South Dakota and Survivors' City Map: http://goo.gl/maps/9movJ My family began as fourteen children, abandoned and left for dead in the frozen hell that was now South Dakota. They had retreated to the northern Rockies in Montana, and by some miracle, they had survived. They had lived together under a God they knew existed—who else could have saved them?—and taught each new generation dedication to God, to family, and to the land. But ours was not a family held together only by bloodlines. We cared about where we came from and where we were headed. We were dedicated to each other, to our purpose. In the human world, I had heard of only one culture that had a virtue approximating this: It was part of ancient Confucian ideals, set in ancient China as far back as the fifth century bc. They were the only ones who valued the notion enough to name it. They called it filial piety. These ideals were rooted in the same sentiments on which our family philosophy was based.  Our undying bond to one another may have begun because we were a species all our own, because we needed each other in a world where we were different, or because our still-living ancestors believed so heavily in the Puritan doctrine they had been born into. Whatever it was, it was effective. No one ever strayed from the family. At least, no one but me.  My leaving meant that going back to warn them might be useless. I had left without even a goodbye, adding insult to injury. In their eyes, I had stomped all over our values. I couldn't imagine they would welcome me back. I wondered if, initially, they thought it was a temporary exile. Did they wait for me to come back? How many sunrises and sunsets passed when they thought, Any day now…?  I knew they would paint me forever as someone who threatened all our family was based on, as a causeless rebel and a disloyal child. I hated that this was my legacy. I guess that by now my family had translated my actions into a cautionary tale for all of the youth, telling them stories of how God had smited me when I left, and possibly insinuating I hadn't made it past the pastures around the city walls. They'd tell them how I was a slave of Satan now, condemned to an eternity of servitude and torture. And some of them might believe that. This made it difficult to drive toward Montana, but I still had the ache in my bones. Something inside of me belonged to that place, and I had to go back to make sure my family would be protected from threats outside their walls. I knew there could be threats. If there were more Mark Winters out there, if he had come from a family like mine, and if they had any of the human urges to conquer or reign, then we were in trouble. And Mark's threat had been clear. He knew who we were, likely even where we were. And I couldn't set my family up to be massacred by a war-hungry version of ourselves out there. I had to protect them. In a strange way, because I had left, I was the only one who could. I wasn't sure what to expect, but I was certain it wouldn't be pleasant. If they had told all the young ones I had been destroyed, they would be frustrated that I proved them wrong by bursting through the city gates. Not wanting to pour salt in the wound, I planned to arrive as quietly as possible. It didn't matter, though. I assumed that Hannah, our original elder, either had already seen me coming, or she would soon enough. And as soon as the first one of them spotted me, all 164 would swarm the center of our village at supernatural speed to see what the cat had dragged in. I squirmed as I thought about the attention. I intended to stop at a small bed and breakfast about a ten or fifteen mile run as the crow flies from the city walls so I could stow my car and luggage and prepare. I had dressed comfortably for the trip, so I would change into more appropriate clothes to meet my family again. There were rules and expectations, and I would be respectful of them, within reason. My sleeves would touch my hands (they always did), and my legs would be covered. My chest and back would be covered up to my neck. I would not wear makeup. But I wasn't going to wear a dress, nor pull my hair back and tuck it into a bun or a braid. I'd be covered, but I had every intention of walking into the village in a modest top and jeans, hair free flowing as I always wore it. They were going to hear me out and take me as I was or not at all. I had no plans to return to the life they had made for us, and I refused to give anyone a moment's doubt about that by dressing the part. I had already broken all the rules anyway.
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