He lights her twigs on fire with a spark from his fingertip. The kindling crackles and pops. No one seems to care and so Ava doesn't say anything. But of course it shouldn't be possible. No man can fling sparks from his fingers. No man has bullets for teeth.

Except Bach in fact does, and the impossible is happening all around her: from the desolation of Earth, to the space junk blotting out the Moon, to the simple twigs found in her clutch after she fell unconscious, seemingly summoned by some internal programming she hadn't knowingly controlled, a digital incantation she dreamed. The fire does little to warm her.

Bach forges out into the night and returns with his poncho repurposed as a rucksack, heaping with wild asparagus, mushrooms, and onions. He also somehow comes bearing broad fronds plucked from some alien palm Ava can't fathom thriving in this non-tropical climate, and he fashions these into compact packets stuffed with the foraged vegetables. Shortly thereafter the fire has settled and the packets are situated on the coals. The refugees sit and listen to the ingredients sizzling inside.

Ava blinks her eyes and:

“Something just happened again.” She shakes her head, yearning for it make sense. “But it was different. Faster, smoother – just a flash, really. A recipe? Like it was written on the inside of my eyelids?”

“We better get her to a 'chipper,” Sawyer insists, “or we'll lose her.”

“A 'chipper?”

“A doctor to fix your chip,” he explains, “so you don't Scum out.” He points at his own head and twirls his finger derisively, indicating insanity.

“You think these visions mean she'll turn Scum?” Ellie gets up from her seat beside the fire and slides back a step. Bach gently blocks her escape.

“She's not going to become Scum.” He assures the campers, guiding Ellie back to her seat beside the fire. “I know a safe-house with a good doctor just a couple days' hike up the mountain and—”

“You know a chipper, out here? In No Man's Land?” Sawyer interrupts, scoffing. “Well ain't that a convenient turn.” He laughs. “Full of surprises, this dude.”

“Would you just shut up?” The orphan girl Uma, silent this entire time, suddenly snaps. “Just shut up!”

“It's okay,” Bach soothes, “he has every right to be skeptical. No Man's Land must seem most lonesome to the non-native – brought here through no fault of his own, mind you.”

“You sayin' you're from these parts?” Sawyer sneers.

“Aye.”

“There ain't nothin' but rattlesnakes and vultures out here.”

“And like them, I too am most at home,” Bach says. He reaches into the fire and retrieves one of the sizzling packets using only his bare, robotic hand.

The vegetables taste uncommonly delicious despite being stewed in nothing but their own juices. And while Ava knows it could merely be a trick of her memory loss, she suspects a simple meal has never been more satisfying. The party slurps up mushrooms and asparagus spears with such fervor she knows she is not alone in this sentiment, and for a peaceful interlude there is no sound except supping and contented sighs.

“Thank you,” she says to Bach when finally she has finished her portion, “I didn't know how much I needed that.”

“Don't mention it. We'll all need to be at full strength for the journey to come.”

“Where will we go?”

“Yeah, Boss,” Sawyer picks his teeth and heckles, “where to?”

“In the morning we will rejoin the road toward the mountain. The safe-house is up the pass a ways. I estimate we will arrive by the third night, barring delays.”

“Let me get this straight,” Ellie's voice rises in pitch, closer to a scream with each syllable, “you mean to return us to the road we saw overrun with Scum?

“It is the only way.” Bach looks her in the eye. “Fear not, I will protect you.”

“There's no protecting anybody from them,” Sawyer spits in the fire and it hisses.

“What are they?” Ava wonders. “The Scums, I mean.”

“The Simulacrum,” Bach explains, “are blood-thirsty mutants, hellbent on the murder of non-Scums. They know no other purpose.”

“They're everywhere,” Ellie whispers.

“What's wrong with them?” Ava asks. “Why are they like that?”

“They were more-or-less like you and I once,” Bach continues, “but a game changed their brains and now they can't remember how to be people.”

“A game?”

“Games were rule-bound contests or activities enjoyed by—“

“I know what a game was—is—but what kind of game could make them into monsters like that?”

“At the time,” Bach says, “it was what they called a 'video game'.”

He says a lot of things that don't make a lot of sense. Things she just doesn't understand. All of them do. And they talk like it's completely normal that she can't remember any of this. Like her amnesia is mundane or to be expected.

And they know all these obsolete names: Colorado, New Jersey, West Virginia.

America.

Sleepier and with fuller bellies, they ring the campfire and talk about the end of the world. They tell ghost stories about the ones they loved, sharing histories rescued from the planetary pyre. They wax nostalgic about the ordinary world they all miss, reciting weird tales to eulogize the peculiarities of the Earth which went before, and how in the end it was impossible to pinpoint which compound catastrophe had swiftly vanquished civilization:

“The climate disaster? The global economic collapse? The Scums? Take your pick,” Bach laughs without humor beside the shrinking fire. His eyes are red and watery. He reaches inside his poncho and out comes a flask. He drinks and passes it to Sawyer sitting beside him. “Cherry wine,” Bach explains, “everyone should have a nip – it will help keep you warm.”

The flask goes once around the circle—ending with Ava—and as she receives it from Uma she sees something written on its side. There's a small label, printed in luminescent letters like a hologram:

She looks at Bach and he winks. He must know what is written on his own flask, but no one else has given any indication they can see the weird script so once again she finds herself pretending the impossible is normal and thus makes no mention of it. Not knowing whether or not she should take the bit about the truth serum seriously, she tips the flask but keeps her tongue pressed against the opening so not a drop is drunk, and then wipes her mouth with her sleeve before passing it back to its owner. He smiles and thanks her and tips the flask himself and then sends it on another lap. The refugees drink and before long the camp begins to murmur with conversation.

“Libations,” Ellie snarls, pouring a bit of the sweet spirit in the dirt,”for the motherfuckas we call Gods.” She pours more of the wine into her own mouth before sending the flask on its way.

“There are no Gods,” Uri whispers.

“Please don't say that,” his sister pleads.

“They exist,” Ellie insists, rising to her feet, “and they are magnificently powerful. And gigantic. And from their underground lairs they manipulate all who dwell on the surface – even Human Resources. They are the invisible hand which guides us to ruin. Those are the Gods.”

“And the Scum?” Uma asks, “do they order them, as well?”

“Yes, even the Scum. The Gods control us all. And they are most insidiously evil.”

“You're talking about dragons.” Sawyer is quick as ever to offer his opinion.

“Gods. Dragons.” Ellie gropes across the campfire for the flask. “What's the difference?”

“There are no Gods,” Uri repeats, but Sawyer talks right past him:

“The difference between dragons and Gods,” he stares at Ava suddenly and once again her skin crawls, “is that dragons pay cash.”

For a fat, awkward moment the camp is silent. Finally it is Uma who speaks:

“You wouldn't get away with it,” she promises, “we'd stop you from taking her.”

“He knows that.” Bach swigs from the flask and offers it to Sawyer.

Sawyer takes the wine and tilts it back. He smirks and has another.

“I don't trust him as far as I can piss,” Ellie swears, drunker by the second.

“What do you say, Sawyer?” Bach sounds cordial. Perhaps a little buzzed. He gestures for his flask back and Sawyer hands it over. “Will you take Ava? Will you sell her to the dragons?”

“I will at the first opportunity,” Sawyer admits, and then he clasps his hands over his mouth and his eyes widen. Bach chuckles and Ellie squeals like a kettle. Uri quietly takes his sister by the arm and tugs her away from the fire, toward the safety of the cave. Sawyer uncovers his mouth and wonders aloud, “are you going to kill me?”

“Do I need to?” Bach asks, corking his flask.

“Yes.” Sawyer leaps to his feet shouting, “I don't know why I said that!”

And Bach doubles over, slapping his knee and bellowing. Ellie finds the situation so riotously funny it's hard to tell if she's laughing or crying. And discovering himself still living, even Sawyer manages a relieved exhalation which could pass for laughter. But Ava can't take any more. To her this is no laughing matter. According to label she saw on Bach's flask they've been drinking truth serum and Sawyer just admitted he'd kidnap and sell her. To dragons! She stands and faces Bach, demanding to know:

“How do you—all of you!—how do you know who I am? How do you know my name?”

“We don't,” he says flatly.

Ellie hoots. “A-V-A,” she spells.

Ava can only stomp her foot and huff. Her clan makes even less sense drunk.

And Sawyer makes a break for it, sprinting into the pitch black where the light from the campfire cannot reach. Bach un-holsters the gun he stole from their former jailer and points it out into the darkness. He cocks the hammer so the weight of the trigger won't disrupt his aim but thinks better and eases it back.

“No,” he says, re-holstering the revolver, “wouldn't want to waste a bullet when we have so few.” And he gets to his feet and goes after Sawyer, not quite jogging, but purposeful and unrelenting like the monster in a horror movie.

The fire dies and that is when the cold becomes too much to bear. Ava and Ellie and the orphans huddle together on the floor of the cave.

Before long the others are asleep and Ava listens to their slow and peaceful breathing and wishes she'd imbibed some of the truth-wine, after all. And she wonders if perhaps drinking it might have given her some honest answers to the questions she has for herself:

Who are you?

What happened and why can't you remember?

Do you have a family? Have they all been murdered – like the families of your fellow travelers?

Just what are these weird visions?

Are you insane?

Out somewhere in the dark wilderness she can hear Sawyer pleading for his life. It's far-off and difficult to decipher.

“You don't have to do this!” She hears him cry. “I'll split the take with you!”

There is no answer from Bach.

He's out their hunting this other man – for her. He will kill him, simply to protect her.

The question isn't as simple as: why?

It's more like: why should I even feel guilty?

But she does. She's done nothing to Sawyer, and despite that he has promised to do her harm she can't fully comprehend. He is a conniver and from the first moment they met she has felt uneasy around him. And yet knowing that Bach intends to kill him she wishes she could go back and tell him not to drink the wine. She wishes she could tell him to keep his intentions secret, before they seal his fate.

In the morning she wakes up alone in the cave. Sleep had come suddenly and unexpectedly. She is covered under Bach's poncho. The flask is there in the pocket. A cook fire crackles outside the cave and she hears the quiet murmurings of her company. She slides Bach's flask out of the pocket and undoes the cap. It smells sweet. Seductively so. But before she can try a sip she hears footfalls at the mouth of the cave.

“Good morning.” Bach smiles silver bullets. “There's breakfast out here when you're ready.”

“Did you find him?”

“I did.”

“And he's dead now?”

“He left us no other option.”

“Who am I, Bach?” She sits up, wrapped in his poncho. “Why would anyone, let alone a so-called dragon, want anything to do with me?”

“You're Ava. And that scares them.”