The first sign was the smell.
Burnt chitin and scorched wood drifted on the breeze as Crow's caravan wound down a narrow stretch of cracked road. Ash was the first to spot the wreck — a wagon split open, crates overturned, and caps scattered like bones. The brahmin that had once pulled it lay torn apart, half-buried in the sand.
"Ants," one of the guards muttered, face pale. "Giant ants."
Crow cursed, pulling his rifle close. "Keep sharp. They swarm in packs."
Ash moved ahead, revolvers in his hands before he realized it. The hum of their chambers steadied him as he stepped into the silence of the wreck.
That's when he heard it — a sob.
She was crouched beside a fallen crate, her arms smeared with dust and blood, her hair tangled in the wind. A girl, maybe a year older than him, clutching a bent kitchen knife in trembling fingers.
When her eyes found Ash, they went wide, half with fear, half with hope.
"They're dead," she whispered. "My mom, my dad… they're gone."
The ground trembled. Ants.
Ash stepped forward, revolvers leveled. "Stay behind me."
They came fast — a tide of chittering bodies, mandibles snapping, their armored shells gleaming in the pale sun. Ash didn't think. He moved.
Beams cracked from his revolvers, each shot carving through antennae, eyes, joints. The smell of scorched bug flesh filled the air as the swarm pushed closer. One lunged, nearly bowling him over, but the girl screamed — and Ash pivoted, slamming his revolver barrel against its skull and firing point-blank.
He danced between them, coat whipping, revolvers flaring until the swarm broke apart and scattered back into the ruins, their screeches fading.
Ash lowered his guns, chest heaving. Around him lay the carcasses of a dozen ants, twitching and smoldering.
The girl was still there, knife clutched tight, her eyes wet and locked on him.
"What's your name?" Ash asked quietly.
"Tanya," she whispered.
He nodded once. "Ash." He pulled his coat from his shoulders and draped it around her. She flinched, then held it close.
The silence between them was heavy, broken only by the distant hiss of the wastes.
Ash didn't say "I'm sorry." He just stood guard while she grieved, revolvers cooling at his sides.