Wayfare

by J. Snow

For Cole, this desolate slab of land was just as shitty as any other, so he didn’t see an issue with making it his base for the time being.

All of them had colorful paint smeared on their faces – war paint, probably – and their clothing ranged from dark leather (seriously, in a desert?) to colors and patterns that burned Cole’s retinas and made his eyes water.

He’d just wanted to wake up, skewer a few lizards, and make jerky before leaving this shithole behind. Instead, he was going to have to outmaneuver a bunch of psychopaths on an empty stomach. Fuck this day.