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"Is he still out there?"

Doug nodded. "Yeah." From the guard tower, he could see the man clearly. He wore a thick coat, despite the heat, and his hair and beard were long and unkempt. He stood motionless fifty feet from the wall, watching. Waiting. Doug looked back down at Stan, who stood below him with a pair of armed settlers. "Looks like he's still just watchin'…"

Stan seemed to consider. "Maybe we oughtta invite him in."

Doug looked out at the man. There was something about him… "Maybe…"

Stan turned to the men with him. "Open the gate." They shouldered their weapons and stepped up to the large, heavy crossbar. One man on either end, they lifted the bar (with difficulty, though both were powerful men) and walked it over to lean it against the wall, to one side of the gate. Stan took a deep breath as he stepped up to the gate. He looked up at Doug, who was watching him. "Cover me." Doug nodded. Stan grabbed the edge of the gate and pulled. It was heavier than he'd remembered.

The man was still standing where he had been standing all morning. Stan let one hand dangle close to the butt of the gun holstered at his hip. He stepped through the gate, heard it ease closed behind him. Above him, he heard Doug draw back the bolt on his rifle. The man still had not moved. Stan walked slowly toward him.

He appeared to be in his mid-thirties. His hair hung to his shoulders, his beard to his chest. He was thin; the clothes he wore hung loosely on him: a heavy brown coat, a pale plaid shirt, jeans that were torn and faded. He was barefoot. As Stan drew near, he noticed that the man had a knapsack slung over one shoulder. He also had a canteen, but Stan saw no weapon. That couldn't be, of course: no one could survive on the outside for very long without a weapon of some kind.

Stan stopped twenty feet from the man. "Somethin' we can do for you, mister?"

The man tilted his head to one side, eying Stan suspiciously. "Who are you people?" His voice was low, calm.

"We live here, on the other side of that wall."

The man looked past Stan, at the wall. He could see Doug, rifle lifted to his shoulder, sighting down the barrel at him. His dark eyes moved back to Stan. "And I'm trespassin'…?"

"We saw you standin' out here, thought we'd invite you in."

The man seemed to relax a little. "Invite me in…?"

Stan nodded. "There's plenty of room, Mister…"

"Gray. Just call me Gray."

"I don't trust this guy," Tom whispered.

Beside him, Big George chuckled. "Hell, Tom, you don't trust nobody, man."

"Not this guy," Tom acknowledged. He watched the man as he sat cross-legged on the ground by a fire he had made, staring into the flames. "He could be a pyromaniac…"

"Could be…"

Tom thoughtfully stroked his chin. "Whatever he is, I think we better keep an eye on him. Make sure that whoever's on guard tonight checks on this guy, okay?"

George nodded. "You got it, Boss."

Tom watched the man watching the fire. "I just don't know…"

Stan could smell the smoke from the man's fire. He's still up, he realized. It was well after midnight. Most of the settlers had gone to bed long ago. Stan sat in Anne's beach chair, hands behind his head, ankles crossed, gazing in the direction of Gray's campsite. He'd been gazing up at the moon when he'd caught a whiff of smoke. The man had chosen a small patch of barren earth as his site. He had asked for nothing, and had given nothing in return. Stan could appreciate his desire to remain independent; he often found himself wishing he were free to roam the land at will, to be responsible only for himself.

To be truly free…

He sighed, and decided that tomorrow he would talk to the man at length, find out who he was. He pushed himself up with a grunt and went into the tent that had once belonged to his son.

Gray stood unmoving in the darkness of the trees, watching Stan.

Stan was stretching when he heard footsteps. He straightened and turned to see Gray watching him from the edge of the site. Though the sun was up, the man still wore his coat. He was also carrying his knapsack and canteen. "You're up early," Stan observed.

Gray nodded. "Like to try to get the jump on a new day."

"Come on in," Stan gestured. Gray acknowledged the invitation with a curt nod. Stan indicated the beach chair. "Have a seat."

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