9:00 a.m.
The caravan set off on schedule.
Black smoke billowed from the vertical exhaust pipes as ten tracked trucks loaded with weapons started up in unison and headed into the eastern wasteland.
According to the plan, after leaving Long Lasting Farmstead, the caravan would travel east along the provincial highway, pass the abandoned highway town and battery plant, then turn southeast. It would trace a V-shaped route on the map, skirt the territory controlled by the Bonechewer Tribe, reach the area around Junk City, and then head north to Red River Town.
Since the trucks were packed with cargo, everyone had to walk alongside them.
Though there was not much difference, really.
Even if there had been room in the trucks, nobody would have wanted to sit inside.
After leaving the provincial highway and continuing east, there was not a single intact stretch of road to be found. Even with the tracks' decent off-road capabilities, they could not handle terrain that rose and fell so wildly.
On top of that, the trucks were carrying weapons. The drivers did not dare drive too recklessly and kept them crawling along in low gear.
The shells were safe under normal circumstances, but who could guarantee that every jolt counted as normal circumstances?
If they did not want a major accident, they had to be extremely careful.
Besides the bumpy roads, the greatest threats were the birds, beasts, insects, and snakes lurking in the forests and swamps.
Whether it was a hulking monster or a swift, ground-hugging multi-legged beast, either could pose a real threat to caravan guards armed mainly with light weapons.
And aside from these "dangerous species," there were flies as large as washbasins and mosquitoes as long as arms. These mutated creatures might not look particularly combat-capable, but they were