Travelers
The underbrush crunched under his feet, he pulled the wrinkled map from his pocket kneeling down in the shade of a dead tree. Well that wasn’t very specific, all the trees around here had died long ago. This particular part of the wasteland was the target for one of the first attacks between great nations, leaders had long threatened a scorched earth policy, for once a politician kept their word. Everywhere he looked it was gray and dismal, he focused back on his map the tip of his finger sticking through the worn gloves as he traced his path.
“I can make it to the river today, yeah thats a decent day. God I need to keep an eye out for water.” He smacked his dry lips together, reaching back to check the weight of his canteen before indulging in a small sip. Like everyone who roamed the wastes he was in a constant battle against the elements, struggling to find food and water consistently. He trekked on through the Arkansas hills, heading south following the tales of a stable and livable future in Central America.