You are on a road. The fence-line, which had cleanly separated woodland from field, ends in a wide open gate. Dozens of faded signs border the road. Sandbags, once a barrier, have been cut open and spilled. Only one tent out of many remains pitched, and out of all the abandoned vehicles, only one appears serviceable.
Above the gate is a sign outlining a list of instructions and advisories. Spraypainted across the sign are the words:
- Road flooded.
- Dead trapped in forest, neither crossing the river nor returning north.
- All forever migrate south.
- You view the map. There it is, right below.
- You look for the city, or any city—a border, a great long black line—but nothing is recognizable. You turn the map upside down; you are not sure which way is up. One continent is south with respect to the other. One, you believe, flows into the other. It looks like an hourglass. Can't those be turned upside down? Looking for answers, you rifle through dozens of papers. Numbers, dates, names, graphs, yet no clear answer.
You put things back.
Possible actions:
- Continue searching
Inventory:
- You carry only a whistle, a bent knife and a smashed radio. It has been a long ride. Your blue jeans are shredded; the T-shirt, stretched 2 sizes larger, is more red than white, and your shoes are unaccounted for. Overtop it all you wear a yellow rain jacket. Perched atop your head is a crumpled paper party hat.
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