Reidar's boots crunched over broken asphalt as the road curved. His wolves fanned out ahead, noses twitching.
Up front, the Bone Militia carved a path through the undergrowth, clearing thorny vines and thick bushes so the rest of his summons could move freely.
He pulled a worn, folded paper from his inventory, the old park service map Malcolm had handed him back in Three Lakes. According to its faded lines, he should've hit the edge of Greenwater National Park an hour ago.
However, since the world had gone to shit, and the planet itself had had a growth spurt, his calculations might have been wrong. There was no way of knowing it.
"Still nothing."
Reidar suppressed the urge to curse.
"The distances are wrong; the landmarks are gone. The old world is a ghost, and its maps are just scrap paper now."
He sighed.
Reidar squinted his eyes at the empty space where Malcolm's map promised a ranger station.
