The leaden sky was low.
Ba Yuncang squatted on the top of the rusty water supply tower, chewing half a piece of dry and hard meat in his mouth, his eyes scraping across the winding road below like a knife. The wind picked up the gravel and hit it on the rusty iron sheet, making a rustling sound.
Coming.
Three modified pickup trucks were welded with rough steel plates and mounted with old heavy machine guns. In the cargo compartment of the middle car, there was a square thing covered with oilcloth.
"Boss, fat sheep." A hoarse voice came from the earphones. It was the one-eyed man squatting in the ruins opposite.
Bayuncang said nothing and continued to read with squinted eyes.
The convoy did not drive very fast and cautiously. The car window was rolled down halfway, and the person inside could be seen holding a gun and looking around. The standard small armed caravan configuration is not weak in this wasteland.
