J O A N

Kings Canyon, California
2058 AD

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"JOAN! JOAN! Come in, Joan!"

Joan startled awake, the pin needles acting as her bed crackling and poking at her exposed skin as she slammed her hand down on the walkie-talkie.

The light grey of a slow-coming dawn only made the forest surrounding her seem gloomier, but she knew her sister had a higher vantage at the Scout Point. Joan groaned as she clicked the comm on.

"This better not be a prank, Lou."

"CCR truck incoming right for you!" The slight static did nothing to tangle up Lou's words, and Joan snapped into action, slipping her walkie-talkie down her belt and lunging for her backpack. More needles pricked her face as she landed and scraped through the objects inside, her fingers closing on a sharp-edged cylinder.

Despite the early morning coolness—the only moderate weather in Central California, Jake had reckoned, 'cause the ocean was so close and the mountains trapped moisture into their little valley; she'd been taught the whole shebang—sweat pricked at her forehead, and the last lingering fingers of sleep vanished faster than the nightly mist in a 100° day.

CCR, Joan thought wildly, feeling a tight bundle of excitement in her chest. Community in Crisis Relief. But not their community, of course. Joan wasn't one to go into politics, and now wasn't really the time, but Jake had always declared that first-come first-serve wasn't applicable in the apocalypse. Maybe it'd worked in the beginning, back when the ocean waters started to recede but the Rain started coming harder and faster.

(Poisoned rain, of course, because humanity couldn't catch a break.)

But that had been over eight years ago, and the Rain had wiped out any hope of growing crops or advancing technology... no pollution, Jake'd explained. So no more poison rain.

Then again, that wasn't the problem anymore. The problem was starvation, and the CCR truck was about to deliver a whole meal to her and the Shelter.

Don't mess up, Joan told herself as she crept closer to the 395 to her right, fixing her backpack firmly onto her spine. She clicked the comm again and spoke lowly to Lou, her hand tightly gripping the grenade.

"CCR have company?"

"A military assistance Jeep," Lou answered. Joan could imagine her younger sister straining over the railing of the Scout Point to see more, her lips pursed in determination. Maybe she'd have her tongue sticking out, too, now that Joan was too far away to call her 'Lizard'.

Joan exhaled sharply, then glanced at the discarded roadblock across the tarmac. It hadn't done much to stop the inflow of people leaving California when the ocean swept Sacramento away, but the CCR would have bigger problems than plastic legos on steroids.

"Let's hope the tree stops them," Joan murmured, shooting a glance at the massive trunk that laid across the road. It wouldn't take long for a military Jeep to pump some lead into it and make a hole to pass through, but it'd be long enough for her to cause some chaos.

Joan switched comms, looking over the road as she lowered herself into the brush, grunting as her injured knee sent up a protest. "Karmen, you there?"

"'Course, boss," Karmen responded, her voice lilting with a tease. Despite the circumstances—the entire shelter depending on this run going right—Joan grinned, letting her free hand relax a little. Karmen was her best friend after Lou; an orphan like the two redheads. Though the other girl had an unwavering prevalence in joking in fond lesbian, she didn't have anything to else to do.

Meanwhile, Joan had a sister to take care of.

"Good." Joan could hear the rumble of the CCR truck, a noise of technology and other humans among the twittering of birds and shuffling of deer that Jake hunted so fervently. It was startling, and Joan had to force herself to keep undercover instead of peering around the bush and watching the cars. It wasn't every day that they flew past, but today was the day.

"You know what to do," Joan said lowly. Karmen had a team of three on the other side of the road, and she could picture them loading their crossbows with seasoned hands. "Lou, tell us if we get company," Joan ordered, and then the trucks were in front of her in a blast of car exhaust fumes and she had to be quiet.

She shut the walkie-talkie off and took in a small breath, watching the two cars slow in front of the tree. COMMUNITY IN CRISIS RELIEF was emblazoned in red down the white side, reminding her of old-time ambulances.

The military Jeep was less flashy and more practical, which she could appreciate. They'd dropped the top and all the doors (more fuel efficient, Jake had explained), and inside were four Reinforcers.

Joan felt her eyes narrowing in on them, though they weren't the objective. More like a bunch of nuisances. But how could she not harbor some hate for them—they who had abandoned Lou and her behind to die and refused to help their 'informal community'?

They're crossing the border to get it to 'needier' people. Joan gritted her teeth together as a spark of anger flared and made her tighten her fists. 'Needier' my ass. They can just afford it.

The grenade was hot in her hand, charged with enough explosive to make a space of twenty-five feet as barren as Mexico. It can make it, Joan realized. Both trucks stopped, and the driver of the CCR climbed out to approach the Jeep. A man with a beret exited the military vehicle, over thirty feet away.

Now!

They were all waiting on her cue, and Joan wasn't gonna disappoint. She pulled the pin and hurled the edged ball right at the Jeep, only just hearing the whistle as she pulled back behind the bush again.

"Joan!" She heard someone yell; maybe Lou, maybe Karmen. Either way, she knew she'd messed up.

The grenade detonated, and the Jeep flew sky-high in a torrent of licking red flames. Dust and shards of shrapnel shredded the bush and imbedded themselves in her bomber jacket, and leaves whacked her in her face as she forced her nose into the dirt and tightened her grip on her head.

It seemed the whole forest shook for a moment. Then the air stilled and smelled of petrol and billowing smoke.

Joan tentatively lifted her head, blinking back the sting of the fumes, and looked across the road at the mess that was the Jeep. The CCR truck had been clobbered onto its side, its driver nowhere to be seen. Maybe blown to bits, though that wasn't a great thought.

Joan clicked the walkie-talkie on and grimaced at the roar of voices aimed like daggers at her.

"What the fuck was that, Joan?!" Even the swell of ringing in her ears didn't disguise the fury—the disgust—in Karmen's voice, which bit deep down into her brain and swirled the start of a headache in her skull.

"We agreed a little flash-bang, not for you to nearly kill us—"

"Are you alright, Joan?" Lou interrupted Karmen, her concern crackly with the range.

Joan forced herself to her feet, grappling hold of her backpack which had been flung aside in the blast, and stumbled against a nearby tree for balance as her bad knee gave in underneath her. Pain whittled at her thoughts and sharpened them down into points of irritation.

"I took care of it, didn't I?" Joan shot over the crackling of burning tires. Beyond the plumes of smoke and red flames, she could see Karmen standing on the other side of the road, her hands on her hips. Beyond her were stirring shadows of the others. She didn't know whether her friend had heard her or not, but the sight of Karmen standing so resolutely, like the Statue of Liberty which she had seen once in a textbook picture, seemed to sap her defensiveness out of her.

The group, minus Lou, who was still over two miles away, convened at the fallen tree. A slight breeze blew the fire away from them, and after a quick scouting, they were all satisfied to hear that there were no survivors willing to fight against them.

That was perhaps the only good news.

Gar, a skinny twelve-year-old with buck teeth caused from his thumb-sucking, readily volunteered to check the CCR truck. He returned with slightly better news, and a loaf of bread. Despite the tension—Karmen was practically bristling, and her group avoided glancing at Joan—they were all hungry. Grudging silence was overtaken by chewing as Joan brooded and saved a piece for Lou once she'd come back.

"Water tank's bust," Gar lisped. Joan felt her throat tighten, and it wasn't from the odor of melting metal. The CCR truck'd been toppled because of her and her stupid inability to prioritize for the mission, and her cheeks burned for it, as well as some of the supplies that should've been theirs.

"No use crying over it now," Karmen finally spoke, after a prolonged silence. Joan shut her eyes and took in a breath, trying to pull herself back into survival mode. She hoped that that would suffice for acknowledgment of Karmen's subtle forgiveness; they'd been friends long enough for her to recognize it.

"Let's get what we can and head back to the shelter. I don't wanna be here when the Boil starts."

Gar and the others muttered agreement.

Joan radioed in to Lou that there were heading back, and despite her sister's words—"It's okay, Joan. We got what we came for," it didn't make her feel much better for the water tank and other things they'd lost.

With one final, regretful glance back at the haphazard vehicles, Joan tightened her slightly-heavier backpack's straps on her shoulders and twisted to follow Karmen.

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QOTC: What do you think of Joan's rather vicious lifestyle?