As Grace and Hunter reentered the town, Grace came to realize just how strict the security here was, much more than Seaside or even Arden. Armed guards were stationed at every building, and the people hurried along with their heads down instead of strolling casually, chatting with one another.

"Now I understand why they told us just to leave all of our stuff at the campsite," Hunter muttered. "I wouldn't dare steal anything here."

"Hmm." Grace glanced around. The guards weren't giving them threatening looks, but they were definitely watching. "It goes without saying, but don't make any trouble."

"Yeah, thanks, got that."

Grace tried to look like she knew where she was going, even though she had no idea. She and Hunter almost got to the end of the main road through the town before Grace spotted a possible bar.

"There," Grace muttered, nodding toward a rundown building.

"You think?"

"There are three times as many guards. It could be small food storage, but we saw those storage units just outside of town. So that makes it either alcohol or a weapons cash."
Hunter glanced apprehensively at the building. "How do we figure out which is which?"

"We try to walk in. If they let us, it's alcohol. If not..."

"If not, we hope they don't shoot us?" Hunter was looking at her like she was insane.

"Oh please, don't be so dramatic," Grace said. "They're not going to shoot. Probably just take us in for questioning. Come on."

"Oh, wonderful," Hunter grumbled as he followed behind her.

Grace tried to keep the guards in sight, but only from the corner of her eye. She didn't want them to think she was staring. As they approached, Grace took it as a good sign that the guards made no move to stop them. The pair got through the front doors, unopposed.

"Well, you were right." Hunter stood with Grace at the bar's entrance. It was dingy, and rather empty, but definitely a bar.

"I have good instinct," Grace replied, drily. "Now, once we're served—"

"Let you do the talking?" Hunter guessed.

Grace smirked. "Well, at least you're learning."

They approached the bar, and each sat down on a stool. Literally no one seemed to be around, but Grace didn't want to risk calling out for someone. She didn't was to end up pissing someone off who could help them, and she knew bar managers could be testy.

"What if there's no one here?" Hunter hissed at her.

"You think there would be three guards out front if not?" Grace whispered. "Just be patient."

"Your friend here is smart, young man."

Grace and Hunter both jumped slightly at the new voice as an old man came out from the back, cleaning a glass with a towel.

"There is so little patience, especially in this town." The man put the glass down and threw the rag over his shoulder. "It's almost as rare as visitors who stay long enough to find this place. Most just keep to themselves out on the camping grounds." The old man placed both his hands on the counter, leaning toward them. "So, what can I get you?"

There was only one right answer to that question. "Anything you have," Grace replied promptly.

"Like I said," the old man said, reaching for glasses, "smart."

"Yeah, I learned that quickly," Hunter replied.

The man gave a short laugh, almost more like a bark. "First drink is on the house for visitors," he said.

Grace nodded in thanks as he poured a clear liquid into both of the glasses and then raised hers to her lips to take a sip. She nearly spit it back out. The old man could have been serving them straight gasoline and she wouldn't have known the difference.

Grace quickly set the glass back down. "We're actually trying to get some information," she said, keeping her eyes on the old man to see how he would react.

He didn't do much. He mostly ignored Hunter, keeping his wary eyes on Grace. "A lot of people want to know things," he said. "Doesn't mean I have the answers."

Grace shrugged. "But maybe you know someone who does."

"And who says I'll tell you if I do?"

The old man glared at her. He wasn't going to budge unless Grace showed him something.

She reached into the inside of her jacket and grasped the bottle of atkey. "Can I get an empty glass, please?"

Cleary curious, the old man provided one. Grace poured a small splash of the alcohol into it and pushed it forward.

The bartender looked at it with suspicion.

"I can't get answers out of you if you're dead," Grace said impatiently. "And I certainly wouldn't do it with those three outside."

Seemingly satisfied with the answer, the old man picked up the glass, swirled the liquid around a few times, and then downed it in a single gulp.

Grace suppressed a smirk. Atkey was better than almost anything she had ever had, and certainly better than the stuff this guy was selling. And it always bought her answers.

The old man eyed the bottle that Grace still had in her hand. "Where the hell did you get that stuff?" he demanded.

"Doesn't matter," Grace said. It was better that people didn't really know where they, or the alcohol, were coming from. "I have a bottle of it here, now."

"What do you want to know?"

Grace and Hunter glanced at each other. Victory, at least for now. "What have you heard about the Ocean Train?"

The bartender's laughter was a not a great sign. "The one that disappeared?" he chuckled. "Yeah, a lot of people have been looking for that."

Also, not a great sign.

But Grace still had her bargaining chip. "Great, so many people have been through here, same as us," she said irritably. "What can you tell us?"

"Nothing good." He looked between the two of them.

"But that means you can tell us something?" Grace pressed.

"Do yourselves a favor, go home," the bartender. "I don't know what your relationship is with each other, but go home and go back to whatever it was before you started on this entire journey."

"What do you know?" Grace asked again, steadily. She could see a muscle start to twitch in Hunter's jaw out of the corner of her eye, and the last thing she needed was for him to get angry.

The bartender sighed. "Fine, your funeral," he said. "They were supposed to come through here. We got a message from Cherry saying that they were heading our way. But they never got here."

"We already know that," Grace said. She decided to push her luck. "So, if you don't have anything better for us, we'll be off." She pulled her jacket more tightly around her, purposefully placing her hand where she had tucked the atkey away, and started to get up.

"Now, hold on, I didn't say that's all that I had," the bartender said, eyeing Grace's jacket.

Grace slowly sat back down. Hunter was giving her another look asking 'what are you doing?' but as she sank back down on the stool, she quickly grasped under the bar his hand and squeezed. All she needed was for him to trust her, just for the next few minutes. Hunter's expression relaxed and Grace let go of his hand and brought both of hers up to the bar, folding them together. "I'm waiting."

"We got another letter, about a week later, from a tiny, tiny village between here and Cherry," the bartender said. "Although you could say that it's almost an extension of Cherry itself, it's not that far out. The letter said that the train decided, instead of going along the coast, that it was going through the valley."

"You're lying." Grace glared at the old man as he chuckled.

"I'm not," he said. "It's stupid, I agree with you, but I'm not lying." He turned around and went to the shelves behind him. After rummaging around, he came back and threw a piece of paper at Grace. "See for yourself."

With Hunter leaning over her shoulder, Grace quickly skimmed the righting. It confirmed what the bartender told them. Grace threw it back down on the counter.

"So, whoever you're looking for, they're long gone," the man said. "And they're not coming back."

Hunter, who had been clutching his undrunk glass of gasoline alcohol, put it down on the counter just a little too hard.

"What, you got a girl on that train or something?" the old man laughed.

"Try a sister," Hunter snarled.

"And I think it's our time to go," Grace said, standing up and pulling Hunter along with her. She gave the bartender a withering look before pulling out the atkey bottle and slamming it down on the counter. "Thanks for the information."

"I'd tell your boyfriend to watch his temper," the bartender called after them as they left. "The guys running things in the middle of the state don't put up with any crap, from anyone."

Grace kept a firm hand on Hunter's arm as she steered him out of the bar, past the security guards, and a safe distance away.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Hunter said, shaking Grace's hand off. "Sorry I snapped."

"I'm surprised you didn't earlier," Grace told him. "Drunken bastard."

Hunter was breathing deeply, but after a few moments seemed to get himself under control. "I just didn't expect someone to be so crass about it, about her," he admitted. "But do you think we can trust him?"

Grace opened her mouth to reply, but before she could someone came running up to them.

"Hey!"

Grace and Hunter both turned to see a guy approaching, probably not that much older than Grace herself. He stopped in front of them, breathless.

"What?" Grace asked.

"I heard you talking to that old geezer," the young man said, jerking his head back in the bar's direction.

"And what about it? I didn't even see anyone else in there."

"It's an easy place to hide," he said. "And you shouldn't trust him."

"Why not?" Hunter asked.

The man shrugged. "A lot of rumors about him. He likes sending travelers toward the valley. Some say he has a deal with the guys who run things there. He gets a cut of the valley's profit if he sends labor their way."

Grace narrowed her eyes. "And why would you be telling us this? Why do you care?"

"Uh, maybe because even though things have sucked for several years, I still don't like slavery," the man shot back.

Fair point.

"And do you have an alternate explanation as to what happened to the Ocean Train?" Grace questioned.

"Apparently there were a lot of rock falls and cave-ins about 50 miles up the coast, here," the man said, "where a small town used to be. Could have gotten trapped there. If the trail was blocked from both ends, it would be difficult to get a large group of people out. And that town is on their original route."

"Right." If anything, this made things more difficult. "Well, thanks for the tip."

"Don't go east," the man advised them as Grace and Hunter turned and walked away. "Bad idea."

***

"So now what do we do?"

Grace and Hunter sat together in their little campsite, eating a meager dinner of the rations Grace had packed from Seaside. There wasn't anything to hunt, and Grace had no desire to return to the heavily guarded town.

Grace tore at a piece of now very stale bread. "We pick a lead to follow." She braced herself for Hunter's follow up question.

"How do we pick one?"

And there it was. "I don't know."

"Do you actually think that the bartender would send us into a slave trap?"

"Yes."

Her direct answer seemed to take Hunter aback, and he kept quiet.

Grace sighed. "Sorry," she said. "Honestly, I think we should follow the coast."

"That lead seemed a bit thinner, though. What about the letter?"

"The bartender could have written that letter himself," Grace pointed out. "And is the coast really a thinner lead? It's on the original route, it is dangerous terrain, and, if enough rocks fell in the right way, it could keep anyone from getting in or out, thus no sign of the entire group."

"Alright," Hunter said after a moment, "like I said earlier, you're the boss. So, the coast it is. He said 50 miles, so what? A day and a half?"

"Probably more," Grace said. "We won't be able to move as fast if we're right along the coast." She swallowed the rest of her bread and closed up her pack. "So, we travel for at least three days. If there are no signs, we reevaluate."

Hunter nodded.

As Grace lay down to sleep, she couldn't shake the feelings of horror that came with thinking about the central valley. She did think the coast was their best bet, but she could only hope that her revulsion over the fascist who ruled the center of the state wasn't clouding her judgement too harshly.