The world beyond the massive iron gates of Camp Alpha was a sprawling, silent graveyard of rusted steel and shattered asphalt.
Interstate 95 stretched endlessly toward the hazy, ash-choked horizon, completely buried beneath a miles-long, gridlocked graveyard of abandoned Old World vehicles. Sedans, heavy transport trucks, and overturned military convoys sat exactly where they had died on the first day of the global System mutation. Over the past eight months, the aggressive, mutated vegetation had begun to reclaim the blacktop. Thick, thorny vines as thick as a man's arm wrapped around rusted axles and shattered windshields, actively crushing the metal frames under the slow, suffocating weight of raw nature.
