the smuggler’s bible

Fiona

The cat sits purring beside her on the leather bench seat, enjoying the afternoon sun dripping warm and golden through the car’s passenger-side windows. The road is mostly clear of obstacles—no concrete traffic barriers, collapsed overpasses or rusted chassis full of skeletons. And no sign of any factions since mid-morning.

“We might be clear,” Fiona says.

The cat doesn’t answer, but flicks its tail gently.

“Clear as anybody ever gets, anyway. Listen, it would have been tough alone.” She reaches down to scratch behind the cat’s ears. “So, thanks, I guess, for sticking around. I’m glad I scavenged you.”