Chapter Eleven
By the time we got down, the vehicle had pulled into the space between the buildings.
It was a rough terrain buggy with an open tray at its back, containing many packs, a battered metal drum and a couple of boxes of the type I’d seen Junco use for food storage.
The driver was an old grizzled guy, wearing a battered hat. His grey hair hung in a ponytail over the collar of his jacket.
He stopped the vehicle and slid from the driver’s seat. A brown dog jumped off the back, catching something that the driver took out of his pocket and threw in the air.
The man came towards us. He wore tall boots made from well-worn dark leather and carried a hunting rifle on a strap over his shoulder.
He greeted Junco.
“This is my friend, Sage,” Junco said. “He’s going to cook dinner.”
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