The country before him was cracked and ragged, with mental skeletons penetrating the soil and reaching up in futility to the sky. Its dusty sands showed a distinctive green tinge, associated with radiation. This told him a city had once stood here, but the bombs had taken care of it. He checked his containment suit and duct tapped up every hole he found. The radiation was dangerous to an Adam and sure to eat his flesh, undead or no. Rifle resting in his hands, barely two-dozen paces had passed till he turned the bend and he came to a tall mess of girders arranged into H-formation and from the middle bar of which hung the radiation-rotted bodies of Adams, their joints hanging loosely from only a few threads of stitch in several places. A rather shiny group of hombres approached him, their metal bodies clanking as they advanced. With eyes that did not blink and lips that did not move the robots informed him that “squishy folks” were not welcome in the rad-zone.