22
One by one, the stars blinked into the desert sky.
As Smoke watched the sky, he noticed the absence of stars. There weren't as many as he was used to—like the skies were diseased.
A cool night breeze blew, and he rubbed his arms, grateful for a bomber jacket he'd found in one of the settlement raids.
He slid down a dune toward a group of men who were gathered at the base of the dune.
His men.
His gang.
A ragtag group of criminals who he'd never asked for names.
They wore jackets as well and carried knives on their belts.
“Nice night, eh, boss?” a man with blonde hair that Smoke dubbed Most Likely to Renounce the Gang.
“Just beautiful,” Smoke said. “You. Come here.”
Renounce the Gang walked over. Smoke gestured for him and then put his arm around the man’s shoulder. The move c
