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that was actually situated where its name suggested was the Eastern Gate, which fed out onto the old US Route 87. The Eastern Gate was the most heavily fortified and guarded gate into the city since Route 87 led directly to Austin.
    The university’s Engineering students had once again come to the city’s aid in designing a wall for the city. Mayor Delgado and Colonel Henshaw had agreed right away that the city’s old footprint was simply too big and not sustainable, so they’d cut off everything north of 19th Street. The students had wanted to exclude everything south of Highway 306. However, since that’s where the mayor lived, along with most of the newer housing areas, they agreed to keep it.
    A massive construction project began, initially with old cars turned on their side and then shored up with dirt and beams to keep them from tipping back over. They also tore down the homes outside of the new perimeter, using the parts for construction. The walls were five to six feet tall in most places, more than sufficient to hold off the small bands of marauders who’d begun showing up in the recent months. The plans were being drawn up to build a massive inner wall around the university area, including the Provisions Warehouse, that residents could flee to if the outer walls were overrun. The Air Force base would have to fend for itself.
    The group drove past Old Fisher, the large lake where the city collected its drinking water. An elaborate system of PVC pipes had been installed, running at a slightly downhill angle from the lake to the city. Workers used bicycle-powered pumps to pull water from the lake into the pipes and residents collected the water inside the wall from a closely-monitored area containing multiple spigots. The water was then boiled at home to remove the contaminants that had built up during those terrible first months after the war. While gathering provisions was hard work, Aeric didn’t envy those poor lake workers. In fact, the town’s police officers used working at the lake and clearing the sewers as forms of punishment.
    The lake disappeared behind them faster than Aeric imagined possible, having become accustomed to the speeds that he could achieve on his bicycle rather than the breakneck pace that the trucks moved at. He glanced over at the vehicle’s speedometer; they were going about forty-five miles per hour, barely a crawl compared to the speeds that people used to drive on these roads.
    He watched as the countryside sped by. The area wasn’t particularly green before the war. The problem was compounded by the months of poor sunlight under the clouds of ash and the resulting chemical rains, turning the surrounding landscape into a bleak mockery of what it had been. They passed by a few abandoned homesteads that the Gathering Squad had already picked clean. Most of the population this far out had either died long ago or joined with the residents of San Angelo, choosing to move into the city.
    The ruined land—the wastes as the city folk referred to it—passed by the door of the truck in a blur. Almost everything was a mix of muted, neutral colors since the vegetation had died, revealing patches of earth covered in a grayish residue. He assumed that the stuff was the result of the ash that had fallen to the ground and then the rains had turned it into a plant-killing slurry. Once the sun came out, it dried up and left behind the rest.
    Every so often Aeric could see patches of green. Each time, he was hopeful that it was a living tree or even budding grasslands; unfortunately, it always ended up being the outline of a cactus. The cacti in this area had been particularly hardy, most of it staying green until two or three months ago. Most of them had finally succumbed to the devastation that had ruined the rest of the vegetation. He had faith that the vegetation would eventually return after enough clean rainstorms washed away the ash and sulfur.
    What if it doesn’t come back? he asked