The ruined streets of Los Angeles were quiet in the warm twilight sun. A soft wind wound softly through the skeletal mounds of concrete and steel, gently stirring the cobwebs that had taken root since The Cataclysm came and the people died off. What had once been a small convenience store had become an empty tomb, nothing inside it but garbage and bones. A thick layer of dust covered the floor, undisturbed but for a single pair of small footprints.<br/><br/>Gina looked at the prints she'd left and sighed.<em>I'll have to make sure I rub those out when I leave, </em>she thought to herself.<em>Lord knows if any raiders spot them, they'll do their damnedest to track me down.</em><br/><br/>She turned her attention back to the jumble of garbage that had once been the canned produce aisle. Wiping her hands on the legs of her cargo pants, the small, slim girl began rooting through the pile of refuse, searching for cans that might still contain edible food. A few moments and far too few cans later, she adjusted the pistol on her hip, brushed a strand of dirty blond hair back under her once-white bandana, and glanced nervously out the remains of a window at the dying light. Night was coming, and night was a bad time to be out.