The sun dropped behind the western peaks of the Iron Ridge, painting the broken clouds in brilliant swathes of amber, copper, and fiery rose-gold.
For the first time in six weeks, the choking stench of sulfur smoke, burning epoxy, and skin-burning chemical acid had fully vanished from Sector Four, replaced by the crisp, cool aroma of mountain rain and the mouth-watering scent of woodsmoke, roasted meats, and simmering herbs.
In the glass-fused dark rock courtyard of Iron Trench Outpost, an amazing celebration was underway.
Three massive earth-heat fire pits roared in the center of the courtyard, fueled by reclaimed diesel and dry oak cordwood. Suspended over the glowing birch embers were two huge cast-iron cooking pots, each holding eighty gallons of rich, steaming stew prepared by the guard post cooks from the taken away supplies of Facility Fourteen.
The stew was a masterpiece of frontline luxury. Tender chunks of cured beef, whole rolled barley, diced carrots, wild river leeks, and dried parsnips, seasoned with bay leaves and crushed black peppercorns.
Arrayed around the fire pits on wooden frame stand tables were dozens of crusty rye loaves, wheels of sharp yellow mountain cheese, and heavy clay flagons of cold, effervescent apple cider.
