A large nomadic pack of apocalypse survivors. We are gypsies in Conestoga wagons beaten from the discarded panels of long dead cars. We are an odd cross-section of time though. Roman Senators and Times Square hookers, Robin Hood’s Merry Men and steampower ironworks barons. Our leaders slowly pick each other off in some tourney of deceitful maneuvering. The rest of us just make every effort to steer clear, enjoying the occasional hot water bath or scandalous roll in the hay. Mostly however, we march single-file along well-beaten trails that slip stealthily as possible through the woods.