The Ashes of Black Ridge
The satellite phone rang at dawn. I was sleeping in the cab of a pre-war pickup truck I'd found half-buried in the dust south of what used to be Las Vegas. The phone was in my jacket pocket — I'd found it in the ruins of a distribution center, a pre-war military model with batteries that still had charge after thirty years. I turned it on out of curiosity, and it immediately picked up a...
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