been far worse. In the second year, thick smoke from burning cities required them to wear gas masks. No doubt they were courting lung cancer, and the air still bore a faint scorched odor, but breathing freely was worth the risk. As they resumed their march, DeVontay fished a canteen from his pack. He gulped down a drink and passed it to Rachel. The water was stale but clean, carefully filtered. She splashed some into her palm and rubbed the back of her neck. “Maybe we should turn around,” DeVontay said. “We
