Background

Quinn was twenty years old in 1998 when the daisies arrived, and she’s thirty at the time of the game. She was born in February 1978, right at the start of the Dominican Republic’s proper democracy, but she came into a country still in chaos. Her father died the following year in Hurricane David. She lived with her mother and other relatives, moving from place to place until 1980, when she finally started elementary school. She loved blasting music on the radio whenever she could. She loved to dance, to move — she’d throw a fit if anyone tried to keep her still. She was blunt and bookish, often clashing with classmates, which meant she learned to run fast — and she was good at it. She started fights at school more than once. Despite the trouble, she got good grades and studied hard, but she couldn’t stand liars or gossips who stirred up rumors for fun. Secrets irritated her too. Even after a string of fights got her suspended from her first middle school, she kept arguing with teachers and earned another suspension. Eventually, her family gave her an ultimatum: make it through high school without getting suspended again, or be cut off for good. Somehow, she managed. Whenever she felt an argument brewing, she bit her tongue and buried herself in books or hid out in the library. By the end of it, she’d read dozens upon dozens of them. She graduated and took a job as a secretary for the Social Christian Reformist Party. In 1997, when she was nineteen, she caught the eye of Camila, a young activist two years older. Quinn fell hard and fast, but it didn’t last. When their affair came to light, Camila pinned everything on Quinn, spinning it as a scandal to discredit her and protect her own cause. The fallout ruined Quinn’s career and her family turned their backs on her. With no one left, she scraped together what money she could and fled to Mexico. She survived on odd jobs until the world ended. In 1998, she saw a doctor about her worsening seasonal allergies, suspecting she’d run into some new Mexican flora her body didn’t like. As panic spread before the turn of the century, she stayed in touch with the few friends she’d made — the rare people who tolerated her combative streak. On weekends she volunteered at the local hospital, and as things deteriorated, she worked for an emergency services team at a small clinic. She clashed with the man in charge and finally left after refusing to treat a patient who had murdered his family to “save” them from getting sicker from the pollen. For a few years she kept to herself, writing, mapping, and planning for other survivors. She copied any books she could find and sold them. People still needed knowledge, maps, and paperwork to stay alive. She lent her help to traders who would later form the Tres Gallos República, then pushed north for colder climates where the sick were less active. She aimed for the Mississippi, then Canada, but got turned around and ended up drifting through Kentucky, where she’s settled — at least for now. Her arguments with the Coalition didn’t help smooth her travels either. Taxi drivers don’t take kindly to being called greedy pigs.