The hill sloped gently down, and down, and down, my feet sliding among the sand, catching on tufts of crackling grass, my breath labored. At least my mageshield was whole enough to filter out most of the dust that swirled into my face. I even had some impact wards left.

  Not many. Hopefully, I wouldn't need them.

  I slipped, crashed to the ground. My magerifle, still slung over my back, caught on a bush, the strap slapping me across the throat.

  No time. Get up. Talain was dying. My legs wobbled, shook. Crudmunger. Don't run all out. You need to get there and get back afterward.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  I spat out sand, rubbed the sting of a shallow cut on my cheek. Sweat beaded on my forehead in the cold air, my armored coat hot and heavy. Move. Run. Talain is dying.

  I ran, trying to wipe away the feeling of her charred skin cracking beneath my fingers as I tried to drag her, my hand slapping vainly against my coat.

  Almost there. A few more meters. The pile of canned food a small stack before me. The medkit had lain to its right. I ran into the patch of sand blasted flat by the heli-drone, looking, my labored breath not enough to fill my lungs, small dunes of sandy grass between me and the supplies.

  Small, like curled up people, right in my path. I tried to slow before I stepped on them.

  The ground exploded before me, human shapes rising.