Three days had passed since the Battle of Central Luzon.
The smoke north of Pampanga had finally begun to thin, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Basa Air Base was no longer in a state of constant emergency.
The airfield remained busy, but it was the kind of busy people preferred.
Mechanics repaired vehicles damaged during the fighting. Engineers inspected sections of the outer walls and replaced defensive barriers that had been battered by endless waves of infected. Cargo trucks carried supplies instead of ammunition, and helicopters transported construction materials instead of quick reaction forces.
People were rebuilding.
People were living.
It felt nice.
Adrian walked down one of the concrete roads leading toward the training grounds with his hands inside his pockets. For once, he wasn't wearing body armor. Instead, he had simply thrown on a dark T-shirt beneath his combat jacket and a pair of cargo pants.
He looked almost like an ordinary young man.
