It felt almost comforting to have it on her back again, although it was not the same pack she had used on her travels—that one had finally been retired. This one was smaller, just large enough to carry some water, a first-aid kit, and a day’s worth of rations. After all, this was just a quick foray to survey the area around the base. The Mossberg was slung over her shoulder, and extra shells rattled in the pockets of the light windbreaker jacket she wore. A machete hung from a loop on her belt, slapping against her thigh as she walked. By their fourth day at the base, the stretch of land they had put to the torch was finally cool enough it would no longer melt the soles of the shoes of the first scouting party to leave the base. There were still hot spots scattered across the desolate field of pink ash, silently smoldering, but the smoke rising up from them was an easy indicator of where the group should steer clear of. Rhiannon, after much complaining, had agreed to stay behind.
