Morning in Western New York carried a different kind of cold.
Not the dry bite of the plains or the heavy damp chill from the Great Lakes.
This cold settled into the hills and valleys like something that had always belonged there.
Snow clung to the tree lines along the narrow county road as the convoy rolled slowly north. Frost covered the fence posts along the fields, turning every wire strand into a glittering silver line beneath the pale winter sun.
Mike drove with one hand resting loosely on the steering wheel.
He knew these roads.
Not because of maps.
Because he'd grown up here.
Behind them the small convoy stretched along the road in uneven spacing — two trucks carrying tools and supplies, a flatbed stacked with timber braces, and Jason's vehicle bringing up the rear.
Marie sat in the passenger seat beside Mike, staring out the window at the rolling farmland.
"This place feels different," she said.
Silas glanced up from the map folded across his lap.
"How?"
Marie shrugged slightly.
"Quieter."
Mike chuckled.
"That's because it always was."
The road curved gently around a long hillside pasture.
In the distance the wide concrete structure of the Mt. Morris Dam rose above the valley like an old giant that had decided to sit down and watch the centuries pass.
The Genesee River wound through the valley below it, dark water cutting through the frozen landscape.
Jason's voice crackled softly over the radio.
"Settlement ahead."
Mike nodded.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "That'll be them."
Penelope leaned forward from the back seat.
"Who?"
Mike didn't answer immediately.
He slowed the truck as they crested the hill overlooking the small community clustered near the dam.
Converted barns.
A few repaired houses.
Two wind turbines turning slowly above the ridge.
Smoke curled from chimneys.
People moving between buildings.
A working settlement.
Mike exhaled slowly.
"Shane grew up five minutes from here."
Marie turned toward him instantly.
"What?"
Silas blinked.
"Wait, seriously?"
Mike nodded.
"Geneseo. York. Same area."
Marie stared out the windshield again, suddenly fascinated.
"You mean we're literally driving through his hometown?"
"Pretty much."
Penelope leaned between the seats.
"Why didn't we stop here earlier?"
Mike shrugged.
"Didn't know if anyone would still be around."
The truck rolled slowly past the outer edge of the settlement.
A man stacking firewood near the road looked up as the convoy approached.
His eyes narrowed slightly in recognition.
Then widened.
Mike laughed under his breath.
"Holy hell."
Silas glanced at him.
"What?"
Mike pointed toward a weathered farmhouse sitting just beyond a line of maple trees.
"That's Dave's place."
Marie tilted her head.
"Dave?"
"Shane's uncle."
The truck slowed even more.
Several dogs began barking somewhere behind the house.
Deep voices.
Hounds.
Mike pulled into the driveway.
Before the engine had even stopped running, the front barn door swung open.
A tall man stepped out holding a rifle loosely in one hand.
He stopped halfway across the yard.
For a moment he simply stared.
Then he lowered the rifle.
"Well I'll be damned."
Mike stepped out of the truck, grinning.
"Still ugly, Clint."
Clint barked out a laugh and walked forward.
"You're alive?"
"Last I checked."
They clasped forearms and pulled into a quick rough hug.
Another figure appeared from the house.
Older.
Thicker beard.
Dave.
He walked down the porch steps slowly, studying the convoy and the unfamiliar faces climbing out of the trucks.
Then he looked at Mike.
"Didn't expect to see you again," Dave said.
Mike shrugged.
"World got weird."
Dave's gaze moved past him toward the others.
Marie waved awkwardly.
Silas gave a polite nod.
Penelope smiled.
Jason leaned against the truck with a relaxed grin.
Dave finally chuckled.
"Well," he said. "Looks like you brought half the county."
Mike gestured toward the trucks.
"Trade route survey."
Dave nodded.
"That explains the tools."
The barking grew louder.
Marie turned toward the barn.
"What kind of dogs are those?"
Clint grinned.
"Come see."
They walked around the side of the barn.
Marie stopped dead.
"Oh my god."
Several kennels sat beneath a lean-to shelter beside the barn.
Inside them — redbone coonhounds.
Rust-colored coats glowing warm against the winter snow.
And in a smaller fenced area nearby—
puppies.
Several litters tumbled across the straw bedding, small red shapes chasing each other in clumsy circles.
Penelope's composure lasted about three seconds.
"Oh no."
Marie was already kneeling beside the fence.
"Oh no no no."
Clint laughed.
"Yeah. That's usually the reaction."
Silas folded his arms.
"Those are redbones?"
"Best coonhounds you'll ever find."
Mike stepped closer, studying the dogs.
"They're still breeding the line?"
Dave nodded.
"Good hunting dogs don't stop being useful just because the world did."
Marie looked back over her shoulder.
"Mike."
"No."
"Mike."
"No."
Penelope crouched beside her.
"They'd be great trackers."
Jason leaned against the fence watching the puppies tumble over each other.
"They'd also be great morale."
Mike groaned.
"You people are impossible."
Marie picked up one of the pups carefully.
It yawned.
Mike sighed.
"Alright."
Clint grinned.
"I knew you'd cave."
They worked out a quick trade.
Fencing wire.
Medical supplies.
A few spare tools.
Clint accepted reluctantly.
"Community can use it."
Mike chose one of the pups.
A small female with bright eyes and a curious nose.
Marie cradled it like treasure.
Penelope immediately started discussing training plans.
Behind them Dave stood quietly watching the remaining litter.
He crouched slowly and lifted one of the pups.
A male.
He studied the dog for a long moment.
Then he walked over to Mike.
"This one's different."
Mike raised an eyebrow.
"How?"
Clint spoke from behind them.
"That litter traces back to Duke."
Mike blinked.
"Duke?"
Dave nodded.
"Shane's dog."
Mike stared at the pup.
Dave extended it toward him.
"Take him."
Mike shook his head.
"What's the trade?"
Dave snorted.
"No trade."
He gently placed the pup in Mike's arms.
"That dog's family."
For a moment Mike didn't say anything.
Then he nodded slowly.
"Alright."
The convoy prepared to leave soon after.
Two redbone puppies now rode in the cab of the lead truck.
Marie held the female.
The male sat beside Mike watching the road with surprising seriousness for something so small.
As the truck pulled back onto the county road, the male pup turned its head briefly toward the south.
Toward a place far beyond the hills.
For a moment the wind shifted softly across the valley.
Then the road carried them onward.
Behind them the Mt. Morris community returned to its work beneath the quiet shadow of the dam.
Ahead of them the corridor stretched toward Retsof, Geneseo, and the Finger Lakes orchards.
And somewhere among those hills—
another thread was waiting to be found.
⸻
"If you enjoyed Shane's journey, please drop a Power Stone! It helps the Common Sense Party grow."