Gallon
Legacy Name: Gallon

I was born after an incurable disease ravaged the earth. People fell like crows shot out of the sky. Tens of thousands in the first month; millions in the second. After about a year two billion people had given in to the sickness. The people left on earth became panicked. They believed the disease had been brought to America from Japan, but, of course, it was all just speculation. Civil wars began to break out across the globe. A quarter of the Asian population was killed just because of stereotypes. After the disease went dormant, people locked themselves inside their homes, vowing to never set foot outdoors again. That, as you can imagine, caused issues. Only the Mormons had a substantial amount of food saved in their homes for such a disaster; everyone else who secluded themselves within their homes eventually died of starvation, opting not to catch the terrible disease.

After much of the population began to realize that they would have to leave their homes to scavenge for food, the citizens began to kill Mormons at will, hoping they'd get access to their food stores. The Mormons had a lot more power, though, and defended their food stores with everything they had. The non-Mormon population began to realize that the battles were no use, and the Mormons were unbeatable. Many came to agreements with the Mormons, and large survivor settlements were erected all over the world; however, just as many of the remaining population took to the seas as pirates, hoping to make a better life for themselves. Since the land was seen as unsafe, pirates began to build ship settlements and were able to distill salt water due to huge technological advancements that were in the midst of being produced before the Infection.

Most ships have anywhere from seven to eight families living on them, but some have more or less. Our ship settlement is called Colonial Renegade, and we are headed by my father Preston Baxtor. He and Daniel Leuth take turns sailing the ship. Daniel has morning duty, and my father has afternoon duty. At night, the ship is anchored. We seem to be going nowhere in particular, just sailing around the world; disease is less likely to follow us if we keep moving.

We refuse to return to land; the wars are too brutal; the diseases are too frightening. We only take on new passengers when we come across a ship that has people who are looking to relocate to a new settlement. One such family were the Mihanos who were abandoned on a cargo ship in the middle of the Pacific. For the most part, pirates get along pretty well with one another. We all understand that war is not the answer, and we frequently trade goods with other settlements at North Post.

North Post is a large trading facility built inside of an old World War III battle ship. It sits in the exact middle of the Indian Ocean, and only a select number of people know about it; fifteen ships to be exact. We get most of our fresh water from the Fressno Colony at North Post, because their distillation machine is more advanced than any around. The one on our ship takes two months to produce enough fresh water for all of us, and we all could very well shrivel up and die of dehydration in that amount of time; So Fressno's our only option.

I was named Gallon because at the time of my birth the ship was down to it's last gallon of water. We were weeks away from North Post and the Distillor wasn't making even the slightest dent in our supply. A large portion of the last gallon was given to my mother to keep her from dying of dehydration during the delivery. She ended up dying anyway from Malnewt, but she hung onto life for as long as she could.

We're lucky we have Citrus now, though. In the first few months five men and a woman had died from scurvy, I am told, and it wasn't until a month after that that Dan stumbled along North Post. The whole place was stocked with Citrus, luckily. We try to only get the organic stuff, not the modified stuff that they claim has no long-term effects. It does, no matter what they say, 'cuz three people on Can of Da have died from B-Can. Can of Da is the poorest of the settlement ships, and all they can afford is the modified citrus. They don't have anything worth while to trade, either, and all of it is stuff they need 'cuz they are the largest settlement. One hundred forty-nine people on a World War III cargo boat doesn't work out to well for sanitation reasons. We try to give them everything we can, but they'll hardly take any of it, 'cuz they don't accept charities. Guess they want their citizens to get B-Can.

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