A warm sun washed the dusty wastelands of Texas with the morning light. The cool air, lightly fogged from the wind blowing over the bay, blanketed distant horizons in a soft, cloudy haze. Dew lightly clung to what plants there were, and the soft wind whistled in near silence. It was very still, even peaceful, despite the desert's birth in nuclear flames. For a while, the only movement was that of a dry ball of plant matter, rolling along a broken road in the wind. It careened off the side of the cracked asphalt, tumbling through the sand and towards a rocky outcropping, directly into the side of a sleeping mole rat.<br/><br/>Surprised, the mole rat rolled over and away, lowering the front half of her body and letting out a defensive screech. With fangs bared, she surveyed the landscape, a low growl in her throat until she realized nothing was there. Instead, she huffed and angrily bumped at the tumbleweed with her head. Her screech evidently woke up some company, as some shuffling behind a sandy tarp hanging off the rock, which was soon pushed aside as a much larger, human figure stepped out.<br/><br/>"What's the matter?" Michael asked, sleepily pulling his scarf off from its resting position over his nose and mouth. It had been tied up higher, just in case a sandstorm hit overnight. "Nothin' out here but tumbleweeds." He knelt next to the agitated rodent, who proceeded to walk forward and stand up, resting her forepaws on his leg. "Ya big sissy," Michael teasingly said, scratching her right under her chin for a few moments. While idly petting his companion, he removed his hat and wiped a forearm across his forehead, looking around the area just in case something<span style="font-style: italic">was</span>nearby. All looked clear, so he nudged the animal off his leg and stood, rolling his neck and shoulders with a slightly exaggerated-sounding yawn.<br/><br/>"So we headin' out?" He asked, putting his hat back on as he looked back down at his pet, who was simply watching him curiously. "I'll take that as a yes. C'mon, help pack up." Of course, mole rats weren't very efficient packers, but talking to the creature was both entertaining and a helpful distraction from the isolation of a lonesome road. He cleaned up his little sleeping alcove, taking down the tarp and stuffing everything neatly into the duffle bag that rested nearby. He put it on, alongside his gun belts, and took a moment to stretch his legs out. While he did that, the molerat did help as much as she could, kicking sand behind her and onto the smoldering embers of their campfire.<br/><br/>"C'mere, put your backpack on," Michael commanded, getting a hiss in return. "Don't give me that shit, you know this is your job when we're walkin'. Now c'mere." He firmly spoke, and the rat relented, allowing him to put on a leather harness that covered her back, secured between her front legs and around her neck. Pouches on the sides were filled with various useful items, and some tools were strapped to her back. A small spade, a claw hammer, and a screwdriver all sat in small loops built into the harness. It was clearly a very useful little garment. Now that she was properly dressed, Michael gave her another pat on the head, and the two were off.<br/><br/>For a long while, the walk was uneventful. No hostile wildlife was encountered, merely a few non-mutated birds flying around, and at one point a tiny radscorpion hardly bigger than a foot, crossing the road that they walked. The molerat swiftly caught and ate it with little trouble. Michael kept a hand on his shotgun's sling at all times, ready to move it forward in case of trouble, yet none came. Eventually, something caught his eye: a ruin of what appeared to be a bar, flanked by some other small buildings. While he doubted there would still be too much left inside after all this time, it was always worth a look around.<br/><br/>Moving his shotgun forward, he moved the sling out of the way and worked the lever, moving a fresh shell into the previously empty barrel. With the weapon's stock against his shoulder, he opened the door and peered into the building. Nobody was inside, and things seemed surprisingly untouched. There were some overturned tables and chairs, as well as broken glass around some, but nothing that suggested anyone was still around. Slowly, he opened the door fully, gripping his gun's stock as he stepped forward into the bar. His spurs jingled against the hard wooden floor, which would surely have alerted someone in the immediate area. Nobody leaped out of the corners to attack, nor did any alarms go off. Before he put his guard down, he closed the door and strode over to the bar's actual counter, peering over to make sure nobody hid behind it.<br/><br/>"Safe," He affirmed.  The shotgun was slung over his shoulder once again, resting stock upwards vertically on his back. He invited himself behind the bar, lifting the tabletop that separated the back from the seating. On the way in, he eyed what looked like a music stage, a small raised platform that housed an empty chair, microphone stand, and a busted electric guitar. Useful scrap for later. Entering the space between the bar and the wall of drinks, he ran a finger over various bottles, various sorts of alcohol kept closed with holders or completely unopened. He considered taking one or two, but for now, something else caught his eye.<br/><br/>The unmistakable brown bottle and tan label of sunset sarsaparilla, something he hadn't had since his time in Nevada. Immediately, he opened the nonfunctional cooler it rested in, and took the bottle. A quick check of the cap confirmed it was still completely sealed. While probably not as well-carbonated as it was when it was made, there was still something of a chance for it to be nice and fizzy. Bracing himself, he twisted the cap off, and that oh-so-beautiful hiss of pressure escaping the bottle was music to his ears. A smile crossed his face, and without wasting another moment, he turned the bottle bottoms-up and drank. His molerat, blissfully unaware of the amazing find, simply hopped up into a booth seat and sniffed around at the table.