The roar of the motorcycle drew people from low, one-story homes, coming out on their front steps to see him zip past. One little boy waved, but the mother standing directly behind him grabbed his arm and forced him back into the house. Sullivan blamed the uniform. Which didn’t bode well for the other soldiers in town.
The STV wasn’t on the edge of Nasana, but rather parked on a deserted side street near the main road out. Though thousands of abandoned vehicles dotted the world behind the borders, Sullivan had slowly become accustomed to their presence as he’d traveled. They were just more evidence of a world destroyed by both the biological warfare and the government who’d left it behind.
On the other hand, the STV, with its modern lines, its fresh shininess in the sun, the sleek electr
