Michael had stared at the brick wall a long time. The sun, cutting through permanent haze beat down on him. He could almost feel his skin crisping. It was an oven. He had found little water in the saloon, just enough to delay dehydration a few hours later, but he had found plenty of booze. He was smart enough not to try and drink it, he had seen the devastation on his street friends during the summer months.
He could have sworn the temperature rose when they had left.
This is useless, he thought. He had been searching the bricks that blocked the alley and the wood building to which it was fused. Nothing. No secret way out. Just walls. He had tried the other buildings; most didn’t open like they were painted shut. Others opened to disproportionally small rooms with nothing in t
