Loomis said, staring down at the nearest pile of bones. “But what are they doing here?” Frost didn’t have an answer for that. They certainly hadn’t seen any signs of human habitation during their search thus far. There were no buildings, no cars, nothing to indicate that any people—or anything at all, other than trees...and a dog—had ever lived in this world. This world was barren. A wasteland. Yet the evidence was mounting that it hadn’t always been so. The dog tag alone suggested this devastation took place in the last ten years. She wasn’t sure whether this world’s Dexter was the same as theirs, but the shepherd in their world was ten years old. A mystery not worth solving, she thought. They still had a woman to find, and it might not be long before they were somewhere new. Again. “Let’s keep moving,” she said. “Jillian isn’t going to find herself.” The eight people from Refuge filed quietly past the remains. As she walked by, Frost noted some charring on the bones that reminded her of the dog skeleton.
