The morning sun beat down without mercy, turning the sand into a shimmering gold expanse that stretched endlessly in every direction.
I started walking toward the Guardian truck alone, boots crunching loudly in the unnatural silence. The others hadn't noticed yet.
"Bram." Sherry fell in beside me, matching my pace. Her hair was still messy from sleep, but her eyes were sharp and alert. Soldiers didn't sleep this late unless something had gone very wrong inside.
The armored truck loomed larger as we approached. It was a beast, three times the size of our vehicles, heavy plating scarred and dusty, its dark windows reflecting our distorted images back at us like warped ghosts.
"I'm not looking very good," Sherry muttered, catching her own reflection.
I pressed my ear against the warming metal.
A faint wet scratching from within. Irregular. Desperate. The specific sound of something that had forgotten what doors were for and was trying anyway.
"Hear that?" I said.
