Chapter 63
The pack he carried was heavy, its straps biting into the armour at his shoulder. He could already feel the bruising of his skin beneath. His back ached. His legs ached. And all the time he could feel himself being pulled down towards the ground. Nobody spoke as they walked. The mood was sombre, not helped by the increasing difficulty of putting one foot before the other. How had humans ever lived under this pressure? Dalton slowed up, coming to a stop and gratefully letting his pack slide to the ground. He turned, stooping to retrieve his water and taking a long drink as the others caught up to him. He didn’t feel like he wanted it. Was that the virus? Or was he just imagining it because of what the old man had told them? Bramley came first, the old man showing surprising fortitude giv
- Writer
