Dateline: April 15, 2065. Milriver, Colorado.<br/><br/>Milriver is a small town in central Colorado. The welcome sign, forelornely caked with dust reads: “Welcome to Milriver!” and below that, “Pop: 8,500.” Even five years ago that had been a generous estimate. The town served as an outpost for summertime hikers and wintertime backcountry skiers. Still, its inhabitants had pride in their quaint little American town. Along Main Street are a few restaurants, a law office, and a hardware store or two. The town council had managed to keep the big-box stores out in the periphery of town, and they had always looked with disdain upon the pair of strip malls that had sprouted like mushrooms a few miles from the town hall. Still, like all practical Americans they still took advantage of the traffic the stores lured from the main highway as it did not pass directly through Milriver.<br/><br/>A few scruffy white clouds pass through the lightening sky. Had today been 40 years ago, one could have reasonably expected the temperature to climb steadily into the mid 80’s. A usual, clear, Colorado spring day. With global warming, the thermostat had inched up a few notches, and one could reasonably expect the temperature to climb into the high 90’s. Mayor Davies tries to focus on the weather as his wife adjusts his tie. Given his preference, Julio Davies would have addressed the town around noon. Preference would not be the only thing taken away from the mayor today.<br/><br/>The occasion for the town meeting at the uncivilized hour of 7am was the new orders filtering down to the Colorado State Militia stationed in Milriver. They were to form up and pull back to Gunnison, where Militia command was gathering the entirety of their remaining forces. Many of the militia members had wept openly at the new orders: it meant that Denver had fallen to the ravages of the aragami and many of the soldiers had family in the capitol.<br/><br/>The sky transitioned from a dark purple to a warm orange and then a robin’s egg blue as the sun crept over the craggy horizon. Mayor Davies did his best to smile at the Milriver residents who’d gathered in the park next to the town hall. A wiry aide huffs on the microphone and, satisfied that it is active, passes it to Julio. He clears his throat, glances once at his wife for support, then addresses the remaining town residents.<br/><br/>“Fellow Milriverians, I am here to inform you about the new orders being passed down to the Militia here as we speak. The news I am about to share is grim, but I have total faith in the resilience of our town. As long as we maintain calm, every one of us will make have stories to tell our grandchildren’s children.” Mayor Davies is known for his oratory, but this feels like a lie even to him. “Denver has fallen to the advancing horde, and all militia forces are ordered to pull back to Gunnison. They can no longer spare the few troops they have so graciously done for the past weeks and so leave us to defend our fair township ourselves.”<br/><br/>Julio Davies clears his throat. “We’ve seen so many people pass through our little down these past few months. People fleeing the advancing wave. And you, as I know I have, have maintained your faith in our forces. Faith that they will find some way to protect us. I ask that you not give up faith or hope. Without these, we have nothing. But we must also be practical. Those beasts will tire of Denver’s bones soon enough and resume their march west.”<br/><br/>A few elderly townspeople burst into tears, unable to restrain themselves. Julio Davies takes a moment to let his words sink in.