The yellow fog didn't just sit on the surface; it settled into the lungs like wet wool. I climbed down from the transformer tower, my hands raw and vibrating from the rhythm of the iron key against the tank. Across the Lithium Run, the thousand survivors were gone—dissolved into the mist, following the echo of my signal toward the East.
Nix was with them. Version 1, the fallen Sentinel, was being dragged on a makeshift sled of corrugated metal by a dozen of the stronger "Uploads." They were safe, or as safe as anyone could be in a world that had forgotten how to be kind.
But on the northern bank, we were far from safe.
"They're circling," Mara whispered. She stood at the base of the tower, her spear leveled at a pile of rusted shipping containers.
I looked. In the gloom, I saw the glin
