The road was a river of cracked asphalt. Once, it had carried thousands of cars a day. Trucks. Buses. Emergency vehicles. Now, it carried only wind and dust. Ezra walked in the center lane. His boots made a rhythmic sound. Scuff. Step. Scuff. Step. It was the only sound for miles.
Mara walked beside him. She didn't look at the road. She looked at the fields beyond the guardrails. They were brown. Dead. The crops had failed when the irrigation pumps stopped. But amidst the brown, spots of green were emerging. Wild weeds. Tough. Thorny. Drinking the dew. Taking what they needed without asking.
Tomas walked behind them. He carried the heavy pack. The rifle was slung over his shoulder. He scanned the horizon constantly. Old habits. "No movement," he reported. His voice was dry. They hadn't s
