Sam Printer sat on the edge of the fender of the old school bus, turned wasteland wagon for the Lucky 7 crew. He watched the camp gather their supplies and belongings, the excitement in the air pliable. It was getting time to head to the trad meet in Bravo and for those who have been wandering the wastes the last month, were Eger TO be back around others, hooch, and the familiarity of the spit of land that edged into the dark lake, where Bravo was staged.
Sam, himself had volunteered to stay back with much of the caravan’s belongings and findings for guard duty. He was still stinging from last months meet and while the caravan bosses seemed better than before, were still a long way from being all together fine. Sam, himself was even doubtful whether he was all the way back mentally and spiritually. While he and Gus had seemed to have let bygones be bygones, he still stepped warily around him. Not because he was afraid of retaliation, but because he still didn’t trust himself. The Gravemind had really did a number on him during his last pass through. As it had all who died last month.
He waved to those going into town and promised them all he would be fine and that he would see them afterwards and would be sure to attend the next trade meet. Until then, he found his way between some sacks offering warmth, comfort and protection and waited.
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