Wolf Moon - Queen of the Hidden Claw
Someone up front slows the convoy, hand lifting.
“There,” a voice murmurs over the quiet channel.
I see it a second later. Chain-link fencing, half-swallowed by ivy. A rusted sign hanging crooked, letters sun-bleached and flaking. Beyond it—low concrete buildings, a watchtower with a collapsed ladder, fields gone wild with green.
A compound. Abandoned. Forgotten. Intact.
Someone breathes out a laugh, shaky and disbelieving. “My uncle used to talk about places like this. Doomsday people. Stockpiled everything. Then one day—poof. Just gone.”