The chilly air slapped me. The light drizzle that had started to fall blended with the ash that swirled about my boots. The blood smeared around my side was hardly cleaned with it. Every step I took outside the bunker felt like a fight against my own body. My body trailed behind, lethargic, screaming in pain, but my mind was acute, sharpened by the urgency of my goal.
I glanced at the map Harris had given me. The mailing headquarters was straight down Ashford Street, a direct path if I avoided the worst of the rubble. Fires still burned in the distance, flickering like dying stars. The air reeked of smoke, scorched flesh, and something metallic—gunpowder, maybe. My boots crunched against shattered glass and broken stone as I pressed forward.
My vision blurred, darkening at the edges. The blood loss was taking its toll, a steady drain I couldn't afford. I clenched my teeth and forced myself onward.
A rustling noise from ahead made me pause.
