Esther’s mood changed with the weather. The days got colder, and the snow began to fall. It was thin enough for now, and didn’t trouble the small motorbike much, but soon it would begin to pile up. More often than not, Esther was cold. She bought a few sets of clothes, as well as a thick blanket from one of the traders she encountered, along with a shorter jacket that wouldn’t get caught in the bike. But the cold still bit into Esther, making her miserable at times.

The loneliness of the road was unprecedented as well. Most of the traders had the good sense to return home during the winter months, and few were on the road. The traders hadn't tried to hide their shock at seeing her travelling alone, but didn’t ask questions. They took the money she offered, and both parties when on their way. Esther had never been involved in the economic aspect of Maine, and wasn’t familiar with the men and women she encountered. It would have been a relief to really talk to someone besides herself, and the animals she caught.

Hunting was far more difficult than she had imagined. Esther had taken courses teaching her wilderness survival, and knew how to skin,cook, and store animals she caught. She also knew techniques to catch them, using rope, rather than wasting ammunition. But it was harder than she thought.

Esther had stopped early one day, somewhere between New Hampshire and Massachusetts. She figured she would need time to set her traps up. As she was putting the knots together, there was a crack. She looked up quickly to see a deer across the clearing from her. The doe was only twenty feet away, and she stared back at Esther with beautiful brown eyes. Not turning her back on Esther, she cautiously bent her head down to drink. Esther didn;t think twice, and shot the deer, once in the side. The doe fell, and Esther crept over slowly.

They stared at each other, the doe trying its breast to breathe.

“I’m sorry,” Esther said quietly, feeling tears welling in her eyes. “I don’t know why I did it. I’ll never be able to carry all of you.”

The best she could do was give the doe mercy, and ended her suffering quickly. The meat was tasteless to her, and Esther cried again while eating it. She should have known better. An entire deer, even a small one as the doe had been was far too large a meal for any single person, and the meat wouldn’t last. There were no other humans around, and Esther ended up leaving the doe, hoping that the dogs she kept hearing would at least have a good meal.

Esther swore to herself she would never kill another deer, and stuck to rabbits, pheasants, and other small game she could find. She still felt bad, especially when a rabbit hadn’t died in the trap, and was screaming when Esther found it. But it was necessary. Esther began taking a day every week where she would set up her traps, and find enough meat to last, and foraged what she could.

The ruined roads were just the start of the damage caused by the wars that had ended the world before Esther’s. She had been raised, and visited places where people had worked hard for the past hundred and fifty years to create places where plants could grow, where animals could survive, and where humans could maintain what civilization they were left with. The towns and roads outside of the borders were often complete ruins, and Esther didn’t think anyone lived in them, unless they hid themselves from her. She often walked her motorbike though the smaller towns, wanting to see any signs of life remaining.

She explored too, where she could. There was nothing left of value in stores, or in people’s homes, and Esther had been frightened by racoons and opossums more than once. They weren’t the animals she was used to, but left to the effects that the radiation had caused. She saw animals with extra limbs and eyes, and many were hairless. She tried to avoid eating these if she could.

The books that were leftover were what drew Esther into these spaces. Many of them had been burned, or were ruined and molded by years of rain, but there were a few places she could find where they were intact enough for Esther to read.

People wrote about the most mundane things, even in the midst of a war. Teens wrote about their sweethearts from school, kids wrote about how upset they were at getting extra homework, or more chores, and adults wrote about their husbands and wives, often in a manner that made it seem as though divorce was right around the corner. It was amusing, and Esther thought it wouldn’t be too different than what people back home wrote about.

She found books as well, and kept what she could find that interested her, and were in readable condition. They were a valued resource, and she knew that people would be open to trading and swapping stories when she got to more populated areas.

It was towards the end of November, between the borders of New York and Connecticut, when Esther encountered the first real storm. She left the small house she found, hoping she had enough time before the downpour began. The house had holes in the roof, and the concrete floor was littered with glass. She couldn’t afford to be picky, but she also couldn’t afford to cut herself rolling over in her sleep.

The rain poured down upon her, and made the roads worse than usual for the small motorbike. Esther cursed as she ran over a branch, and cursed again when another took out her headlight. It would be easy enough to replace, but she needed to find some sort of shelter, and couldn’t see anything around her. The lightning provided her with some sort of glimpse of the landscape, but the thunder booming right after scared her, and made her jerk the handles.

I’m driving blind through a storm. I shouldn’t have been so picky. Esther chided herself. If I don’t find something soon, I’m going to have to pull over, and try my luck under the trees.

Salvation at last. She was about to give up, and pull over, when ahead, Esther saw a bridge, and a house beyond in a quick flash. She cheered for herself, before she felt the tires get caught, and no longer felt the bike beneath her. Her head hit something solid, and she struggled to keep her eyes open. Her body hurt, and she wasn’t sure if she was bleeding. The bike was on its side, its tire caught on a branch larger than the bike itself.

Esther had time to hope the bike could be repaired before her eyes slipped shut. She could hear a dog barking, and she wanted to tell them that she had fed them once already, but couldn’t move her mouth.

The world slipped away from her.

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Esther awoke as the dawn light was slipping in through the window above her bed. It was Saturday, she remembered, and she had planned to practice with the rifle in the morning. She considered shutting her eyes, and sleeping in, but she had done that last week, and she wasn’t going to let Sheriff Lydia’s son beat her in the shooting competition again.

“God Damn you Mitchell,” Esther cursed him as she pulled her covers off. She got dressed quickly, grabbing only a small bag. She would be home by midday, and wouldn’t need to bring too much. She slipped on her father’s old coat. He promised her she would get her own soon, but she had been wearing his for years now. Even at her height, she still had to hem it, so it didn’t get caught under her feet. She had done so when she was still young, and now the long coat touched the top of her knees. Similarly, the arms had been hemmed, but she had only done so recently, after rolling up the sleeves everyday got tedious, and she was less afraid of ruining the coat. It was a sturdy jacket, but after being worn by Esther and her father through their teenage years, it was starting to wear thin, and had a few holes.

Esther loved it all the same, and was proud when her father let her wear it. It was the same as when she had first used his guns to shoot, or when she first was able to make an announcement to the town, with her father standing at her side. She just wanted to prove herself to him, and tried to do so by imitating him in any way possible. For the most part at least.

Of course, Esther and Mordecai butted heads, as was only natural. Mordecai thought Esther pulled against the reins too much, and too often, and often rebuked her for this. Esther thought she wasn’t being given enough responsibility, and wanted to show she could handle difficult situations. It was a battle that had been happening increasingly often since Esther entered her teenage years.

The rifle Esther used was kept in her father’s home office, and she entered the combination to the safe, putting some ammunition in her bag, and slinging the rifle over her shoulder. It still felt foreign to her, and she wondered why it mattered so much to her father. It should be enough that she was top of her class in the handgun competitions. But no, he always was disappointed when the instructors told him that Esther had only gotten fifth, third, or even second place when using rifles.

Their house was large enough to fit the family, and there was even a spare room before Harvey moved in. Really, there were two spare rooms, but the room where Esther’s brother had once slept remained as it had been when he died. Esther wasn’t sure why that was. Surely they could use the space, maybe as a personal room for her mother, but her parents never changed the room. She looked at the door carefully today. She knew her mother went inside. She had heard her crying from within before, and had childishly thought it was a ghost in their home, before her father explained it to her.

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Esther didn’t remember her brother. He had only been three years older than her, and had died when Esther was a newborn. She didn’t fully understand why her mother felt the way she did about her lost son, but then again, she never fully understood her mother. She figured it was one of those things she would understand when she was older.

Esther crept into the kitchen, careful to avoid the parts of the floor that would have creaked. She snuck an apple into her bag, and wrapped a muffin in a tea towel. She was filling her water bottle, when a voice behind her made her jump.

“Morning Esther,” Harvey sat in the living room, reading. “Where are you off to this early?”

She rolled her eyes. “We have a shooting competition every month you know. You could join whenever you want.”

Harvey was a nervous boy, and had come to live with the Helsings in Maine five years ago. He was two years older than Esther, but at eighteen, seemed to have little in the way of ambitions. Harvey worked with her father, doing whatever tasks were assigned to him, and never complained. He apparently had no backbone, and would do the tasks that Esther had stopped doing when she was a child, like running notes from Mordecai’s office to another office in the State House. He was well liked within the community, much to Esther’s annoyance. He was held to a very different standard than she was.

“Oh no thanks. We never focused much on firearms back home. Delaware was for farming, I never learned how to shoot,” Harvey replied. Esther had heard it a million times before.

Well there’s a reason why Delaware was razed, and why you live with us now, Esther bit back the response that even she found a little harsh. She knew that it was the truth though. If Delaware hadn’t been so friendly, and open to trade, the people could have defended themselves better. But Esther let it slide.

“If my dad asks, tell him I’m headed to the trail above the eastern road. He’ll know the one,” She told Harvey, before leaving.

The October air chilled Esther, and she buttoned the coat as she walked. Smoke came from several chimneys, showing who was already awake in Augusta. Some people had to start their days earlier than others. The guard change was happening as well, and those who kept watch overnight were headed home to their families, or towards the houses they shared.

Victor Blake sat on the stoop of one such house, tying a boot. He smiled at Esther, looking tired, his dirty blonde hair a mess.

“I woke up late,” he explained. Esther stopped, and waited for him. “General Duke is gonna be pissed,” they walked together towards the gate.

Victor had only come to Maine a year ago, and had only joined the guards after his wounds he got from a pack of dogs healed. He still bore the scars, but rose quickly in the ranks of the guards, and there was already talk of sending him to another outpost, to study under another general. He was grateful to be in Maine, and took his job seriously.

“I could handle him for you,” she teased. He wasn’t that late. “I do have a rifle on my back.”

Victor laughed. “And he has a gun on his hip. Maybe if you threatened to turn him in for disrupting sleep. I can hear him snoring, and I sleep on the floor above him!”

Esther had heard that before, and she had to giggle. She said a quick goodbye as Victor ran to his group by the gate, and she was relieved to see no one scolded him for being a bit tardy. She slipped out the gate into the woods beyond.

The fog still rested in the air as she made her way to the trail. It was eerie, but strangely beautiful at the same time. The children of Maine were taught that tourists often came in the summer and fall months to see the beauty of the state, and they should take pride in their home. Esther knew the lessons were supposed to stroke the egos of the people who helped maintain this region, and to help children want to continue this work, but took the lesson to heart all the same. She appreciated the beauty her home had.

Tying a strip of fabric to the tree at the head of her trail, to let others know she was up there, Esther made her way to the path below the rocky outcrop where she would practice. She carefully arranged bottles and tins she had saved over the week. She almost wished she had brought Jacob now, or just went to the range in Augusta. It would be a pain to have to set them all up everytime she brought them down. The rocks where she would set up would be a ten minute walk both ways. She had saved plenty of stuff to shoot at at least.

The rocks were worn down smooth by years of rain and wind, while the hard surface wasn’t exactly comfortable, she had been in worse places. For one survival course, the class had to camp out with no shelter or comforts of any kind for the weekend. The group had sqabbled for hours before agreeing to their jobs, and the simple shelters they could have easily made with sticks and branches weren’t made by nightfall. They slept on uneven, rocky soil for the first night.

Esther lay on the smooth rocks, trying her best to pinpoint the targets through the fog. It was clearing now, as the sun became stronger, but still impeded her vision. She fired one shot, missed, and tried to adjust her scope. She reloaded, and took aim again, when she heard galloping from nearby.

Drawing a bead on the rider, she tried her best to follow them. She couldn’t recognize them straight away, and held her breath. His coat showed him to be a courier of Maine, she saw, but his face-

Esther didn’t know what happened next. Her finger must have slipped, she knew that it slipped. Six years of lessons from the best shooters in Maine had taught her that accidents happen to even the most experienced of them. She had heard stories of people shooting themselves in the foot while cleaning their guns, or even funny ones, like when Sheriff Lydia had mistaken a lamp for an intruder one night, and shot it. This was one of the horror stories she had been told though. She watched as the body fell off the horse, who ran faster as the shot had rung out.

For once, it seemed her aim had been right on the mark, and the thought would have been humorous to her if she hadn't still been looking down the scope at the person she had killed. They never got a warning of what was to come. Esther felt sick to her stomach. This wasn’t like before. The rider hadn’t deserved this.

Esther didn’t know what to do. She left the gun where it had been on the rock, and stood on shaky legs. She wanted to run. Run to her father and cry that it had been an accident. But the horse would likely arrive at Augusta before she could, with blood on its flanks. They would know that something had happened, and organize quickly.

Slowly making her way down, Esther took deep breaths, knowing what she was going to see. The body lay halfway to her targets, and she crossed the clearing.

She threw up when she saw him, only getting enough of a glance to see the most basic features. It was a man, likely about her father’s age, and he looked familiar. She couldn’t bear to look again, and instead ran back to the outcrop of rocks. She buried her head in her hands.

Esther wasn’t sure how long she stayed like that. She was in a daze, and only looked up when she heard horses once more. She got up slowly, looking at the sun. It had been only an hour it seemed. The small group came into the clearing. Likely her own sign had led them there.

“Jesus Christ, Esther, are you alright?” It was Victor again, and he slid off the horse as they saw her. “There was a horse that came back, with no rider, but we knew you didn’t take a horse this morning.”

She blinked. This would have been different if she had taken a horse, and gone to a further place all day, or stayed home, and gone to the range, she realized.

Though Maine was relatively peaceful, and had a low crime rate, Sheriff Lydia had seen dead bodies before. But she couldn’t hold back a short yell when she saw the body. Victor looked over to her, and back at Esther.

“It was an accident,” She said flatly. Victor didn’t reply, but stood by Esther as Lydia stalked over.

“It’s James Johnson. Load him up the best you can, and ride back,” Lydia called to the other guards who had come with. They looked shocked to see the body. “Hold out your hands Sainz, you're under arrest.”

Esther was a mixture of fear and surprise. Maybe Lydia hadn’t heard her.

“It was an accident,” She said again. “I was out here practicing marksmanship, you can see my targets over there.”

Victor nodded. “I saw her leaving this morning, and there's a competition at the end of the month. She was sore about getting second place last month.”

Esther hadn’t even known Victor had been at the competition. But she appreciated his defending her. Lydia didn’t though, and she still held out the handcuffs. Esther complied, and flinched when they shut on her wrists.

“Blake, ride on ahead and tell them to prepare a cell,” Lydia barked.

Victor looked like he wanted to argue again, but the look on Lydia’s face must have convinced him otherwise. He rode away, riding ahead of the two with the body.

Lydia seemed determined to make this as undignified for Esther as possible. She tied a rope around Esther’s midsection, and held it as she got onto her horse. It would have been faster to just ride double, but in Lydia’s eyes, it was all about pride.

Lydia was an unlikeable woman, and had few friends. She was shorter than Esther, but seemed to intimidate even the biggest men in Augusta. Apparently, she had been a shooting prodigy when she was young, as well as studious in the way of laws of Maine. She had apprenticed under the old sheriff, and was a natural choice after his retirement. Lydia was unpleasant, but there was a reason why she was the sheriff.

It took awhile to get to Augusta, and news had already reached most of the residents. Esther hated Lydia more and more with every stare, and was relieved when they finally reached the State House. She was sure her stomach was rubbed raw from the right rope. Esther gave Lydia a glare as she slipped off the horse.

I bet you're just loving this, Esther thought, and the small smirk on Lydia's face only proved her right.

She saw her father then, at the top of the steps, and her stomach sank. He had no expression of sympathy, only of anger, and turned away before Lydia took Esther up. Esther walked up the steps, as she had many times before. She knew this building like the back of her hand, but now she was going in as a prisoner, to be convicted of a crime. She wondered where her mother was, and what Harvey would say.

Victor was at the door leading to the cells underground. He still looked angry.

“I really don’t think this is necessary, and neither does-”

“I’m the sheriff, and you and whoever you spoke to are guards. I’m the one who serves justice. If you want to argue, you can stay down here too,” She shut him down, and Victor was quiet.

Esther sat in the small dark cell as Lydia locked the door. There was no one else down here currently, and Esther would be alone when Lydia left. She was growing angrier now, as the shock had worn off. But she knew she would get the chance to defend herself, when the time came. Lydia may serve justice, but they had a judge who created the sentences people were to serve for crimes, and Modecai oversaw all of this.

Her father would understand, if she only got the chance to really talk to him.