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You take the food out of your Backpack and hurl it down into the trench. As soon as the dogs scent the aroma of the food, they switch their attention to the hollow and leap in feet-first. Then the two men appear. They shamble to the edge of the trench and stare at you with vacant eyes. The skilful way in which you distracted their dogs does not seem to have antagonized them in the slightest, nor do they appear unduly concerned for their own safety. You stand your ground, challenging them to attack if they dare. They laugh. It is a pitiful, thin sound that makes your flesh crawl. You return their empty stares, noting with disgust the ulcer-like sores that cover their pale, greyish skins; their almost complete lack of hair; and their teeth, black with decay. Your disgust turns to pity, however, when suddenly you realize why they show no fear: they are both afflicted with terminal radiation sickness. Death is already their companion.
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‘Where are you from?’ you call, anxious to discover if there is a hot spot—a zone of radioactivity—nearby.
‘Cisco,’ comes the reply.
You take some dressings from your Medi-kit and place them on the ground in front of you (erase one Medi-kit unit from your Action Chart), before turning and walking back to your roadster. The dressings may be of little comfort to these two Rad-vics (the name your colony gives to the victims of high-dosage radioactivity), but they may know others who will benefit from them.
