The peon came to in Dreadnought’s back seat, bound hand and foot. Matt was driving the immense vehicle down what used to be the Interstate, and the massive truck was speeding at a fantastic rate.

“What are you doing?!” the peon demanded. “And why did you tie me up?”

“Simple,” Matt said. “I’m taking your RV to sell as scrap.”

“But it’s my RV!” the peon protested.

Matt sighed. “Well, old man, in case you hadn’t noticed, the United States don’t exist anymore. It’s been a dog-eat-dog world ever since they blew the EMPs, and right now, I’m top dog.”

The peon spat on the floor. “May some other dog become top, and eat you, mongrel!”

Neither one had paid any mind to the large, thick black plume of smoke ahead of them. Matt then noticed a figure walking towards them from that direction, and stopped Dreadnought.

“Can you give me a lift?” the man said.

“What’s your name?” Matt asked.

“You can call me Death Zone,” the man explained. As if for emphasis, right then, something massive exploded.