They stopped in a farmland area outside of an abandoned city in Kansas. “Hays,” Darrin said. One of the richer areas of the state. Country clubs. Nice parks. He’d done a few jobs there back in the day.
But like so many smaller towns along their path, everything looked ransacked. Broken windows, burned-out homes, papers and trash in the streets. People had been here in small groups, scoured for supplies, and left. Just as their own caravan stripped down the houses in New Somerset, strangers and perhaps ex-citizens of Hays did the same.
Other than the work of desperate people, the city seemed relatively fine. There were fewer mutated animals out in the plains, it seemed. And, having hardly any places to hide, they were not so bold as to attack large groups of people. So, they probably were
