The hulking mounds of rust which had stood for centuries loomed in the now-overgrown landscape, becoming the bones of the forest where none dared to tread. Someone had moved them there eons ago before they had fallen to moldering ruin, and saved their antecedents the trouble. Thousands of automobiles lay among the moss and the mold in those woods, barely perceivable now under the growth, but still feared as if they were exposed.

The villagers knew of the woods and the danger associated with it, but not the disease which they would contract if they got even the slightest cut. Tetanus was still very real if not by the same name, and they knew to fear it.

A band of outlaws took up residence in the rust and tried to use the area for a hideout, but they quickly fell ill. The disease had spread to the wildlife and thereby into the food. Before too long, the sick of the outlaws began to show up in the village and beg for medicine, and the villagers could spare none. The illness, now not only tetanus, spread rapidly between outlaw and civilian.

A group of traders approached the village by the road as they were used, and received no welcome. Derelict houses and shops stood on either side of the street and not a single soul was to be seen.