Salt Runner

Bayan was a saltrunner, an illegal activity since the collapse. Shovel in hand, empty bags on either side, he’d hit a vein, fill as fast as he could, then escape, before patrols arrived.

Today, Bayan decided to hit a spot west of the abandoned highway, marked by a ridiculous collection of stones. The salt here was good, but further out was better, where the last of the waters receded, centuries ago.

Departing the rocky shoreline, he glanced derisively at the once-famous Spiral Jetty. He was a practical man. All survivors were. Salt was life. The old gods did nothing.