Pack Mule

It was late at night. Moss had set up camp under one end of a destroyed bridge. Moss Alpin, former Special Service, had survived through the first series of bombings to hit the country. The country had been taken by surprise, and the first series of ICBMs had struck very close to Moss' base. But that was months ago. Since then, the entire country had been obliterated by those great bringers of death. There had been maybe 40 survivors out of the 500 stationed at the base. Of those 40, 25 were civilians who had been in a bunker below the base. Of the 15 remaining, 6 had needed serious medical attention and would not walk again. The other 9 were soldiers from different assignments. They had divided off into 2 platoons of 4, and Moss had simply resigned from his division and gone off alone. He knew where he needed to go.

Moss tossed some torn newsprint onto the flame and it quickly added to the blaze. The land was very dark. Clouds of dust had covered the sky, and made the stars and moon hardly visible. The ground below was bathed in darkness. Flashlights and batteries had thus become scarce, although there was adequate light during the day. Moss set his rifle against the wall behind him. The bridge continued above him for about 200 feet before promptly dropping into the river. He had been getting tired of carrying all his equipment, but he figured he would be across the bridge by now, and into the free trade zone. A neutral area, free of enmity. It was kind of like a trading post for survivors. But, Moss now needed a different route.

[[Is it night?]]