Jason had long since stopped counting how many miles he had walked. He couldn't have been certain even if he had continued to count, it's not like he was following a map. He didn't want to admit it, not even to himself, but he had grown lonely since his fathers death. His entire life had been pretty lonely, his father being pretty much his only lasting friend. With him gone the world seemed far emptier than it had ever been before. He had been a pretty great man, his father. He had managed to fill pretty much every roll Jason had needed and he had known when it was best to act in that role, even when Jason himself hadn't. A lot of the time he simply needed a friend, but often times his father couldn't teach Jason what he needed to teach him and be his friend at the same time. Jason realized that now, but he hadn't at the time. He had finally become a man, though not completely by choice. He had asked his father what made a person a man once upon a time, his father had replied that growing into a man was the conversion from being the bucket to being the tap. 

Great, Jason had thought. He could already hunt as well as any man and quite often he would hunt alone whilst his father did whatever it was he did after he started sending Jason off to hunt alone. Being a man was easy; providing was easy. Once again Jason realized he had been dumb, naïve and dumb. His father had provided so much beyond simple food and water. He had spent the last two decades of his life being Jason's emotional and mental rock. He had encouraged him, raised his morale everyday and taught him lesson after lesson all whilst moulding him into the man he needed to be to survive. Not once had he ever looked to his son for emotional or mental support, he had been an incredibly strong man. Mourning and remembering aside Jason shook himself out of his thoughts. He was dangerously low on supplies and had been told that there were bandits in the area. He needed to be even more vigilant than usual, if that was even possible.

If he could remember correctly the town he was looking for wasn't too much further. It had been a couple of years since he had last visited, but his father was a bit of a regular. For quite a while he would hunt around the town and trade what he got for other necessities. Jason hoped they would remember him, it was getting dark and the last thing he needed was to be seen as a bandit. He really didn't want to deal with a bullet wound. Chances were if one guy fired he wouldn't need to be worried about living anyway, in his experience bullets were always followed by more bullets. He would be filled with more holes than his socks. All he could do was hope that he got in without trouble, he couldn't find another town with how little supplies he had left and it would be extremely dangerous to camp in bandit country. 

Around half an hour later he finally reached the town he was looking for; Aurora's End. He had had his first drink there; his father had bought him a glass of whatever the hell it was as a reward for such a great hunting bounty. The alcohol had tasted like ass, but the sentiment was nice. Jason was happy and his father was proud. It had been a good time. As Jason approached the town entrance he found guns on him, which was not unexpected.

“What's your business in Aurora's End traveller!” A voice bellowed. In the relative darkness Jason had a hard time seeing any faces, but he slowly raised his hands to show he meant no harm anyway.

“Water, trade, maybe a drink.” Jason declared. “I've been here before with my father; Neil McKeating, maybe you remember him?” Jason hoped he did, if he was thought to be a liar he was in deep shit.

“Hell, I remember Neil! Man kept his word, said he'd get me a deer and by God did he always deliver! How is he?”

“He's dead. Fever took him in his sleep.” Jason spoke, sadness creeping on him.

“Damn, I'm sorry. He was a strong man, I wouldn't a never of betted a fever would take him.”

“Thank you... Me neither.”

“Come here son, I gotta flash light, lemme see your face.” 

Jason did as he was asked and took a few steps forward, soon being blinded by the light being shone in his face, after about five seconds of this Jason was close to losing his cool, though kept himself under control; he wasn't up for being suicidal tonight.

“Yeah, you're your fathers son all right. I'd know that frown anywhere.” The man laughed, lowering and switching off the flash light much to Jason's appreciation. “You can head on through, and once again, I'm sorry to hear about your pah, he was a good man.”

Jason gave the man a rare smile, nodded his gratitude and headed on through the extremely old bus. 

The town hadn't changed any to Jason's memory. Everything looked the same at least, but it had been two years. He momentarily wondered how many people had died along with his father in the last couple of years. He didn't like to think on such things, the world was dark enough. He decided he needed a drink and soon found his way to the towns tavern; The Pump House. It was time to drink a glass of ass tasting liquid in his fathers memory.

He didn't really like taverns. Years on the road had made him extremely introverted and sometimes anxious among groups, making a place crowded with people more than a little uncomfortable. Despite the anxiety he pushed through the place, getting to the bar and ordering a shot of whatever the shit they sold was. Thinking about his father he picked up the glass and downed it, actually enjoying the taste. He paid what was asked somewhat grudgingly despite it being cheap, or at least cheap compared to his knowledge on alcohol prices, which was admittedly very little. Turning around and leaning against what functioned as the bar Jason took the place in. The place seemed comfortable and everyone seemed to have an air of familiarity with each other, everyone except a pretty red headed girl. She seemed oddly out of place. Her circumstances weren't for Jason to wonder about though, he consciously kept his eyes moving from person to person, looking for anything else of interest.