The wind, sharp as knife, gusted across the frozen soil.
It was the middle of autumn, but the brick and gravel was covered by a layer of frost.
The boots stepped on the rubble between the broken walls and made a creaking sound. The cold muzzle pointed at every shadow inside the ruins and fired occasionally. Black cotton gloves searched through the blood-stained bodies as they did not miss a single loot.
Even a winter coat, rugged, was dissected of its burnt cotton core and temperature control chip and loaded onto the supply truck.
As for the corpses completely looted, they were piled up in an open area. The hungry mutants feasted on them and saved them the effort of incineration.
Incineration required fuel, and with winter on the way, they didn't want to waste a single bit of fuel, let alone waste it on the dead.
