Chapter 262: What the Fleet Is For
Draven slipped through the northern Vanguard gate of Bastion Seven just as the freezing dusk settled over the horizon.
He had run most of the way back. Two days on the trade road, no sleep, no crawler, moving on stamina draughts and the map.
The city was visibly dying. It was day twelve of the famine gap. The heavy winter clouds blocked out the stars, trapping the biting cold in the streets. The civilian lines wrapping around the outer ring distribution centers were painfully thin. People huddled around small chemical fires, their faces gaunt and hollow. The air smelled of wet ash, desperation, and unwashed bodies.
Draven pulled his dark coat tight against the wind. He walked past a Vanguard quartermaster measuring out a meager, heavily diluted cup of World Tree sap for a shivering engineer.
