The sun climbed higher, turning the sand into a blinding golden sheet that reflected heat in waves. We stood in a loose circle, staring at the massive Guardian truck like it was a tomb that still had teeth.
Inside were the maps and infected detectors we desperately needed. Along with roughly thirty former comrades who were now very hungry.
"Let's open the doors," Code said.
It was the first full sentence he'd offered the group since we left the walls. His voice carried a low, almost intimate hunger. Long hair still half-covering his eyes, but the visible half of his face showed clear excitement. He wanted this.
Sinn scanned all of us, weighing the silence. Nobody argued.
[Charge: 1840]
Sixty down from last night. Sixty infected dried and dropped in the dark while the cars sat silent. I noted it and moved on.
"How many are inside?" I asked.
"About thirty," Sinn said.
"Just let me open it," Code pressed, blades already flickering faintly at his fingertips. "I'll handle them."
