The survivors of Boomstick City

She built half the city. She'll tell you which half. It's the half that still works.

Knock her down and she gets right back up, meaner than before. The whole yard learned long ago: you do not bet against Scarlett.

She can fix anything. Twice, if you bring snacks.

Owns the heap. The whole heap. He'll show you the heap. Bring water.

Nobody gets left in the heap. Not even after they have earned it.

Nothing is ever truly gone. That's either inspiring or a hoarding problem.

Commands the scrap like a tide. A slow, rusty, faintly-smelling tide.

Bolted together from three dead machines and a grudge.

Sparks fly. Mostly from the welder. Sometimes from the arguments.

Lifts anything. Drops most of it. The remaining percentage is impressive.

Calls it a 'curated inventory.' Everyone else calls it the smell coming from the back.

Runs the yard. Knows where every bolt has been since the bombs dropped.

Feed it scrap, stand back, and mind the sparks.

You can scrap it. Staying scrapped is the part it never learned.

Carries his body weight in bolts. Complains the whole way.

Technically a person. Mostly a wall. Doesn't take it personally.

Sorts bolts by mood. The bolts do not have moods. He insists.

The dog ran off years ago. He still brings two bowls. Just in case.

Turned fixing things into a side hustle, then a main hustle, then her entire personality. The toaster still doesn't work, but the brand is strong.

One spark. One bond. One small electrical fire. Standard.

A turret made of toasters. Fires bread. Surprisingly demoralizing.

Came down here for one specific thing. Can't recall what. Comes back up with three.

Finish each other's... wrenches. They finish each other's wrenches.

Makes old things new. Makes new things confusing. It evens out.

Recycled the recycler. Then recycled that. It's recyclers all the way down.

Nineteen broken toasters and a dream. The dream is one working toaster. He is so close. He has been so close for years.

Doug does not fight. Doug shows up. And when Doug shows up, so does everyone else, every one of them a little taller than before.

Her door never locked. Not once. Not in twenty years. That's not naivety. That's the bravest thing in the city.

Started a petition. It's going great. It's about the petition process now, but it's going great.

Runs the community board with an iron grip and a laminator. Mostly the laminator.

Holds the whole place together. Literally, in at least one load-bearing instance.

Order in the court. And out front. And down the block.

Pie fixes most things. The things it doesn't fix, it distracts from. Pie.

Six AM. Every morning. Whether you have news or not. Mostly not.

Posted in the group chat. Forty-three replies. Zero solutions. Somehow it's about Brenda's fence now.

Survived everything. Will survive everything else too. Has opinions about your posture.

Keeps a light burning for people who might come home. People do come home. That's the whole point.

Turns out the whole town owns a rifle. Turns out they can aim.

Pinned on a tin star, straightened his hat, and got to work.

Not leaving. Bombs couldn't move him. The HOA certainly won't.

Out of anesthetic since year one. Bite down. You'll be fine. Probably.

Believes any problem can be solved with enough stacked furniture.

New neighbor orientation is mandatory, friendly, and ninety minutes long. Bring a pen. Bring a will to live.

Sees trouble coming. Yells about it. The yelling is, itself, often the trouble.

Heard you were going through something. Brought enough food for a small siege. Which this is.

Everyone's aunt. Nobody's actual aunt. The distinction stopped mattering years ago.

Still grading homework. There is no school. The kids humor her. It keeps everyone sane.

Turned the book club into a defense force. The book club is FURIOUS. And armed.

Puts out the Powderkeg's fires. It is a full-time, thankless, never-ending job. She loves it.

Retired twice. Un-retired twice. There's nobody else, Doc. There's nobody else.

The roof came down. The raiders came through. Sang finished laying the course first.

Blew in with the dust, kicked the generator till it screamed, left your Volts redlining. Asked for nothing. Gone before the grit settled. Dustin? Never there.

Been holding this corner since before it was a corner. Not about to stop for the likes of you.

Guards the wall of guns with a wall of guns. Redundancy is survival.

Everybody owes somebody. He's here about your balance. It compounds.

Remembers before. Won't shut up about before. Before sounded boring, honestly.

Has a list. You might be on the list. Everyone's a little on the list.

Whatever's broke, she's already got the part for it and a strong opinion about how it broke.

Passing through. Has been passing through for eleven years now.

Sees everything. Reports most of it. Editorializes ALL of it.

Knows everything. Remembers nothing. Somehow both are useful.

Belongs to no crew. Owes money to all of them.

Buys low. Sells high. Defines 'low' and 'high' himself, hourly, with confidence.

Protects the goods. The goods are mostly bottlecaps and one very smug chicken.

Loyalty sold separately. Currently out of stock. Check back never.

Came up from somewhere sealed. Blinks a lot. Asks if the war's over. It is not.

Nobody's sure how tall John is. Nobody's asked him to stand all the way up.

Was here first. Is not leaving.