Episode 1 - The Beam

portions of their days totally disconnected. Beyond these lagging areas were a series of even smaller, more rustic towns that were served only with high-bandwidth air signals and satellite, where some people didn’t even have Beam coverage beyond voice communication. And beyond those areas, The Beam grew truly dark. City dwellers looked on Appalachia with a sort of superstitious dread, unable to imagine a life so disconnected and so ignorant of the world around them.
    At Pillman, Leah transferred to a conventional non-mag train and rode it up through a series of small stops until she reached the end of the line again, where she disembarked and walked up a series of quiet, dangerously vertical streets past ramshackle homes cut into the steep hillside. Chained dogs barked at her. She saw a few people she recognized and waved, calling out hellos.
    She came to a large red barn and walked through the open front door. Halfway down on the right side was a brown and white paint horse named Missy. Leah reached in to scratch her, and the horse pressed her nose against the bars on the stall’s door. Leah, being duly prepared and knowing what the horse expected, pulled a few nugget-like horse treats from her pocket and held them in her hand, palm flat. Missy’s big lips flapped the nuggets from Leah’s open hand.
    She brought Missy out of the stall and tied her, grabbed her saddle, and secured all of her tack. The Milsons hadn’t poked their heads into the barn, but Jen and Paulie were fine with Leah coming and going. So she untied the horse and rode through the barn door, then turned up a small dirt path leading further into the mountains. The path was rough, winding, and sometimes steep. Missy, usually a dutiful trail horse, grew to hate the path quickly. Leah, however, had found a way to surmount Missy’s reluctance. From the second time she’d taken this trail, Leah had started to reward the horse with an apple after reaching their destination. Missy never saw apples other than when she arrived at the Organa compound, so the horse learned to love the path, and now traveled it with enthusiasm.
    After a half hour of riding, they emerged into a wide plateau in the heart of the Appalachian mountains. There was a split-rail fence circling two pastures where several horses grazed. Between the pastures was a path leading into the Organa village. At the gate, as usual, was Crumb.
    “Afternoon, Crumb,” said Leah.
    Crumb looked about seventy-five and had a long, bushy gray beard. The beard was large enough to require grooming, but Crumb had never groomed it once, so far as Leah knew. It was always packed with crumbs from whatever the old man had eaten last. His lips were dark and cracked, and he was always filthy. He wore dark green pants with pockets lining the length of both legs. Most of the pockets were ripped and hanging in flaps. Crumb did appear to change his pants because there was a pattern to how different pockets were ripped on different days, but all of the pants were the same style. Crumb always smelled sour and had dirt smeared on his face — not because he tussled in the dirt, but almost as an affect, because any town’s “crazy old fucker” had to have dirt on his face. Crumb’s black boots were never tied and he was always stepping on his laces. His shirts were all plain, singular colors, but the hues of each were highly questionable because all were stained and all were disgusting.
    Crumb had been at the village for as long as Leah had been alive. He’d become a fixture… a kind of mascot for the Organas. Nobody ever knew what Crumb was saying, but it didn’t matter. He seemed to enjoy talking, and the little village loved him like a pet. Crumb sometimes stalked the Organa settlement. But usually he was out front, standing guard where no guard was required.
    “Leah. Leah. Noah Fucking West, Leah. How are ya. How are ya.” The last were questions, but Crumb said them like a nervous tic, watching her with darting eyes.
    Leah reined her horse, looking down on the gray-bearded man. Today’s crumbs looked like breakfast cereal. Leah could make out whole, unchewed nuggets, as if Crumb had simply thrown the cereal at his mouth in the hope that some would made it into his maw.
    “How’s the border, Crumb?” Leah asked, looking around at the pastoral mountain setting and the grazing horses.
    “Threatened,” Crumb mumbled. “End times. End times, Leah. Noah Fucking West, end times. You know what I