Tincture: An Apocalyptic Short Story, Part One

Grave robbing requires a corpse, so at most, this was all simple thievery. Morning was washing light over the horizon, and the rich smell of a smoldering campfire was one of Rhamuel’s favorite parts of it. The half buried tank hull they’d made camp next to was a good and proper quick-save if a dirt storm saw fit to brew in the dark, but luckily the man in the green canvas and his young companion …