The iron gate of the outpost clanged shut behind him.
Gongye Huocang exhaled a breath of white air and rubbed his frozen hands. The night wind in the wasteland is like a knife, making people's faces hurt. He carried an old rifle on his shoulder, and his boots crunched on the icy gravel.
I have been walking the patrol route for three years, and I can understand every corner with my eyes closed. But tonight is different.
Just in the shadow of the third watchtower, the thing appeared.
At first he thought it was dazzling - there were so many hallucinations in the wasteland, and radiation dust, hunger, and fatigue could all make people see things they shouldn't. He blinked hard and took out a strong flashlight and shined it.
The beam of light pierces the darkness.
The shadow is still there.
