Traveling from town to town wasn’t so bad, except for the unpaved roads that stretched out like endless stretches of dirt and rubble. Out in the west, it seemed like the roads were nothing more than a collection of rocks, debris, and the occasional pile of horse shit. Even in the fanciest carriage in the whole damn state, the constant bumps made your brain rattle in your skull.

As the carriage lurched forward, Agent Ortega cleared his throat, his voice cutting through the rhythm of the bumpy ride.

“You reckon we’re almost there?” he asked, glancing out the window as the landscape stretched on in all its dusty, barren glory.