Old Number Roads of the Illinoy and Yowa
Map of Old Number Roads of the Illinoy and Yowa, parchment reproduction by Raskesh Halfsilver from pre-Bust papermap
Read More Old Number Roads of the Illinoy and YowaAuthor: Laura Ingalls-Wei
I was born in what was once called Wisconsin, nearly a century after the Great Bust. I have been hard at work setting down recollections of my childhood, growing up on the fringes of civilization during a time of warlords, bandits, and a sickness that turned men into monsters. Some of these early memories will be collected in a forthcoming book aimed at young adult readers, entitled Little House on the Wasteland.
Twenty-Four: When the Sap Rises
It was a cold night. The elevation, that was part of it. The Great Eighty Road had sloped upwards all day, gently but steadily, and Laura supposed that they were camped higher up than they had been for some time. Even so, no one seemed prepared for the sudden chill. . . .
Read More Twenty-Four: When the Sap RisesTwenty-Three: Badger Creek
The whole convoy was quiet, but no one was quieter than Caleb the Ortega guardsman. As they approached the crossroads to Badger Creek, the young man’s silence stood out, even amid all the other silences. . . .
Read More Twenty-Three: Badger CreekTwenty-Two: The Flooded Village
As the Great Eighty Road continued to lead them westward, past the sprawling ruins of Damoyne, there were fewer lectric cars, fewer iron signposts, less nameless lectric clutter lying in piles and creeping across their path. . . .
Read More Twenty-Two: The Flooded VillageTwenty-One: The Ghost City of Damoyne
Laura’s teeth rattled as the bisox wagon clattered over a rough patch of creetrock. The rest of the convoy, following in her wake, became a jittering blur. Beside her, Mary held Baby Grace against her chest. . . .
Read More Twenty-One: The Ghost City of DamoyneTwenty: On Convoy
The Great Eighty Road stretched on and on, gray and unwavering, day after day. Laura sometimes found herself despairing at its oppressive straightness, longing for the days when her way had meandered and detoured in all manner of surprising directions. . . .
Read More Twenty: On ConvoyNineteen: The Ferry
The convoy left at dawn, just as Captain Syed said it would. By the time Laura and her family joined the others around the cold pit of charcoal that had held the previous night’s fire, the big wagon was already hitched to the two bisox. . . .
Read More Nineteen: The Ferry