cracked the brittle air. Rachel slid her machete from its canvas sheath, but the crow veered wildly and then rejoined the broken formation heading south toward the distant city of mutants. DeVontay Jones chuckled behind her. “What were you going to do with that blade? Make us some chicken pot pie?” She replaced her machete and glowered at him. “Better than hoping you could shoot it down.” DeVontay touched his left eye and wiggled the glass prosthetic. “You got that right. My depth perception
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