More:
Before taking up the mantle herself, Phyllis spent her life following her parents from wasteland town to wasteland town, speaking to the oldest residents and recording their stories. More than the plentiful records of the conflict that led the world to its shattered state, they were interested in the small stories of how life was before the disaster. If no people remain, they search for physical records. Phyillis herself found early on that she could see people her parents and the people they spoke to could not, over the years coming to the conclusion that she was seeing the ghosts of those who died in the disaster.

Sample:
She stopped at the edge of the town, tilting her head and squinting in the weak light of the sun. She'd heard about this town, Midway North, and its somehow-thriving population, but she didn't see any evidence of it from this far out. The buildings were broken down, but no more so than any other town she'd been to, but nothing moved beyond the borders.

She swung down from her cobbled-together motorbike, patting it familiarly as she caught up her recorder and notepad. She had electronic storage systems, but after a near miss with a thief, she kept them safely back at home. Most people seemed more comfortable watching her write things down, anyway.

A gust of wind tugged at her pants pulled her jacket askew. She paused to straighten it, tucking the notepad under one arm, and strode toward the town, keeping an eye out for any sign of life.

She was perhaps three steps down what looked to be the main drag through town when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned just in time to see a tattered curtain flutter back into place behind a broken window and rubbed her cheek.

Then she shrugged and stepped down the walk to the house, raising her hand to knock at the splintering wood of the door.

When there was no response, she knocked again.

"Go away," said a quavering voice, and she smiled.

"I'm sorry to bother you, ma'am, but I'd like to have a word --"

"Go away! We don't need you here."

She looked over her shoulder and froze in place.

Behind her, a crowd had gathered, men and women of all ages, children peeking silently from behind their parents' legs. The entire gathering, in fact, was eerily silent, and it took her no more than a moment to catch the sunlight filtering through the half-transparent figures.

"That's unusual," she said, turning slowly back to see a white-haired head peering at her from the window. She smiled. "The ones I've seen previously haven't acknowledged me. They just go about their business."

"You ... you've seen them before?" The old woman's voice was barely a whisper.

"I have." She paused. "May I come inside?"

The woman vanished, but after several seconds, Phyllis heard the door slowly creak open.