Roy Snyder had a decision to make; resign and focus on family or remain Sheriff of the highest town this side of the Mississippi. What’s left of it anyway. Beech Mountain’s survivors were few, and he only saw them occasionally.
“There’s nothing left to protect,” he raged, turning over a file cabinet in the process. “There’s nothing left to protect.”
His world was dying under the cold red skies of a volcanic winter. The awards hanging on the wall meant nothing to him now; he went home.
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