Cade Merrick counted his water rations and found six days left. That number decided things. A job posting waited in the settlement ahead, and the pay could buy the first wall of a homestead far from raiders. Cade had chased that dream for two years, sleeping in his armored car, trading bullets for coin. One good contract would put him closer. But the only road there was blocked. He crouched behind a rock and watched the gang through cracked binoculars. Six men. Two trucks parked nose to nose across the road. They had strung barbed wire between fuel drums and set a fire barrel in the middle. Anyone on foot would die there. Anyone in a normal car would stop. Cade did not drive a normal car. He walked back to his ride. It was built from junkyard scraps, welded plate over plate, a snarl of salvaged parts and bolted-on guns. A mounted weapon sat on each front corner. He climbed in, checked the shotgun in the scabbard at his back, and set the pistol loose in its holster. Then he pulled his goggles down. The plan was simple. Speed and armor. He would not stop. He gunned the engine and the car roared onto the road. The raiders scrambled. One raised a rifle. Cade fired the left corner gun and the man dropped. Bullets pinged off the welded panels like hail on a tin roof. He kept his boot down. The car hit the barbed wire, tore through it, and slammed a fuel drum aside. One truck lurched forward to block him. Cade jerked the wheel and rammed its rear corner. Metal screamed. The truck spun away and rolled into the ditch. He punched through the gap and left the fire barrel scattered behind him. A raider on the last truck opened up as Cade passed. Rounds stitched the side panel. One found the rear tire. The car dragged and pulled hard to the right, but it kept moving. Cade held it on the road and did not slow until the gang shrank to specks in his mirror. He had broken through. The road to the settlement lay open. But the flat tire slapped and thumped under him, and steam curled from a punched radiator. He would not make the settlement on this. He needed shelter, tools, and water, fast. Ahead, past a low ridge, a round stone tower rose against the dust. Warm light glowed in its second-floor windows. A wide arch at its base opened onto a sheltered garage. Someone lived there. Someone had built a safe place in the wasteland, the very thing Cade wanted for himself. He eased the limping car toward the arch. He did not know who waited inside, or what they would ask of a stranger who arrived bleeding steam and trailing a raider gang he had just made angrier. He killed the engine under the stone roof and reached for his shotgun.