Skies wept a smouldering grey as tears of ash touched softly upon the earth, for miles we could see nothing but the world we had become accustomed to. The barren interstate expanded far in front and long behind our small caravan littered with cars whose bodies had been covered by grey snow. The grey men in masks, eyes red, skin as grey as the skies. Mutated men these "Ash Jumpers" as they called themselves offered many services for equal trade. We wandered down the road connecting the two trade hubs of Salt Lake City and Denver 

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