country. He was dropped, more like thrown on the dirt in front of Charlie, which elicited an indifferent snort. "Well good morning to you too, jerk." With a pounding head from last night's nightcap, he saddled up, straightened his clothes, and placed his hat on his head and squeezing his body, galloped out of the community of Boston.

He got a middle finger from a couple guards, Colin wasn't a higher road kind of guy. He was just a guy, so he returned the favour.

As soon as he was out of sight, he made sure his rifle, and pistol was loaded. After ensuring that, he once again checked the contents of his bags. Could never be too careful, people had become too complacent in the decades after the fall, as Colin knew all too well communities sprang up, grew, and fell all the time. It wasn't always the dead, it was rarely the dead. The dead were dumb, weak. People were smart, evil, strong. Colin had read several history books from libraries all over the country, he found it interesting how similar life had reverted back to the ages of castles, and moats, and siege warfare. Armies were drafted, bloated and diseased bodies flung over walls, sickness spread just as fast as it did in the past. There was one notable difference, in those days, the dead didn't come back.

The road was still very clear from the efforts of Boston and surrounding communities, for which he was grateful. There was nothing worse than having to ride a horse through brush, or the dead infested highways of cars from decades past. No one could quite figure out why some of the dead just refused to completely decompose, no scientific reason for them to work, but they did, like a ghoul from a supernatural tale. The air was beginning to warm, and Colin was a little warmer than he liked, but not too uncomfortable. The air would soon bring spring, and with it rain, flowers, growth, and the dead.

He pulled out a map, and a compass. Holding on the reigns Charlie stood still, he was currently heading south towards Maryland, and by his calculations would probably be a 4-5 day journey. If he didn't want any trouble in NYC he'd probably have to spend a day to completely avoid it. New York City was a mess of several groups of people attempting to reclaim the city, and unlike Boston, not succeeding. Inside he knew were several groups of gangs who wished not to be disturbed, and worked amongst the dead. Most were scavengers and thieves, they preyed on those on the road who were not prepared for them, and would retreat back to their base inside the city. Some were violent, and waged wars on other communities, but like all of them they knew they were free to do as they wished. No one wanted to enter the city, that city was the dead's city, and they could have it.

He rolled up the map, and placed in his inside pocket, along with the compass. He had a drop off first before heading west, to the Hilltop community. They would probably be a little more excited to see him than in Boston, he came with information, and contraband that he could probably pawn off as medicine. People loved their contraband. Colin took out another French cigarette and lit in before setting off again. It was a bad habit, Colin agreed, but it was a lovely habit to have on a day like this.

His mind drifted back to the job he just picked up, and he looked at the photo of Theresa. He so rarely got to know people's names, he preferred not to know them. It was harder to be upset at losing people if they didn't have a name, then they remained someone else. But he knew this girl's name, Theresa. She was smiling in the photo, outside, the sun shining. Why did she leave? He'd have to ask, sometimes people just want to leave, they have the insatiable wanderlust, other times the mourning parent seeking to bring their child home wasn't as it seemed and there was some other darker purpose. He wasn't that kind of trader. No, he thought, if it came to that he'd solve that problem. Theresa, his mind repeated her name again, Theresa.

Finally the trader couldn't ignore the signs that he was hungry any longer and rode off the path, out of sight of trouble. He had brought enough food for the week, enough to last to Hilltop. Still, sometimes Colin was still a worrier. He opened a mason jar filled with apple sauce, and with it a few rations of salt pork. If he dipped the salt pork in the applesauce he could pretend, almost that it was a pork chop, a proper pork chop on a plate in a nice inn some place. The birds had already returned to the forests, and the leaves had begun to bud, threatening to emerge. He kept an eye on the birds, enjoying the song, but an even keener ear for their silence. Something about the dead, everything living thing was repulsed and fled. Licking his fingers of the rest of his ration of apple sauce he heard it, or rather the lack of it. The birds he noticed had stopped singing, then from the east they flew. His hand instinctively went for the blade strapped to his left hip, some prefered guns, but ammo may no longer be as scarce, it attracts too much attention to the living and dead.

He smelled the guest before he saw it, he couldn't even tell if it had been male or female, its body naked, and looked more akin to muddy bark than skin, and its eyes, if it ever had any were long since gone or...chewed out. Colin didn't rush over to kill it yet, still concerned if the guest had any more friends, it didn't appear that way. Colin whistled to his guest, and like a trained animal it grunted in acknowledgement and came towards the trader, it's arms extended in a ghoulish gesture. With a wet THUNK sound the blade went into the back of the skull, and the remains went limp. Wiping the blade clean against his denim pants, he placed the blade back onto his hip, and set off South once more.