"...Yeah, I know. Gotta scope out the place before you think about committin', if you can..." All Wellington had been was a name on the wind until he had stood at the gates, exhausted and hurting, and had a duffel bag of supplies thrown at his feet. Over capacity, the lady at the gate had said. He couldn't have known. Even Kenny, who first mentioned Wellington and sung praises about the place, hadn't known. "Ever think about buildin' somethin' yourself, someday, with people you trust? S'hell of a responsibility but..."

He shrugs, taking another bite.

It's hard to imagine feeling content or comfortable enough with a nomadic lifestyle to choose it over a stable, promising community for the long haul. But maybe this is the way it has been for Zev long before the first person-turned-lurker shambled through the streets. A lost soul drifting from place to place.