Standing on a barrel positioned outside of the general store, Amos made one final announcement to the roaming band of Drifters. Projecting his voice atop the barrel, he hollered to everyone in Happy Alex.<br/><br/><em>"Drifters! Listen up, y'all! In the morrow, at first break of sunrise, we make for the mercantile town of <strong>Port Rose</strong> to the Northeast. Our laborious journey commences first thin' in the morrow, so y'all better stock up on supplies now for the trek ahead. Get some grub in your belly, set up camp and go to sleep." </em><br/><br/>The sheriff couldn't recall the last time he felt such passion ignite within the confines of his soul. His spirit was boisterous and his mind was focused with aspiration and hope for the future of the Wasteland.<br/><br/>(<em>"I must be daffy and getting senile to put my hope in these ruffians, but if we manage to pull this off, even with a multitude of factors working against us, we'll be pulling off a miracle."</em>) Amos pondered.<br/><br/>Surveying the sleepless, and somehow still sleepy, crowd, Amos's glimpse met with several familiar faces. Countless newspaper clippings detailing various Drifters' deeds (and misdeeds) have implanted miscellaneous trivia facts and accomplishments, into the sheriff's head. His eyes scanned the mostly unsightly crowd, about 50 in size. Most were refilling their canteens with water from the stingy well and packing various cured meats and stuffing nonperishable goods into their bags.<br/><br/>Eventually his gaze locked with 6 familiar faces standing, walking or sitting in the same general vicinity; Carol Lynn, a man with a horse, a woman wielding a bullwhip sitting on a porch, an older gentleman and two young female Drifters standing nearby were among the familiars. Amos recalled each of their accomplishments in the Wasteland and their obvious independence, as written in the papers.<br/><br/><em>"Hey! Carol Lynn and y'all 5 standing there. Get inside here and help me carry out firewood for the campfire!"</em>beckoned Amos, who was now standing in the doorway of the Lone Star office.<br/><br/>Inside his home, Amos retrieved a few masculine essentials for the expedition to the Port; Amos needed few things, but he grabbed a shaving razor, a loaf of bread, some light clothes and a can of beans.<br/><br/>Removing a few crumbly and withered logs from a storage closet in the Lone Star, Amos took the firewood outside and retrieved a piece of flint from a satchel fastened around his belt. "Just lay everythin' in the town square and set up camp there," Amos pointed to where he had deposited his load.<br/><br/><em>"Do me a favor and get the fire goin'"</em>Amos handed the flint to the older gentleman, who seemed trustworthy.<br/><br/>Although the Sheriff lived but a few feet away, tonight he would join his brothers and sisters and camp out under the stars, like he had done ages ago. With his back against the newly ignited flame, Amos laid down and peered upwards, rehearsing the various outcomes of his plan to "revive" the planet. He played and replayed every possible scenario, but quickly tossed aside such negative thoughts and focused on tomorrow. Had Amos gotten in over his head?<br/><br/>He cracked the can of beans against the face of a rock, spilling some of the contents in the process. Without any utensils, Amos slurped the beans directly out of the can. Comforted by the warmth of the campfire on his back and humid breeze stirring up dust, Amos began falling asleep.<br/><br/>The trek ahead would be perilous and mostly on foot. Thankfully, during the course of his "career" as a Drifter, Sheriff Williams managed to network with many living among the Dunes. These contacts would prove necessary and vital if this fledgling camping trip was to conclude with a happy ending. Amos knew of a particular soul in the moderately-populated Port Rose who may be of some use to the Drifters and would be instrumental in the success of this mission.<br/><br/>As the last bit of sun set and cast a veil of ashen dust and twilight over the town, Amos made a discreet gesture towards the stygian sky. He did not pray for success, prayers are not heart. He did not wish - wishes are wasted. Instead, Amos sent out an infinitesimally minuscule particle of hope into the universe. Somewhere overhead, stardust rained onto the weary heads of the Drifters, who were growing steadily anxious for the pilgrimage ahead.