Exiled Omnibus by James Hunt Page A

above, built during a time when water still flowed through the veins of the city, giving it life. Now, most of the building doors were boarded up, and the massive buildings had wilted from the heat. There wasn’t room for giants here.
     
    Most of the city had been migrating east long before the president’s announcement. She knew the population here had dwindled, but she still had yet to see a single soul, which she found odd.
     
    Brooke stepped lightly. She checked behind her, to the side, and in front for anyone that could jump out at her. The hairs on the back of her neck kept sticking up. She had the overwhelming sense that someone was watching her.
     
    A trashcan crashed in the alley next to her. Brooke pulled her gun. The only thing she saw was a cat crawling out from behind the rolling can.
    Brooke let out a sigh. Her whole body immediately loosened to jelly, and she holstered her pistol. The cat was small, and she could see the animal’s ribcage. She bent down, trying to coax the animal out.
     
    “Come here. It’s okay,” Brooke said.
     
    The cat growled and hissed. The hair on its back stood straight up, and it backed up beneath the dumpster into hiding. Brooke shrugged it off.
     
    “Well, I was always a dog person anyway,” she said.
     
    Brooke’s knee popped when she stood from her crouched position. Her legs were stiff. She was rubbing her thigh when she heard the rumble of an engine at the alley’s street entrance. The truck never crossed by, but she heard the slam of doors and men’s voices.
     
    Two men appeared at the end of the alley. Brooke tried making out their faces, but the position of the sun cast them in shadows.
     
    “Hello, there,” the man called out.
     
    “Hello,” Brooke said.
     
    “Are you all right?”
     
    “I’m fine.”
     
    “Hey, listen, do you know where we can get to the military base from here? We’re on our way to see my cousin who’s a cadet there, and we got turned around.”
     
    Brooke’s hand went to her revolver. She took a few steps forward, looking for any weapons they might have, but she could see both pairs of hands, and they had no visible rifles or pistols on them.
     
    “Are you from around here?” his partner asked.
     
    “The base is north of here,” Brooke answered.
     
    “Thanks. Hey, do you think you could point it out to us on a map? We’ve got our truck with us just around the corner.”
     
    Brooke kept her hand on the revolver. When she was close enough for the two men to see the weapon, both of them put their hands in the air.
     
    “Whoa. Hey, we don’t want any trouble,” the man said.
     
    Both stepped backward. While keeping their hands in the air, they pointed around the corner of the alley. Brooke took her hand off the pistol, and the two men relaxed. They disappeared around the corner, and when Brooke followed them, she saw a red truck caked in sand. The same truck that had chased her through the Mojave.
     
    Brooke reached for the pistol again and fired shots at the two men, who were sprinting to the truck. They grabbed rifles out of the truck bed and fired back. Bullets ricocheted off the building walls as Brooke jumped back into the alley for cover.
     
    She crouched behind the wall, her knees hovering just above the ground. She aimed the pistol around the corner and emptied the revolver’s chamber. The bullets thumped into the side of the truck as both men ducked.
     
    Brooke reached into her pack for more ammo. As she loaded the 9mm bullets into the chamber, she heard the truck engine start up. She sprinted down the alleyway to try and get to the other end. A few of the bullets spilled from her hand as she ran, clinking against the asphalt.
     
    She turned around to see the truck barreling toward her. Brooke aimed the pistol and fired, sending bullets into the windshield. The glass cracked and the truck swerved, slamming into the alley walls, knocking off both side mirrors. Then it crashed into the dumpster,