Dreadnought rolled up to the flimsy guard station outside Tucson late in the evening. The stars in the sky were here and there blotted out by the greasy smoke of cow dung and animal fat fires. Wood is too valuable to burn in Tucson. Matt could probably outright buy a building in Tucson if he could get through the desert to the Republic of Northern California for a trailer full of wood. A pipe dream beyond Matt’s abilities so far, unfortunately.

Not that Matt wanted to own a building in Tucson, the biggest city he had been to since the End. Tucson ran the Gadsden Free State and made its riches by its location. Alcohol, beer, drugs, and women came north from Mexico Norte, and junk, water, and food trickled in from all around. The only industry was the manufacture of weapons and tools. Its chief export was hired thugs. In Tucson, guys like Death Zone were a dollar a dozen.

The guard, recognizing Dreadnought, let Matt roll through towards the gate in the steel cage-like walls surrounding Tucson like a rat trap.