Each step forward thrust her foot downward into the hot, grainy earth. It took twice as much effort to trek through the desert as it did on the road. Brooke pulled one of her water bottles from the side carrier of her pack and pulled her shemagh down to take a drink. The water was warm, but she still took the time to down the water for at least ten seconds. Whenever she traveled through the desert on foot, she always made sure to drink in large gulps. People often made the mistake of sipping their water to try and conserve what they had left. There were always horror stories of people dying from dehydration with full canteens still in their hands. The desert ended as Phoenix’s city limits began. Brooke crossed the threshold and traded one desolate wasteland for another. Smoke from fires rose upward into the sky. The smaller fires she passed added to the already-scorching heat. Hell would be cooler than her current location. Brooke’s pistol was holstered on her hip.
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