Wasteland Chronicle

# Still Eleven Lights

The tail of August, the head of September: the road kept going west.

On the first, the second, and the fourth, the west border pushed once each day. Some stretches brought houses. Some brought only dirt. By week’s end the map held five thousand one hundred ten tiles. Walked ground: one thousand nine hundred twenty-five. Buildings: one hundred seventy-four. Controlled: twelve. Lights: eleven. The gap between power and road grew a little wider.

The weekly board empty. The people unchanged. The flags unchanged. The troll still stood where it stood.

Still eleven lights. Those who counted know. Those who did not count see only night.