Dusk Territories: Always Burning Read Online Free PDF

could easily settle on dealing with the majesty of the caravan instead.
    Every assumption that Graham made about this caravan was wrong. He had expected something worse, something less put together. This was like a well-oiled machine. Some armies in the old world (if he could even call it that) would have envied this.
    It was almost the size of a flank of an army. There were three main types of vehicles. The first were the RVs, armored in sheets of salvaged metal, making them almost aegis-like. A few spots from some of them were cut out for the inhabitants to shoot from if need be. Larger ones, specifically on the outer ring, had guns attached to them to better help with firefights; however, Graham could tell from here that they were just the residential trucks. There were many much more equipped for the fighting, but these were no slouch.
    The second types of vehicles were the armored trucks and Humvees. They were painted completely black, and looked insanely tough with their added metals. They were packed heavily, most of them having mini turrets welded to the top where a man or a woman was always stationed. A few had rocket and grenade launchers in addition. These vehicles sent memories through Graham’s brain. He had spent a lot of his time in and around Humevees, bumping around and complaining in equal measures. More memories of his squad surfaced but he pushed them aside. It still took all the will in the world not to head towards one instinctively.
    He didn’t however. His main reason was that he remained frozenly aghast by the last vehicle, tanks. The Drifter had acquired two. The pair of hulky M1 Abrams sat on each end of the long chain. Like the trucks, these were crudely painted black, yet held a symbol of a single painted storm cloud on the side. In comparison to the others, the Abrams were behemoths in a sea of rabbits. If the other ones were equipped heavily, these were equipped for annihilation. They were modified for gun fire, rocket fire, probably even worse. They were well maintained and armed to the teeth. They could receive fire, and just as easily answer back tenfold.
    The upkeep of this must be insane, Graham thought, pale eyes wandering.
    Crisium and Tyrus now took the lead, heading for the largest of the RVs. Graham followed, now somewhat aware of the eyes that watched him. Men, women, and children all matched his movements with their eyes. Who wouldn’t? Not only was he armed pretty well and looked proficient, but he was frightening. They were probably thinking of the horrible things that could be done to them. Something along the lines of him firing at their knee caps and subsequently pinning them down to eat them alive. Graham knew that he would do no such thing, but they didn’t. If it wasn’t for him “escorting” two members of their crew, he would have been riddle with holes by now.
    Or maybe he would’ve been rewarded with a rocket to the face. Suddenly, Graham felt fortunate that he wasn’t taking those chances.
    Crisium knocked on the door of what appeared to be the central headquarters of the caravan. It was painted differently. Instead of just the normal black, it had a streak of silver down the side. The mark of the wispy cloud was on the side of it, absent on all the other RVs. This had to be the Drifter’s residence. The willowy woman tapped her foot impatiently, waiting for the door to swing open. “Dammit Drifter,” she muttered.
    A few minutes passed before the door opened. Instead of an older man, however, a young man answered the door with a glazed and tired expression on his face. Crisium snarled and Tyrus folded his arms defensively, neither being too ecstatic to see him.
    The young man in his early-twenties was only in his plaid boxers, and even those were too big for him. His body was long, lanky with all of his bones visible under a thin layer of pale white, hairless skin. The hair that he did have on his messily cut head was a deep sickly green. Above his upper lip