There were boot prints everywhere. They were all overlapping and scuffed in places and some signs of sitting were made clear from the disturbances dotted around in the sand. This indicated a multitude of people had been here for a while before moving on. The prints were too big to be human, however, and there were specks of dried blood on the walls and floor from the typical in fighting that mutants were prone to. This gave away the possibility that only their kind had been here recently. The theory was proven after uncovering a broken, rotten tooth in the dust near the middle of the floor. Years of crunching on bone had worn it almost to a nub but he had seen teeth like this far too often not to be sure. Its size meant it could come from naught but a mutant.

Roland stood in what he had first thought was a cave. He had soon discovered, however, that it was actually a gap between the shear faces of two massive rocks that almost leaned against one another, offering light through the foot wide gap at the top, thirty or forty feet up.

He needed a rest, that was for sure, but there was no time. He had been following this group of mutants for days, picking his routes behind them carefully and keeping watchful eye from a good distance whenever they made camp. One momentary lapse of resolve, however, had caused him to dose off while watching them the night before and he had lost them. A brief plinth of stupidity that cost most men their lives out here. He needed eyes on his quarry again before the sun went down. Another night of blind chasing and they could be out of Roland's reach for good. This find was a blessing.

Roland walked over to the remains of a small fire pit near where the gap in the rocks shrunk to a mere foot wide line and, kneeling down, he put his hand into the cinders.

"Still warm," he muttered to himself, "they've been gone a few hours, if that."

Roland had been able to see the entrance to this small canyon for a good few miles before reaching it. If the mutants had only left recently, then he would have seen them leave.

This must be a through route, he thought, looking up to where the gap in the rocks had gotten thin. He smirked as he jumped up and raced through the gap to where the other entrance must surely be. He knew they were close and they'd now given him a direction. They were making this too easy.

Outside, the sky had started it's crimson colour as the sun raced towards the horizon. Roland emerged from the darkness to a startling sudden change in the landscape. The ground on which he stood dropped away, revealing the land in front of him for miles ahead. All around him sat old, decrepit picnic tables and bins surrounding the hollowed out remains of an old cafe. It stood as a statue to civilisation, its facade stripped away leaving its name lost in memory.

Again, he was given a gift. Sight of the brutes must surely be in grasp from up here. He strolled up to were the ground sloped down and started its way to the plains below. Standing at the edge, he unshouldered his rifle and, descending into a prone, he unclipped the scope and scanned the land below for any signs of movement.

What a breath taking view this must have been before the bombs had fallen, Roland thought with a sneer, damning all the monsters of the past for robbing him of such easily reached comforts. He imagined crystal blue lakes and rivers, reflecting the sunlight with their crystaline light shows. The snaking lines of traffic on the distant highway, mere dots from up here and from these eyes. Young couples and parents staring out from their benches while children laughed and played amongst themselve, oblivious to the staggering beauty around them. A calm, cool breeze with the scent of pine in the summer and blossom in the spring invaded the senses. Laughter, excited chatter, the smiles and sighs savouring all the joys of this very moment. All was gone now. All the comforts that humanity had taken for granted was stolen in one spiteful swipe. All was gone, forgotten, dead.

Roland shook his head while he snapped back to reality. Such thoughts were nothing if not detrimental to the here and now. He was tracking his prey. Dreams of the lives of ancestors would have to wait. All that that lay in front of him now was the constant, unchanging infinity of the wastes. The smashed debris, scattered rocks and churned metal. This was what the pinnacle of human technology had done to the world. This was the world's revenge on the human mind.

Hello, what is this? he thought with a start. A line of four mutants were running through the scattered mess of rocks in the valley below. The one in front, bigger than the rest looked as though he was bellowing orders at his boys as they ran on behind him. He had pieces of metal plate literally stapled to his arms and torso. An evil, scratch built helmet surrounded his head with a face guard welded together using plates of steel. A single ivory horn was grafted onto the front, above the eye slits, resembling a horror from the very depths of hell. The face plate bore the painted skeletal stare of death himself with his humorless, lifeless smile, but under all that chilling metal and threatening display was the same crazed laviathen. The same monstrous green horror. The inadvertant genius of mankind. Man's first inadvertant evolution. Behind him his 'men' were hurrying. All the while, they carried crude assault rifles and had odd melee implements strapped to their backs. On one back was lashed the broken propeller blade of an aircraft.

"Hello, Barl." Roland muttered with an evil grin.

He pulled his eye away from the scope, staring into the middle distance with thought. What had got them running so fiercely? Were they running away from something? Towards? A flash of reflected sunlight caught his eye further to the right and he quickly pulled the scope towards the direction of the source. Men. Two of them. They were looking in the direction of the mutants but it was obvious that these two had no idea of the danger they were in. They wore simple protection, probably ancient police gear. They had an assorted array of small fire arms; a shotgun, a submachine gun, pistols in holsters at their thighs. They were just standing there, talking! They had no idea of the game they were in!

Roland quickly put his attention back on the mutants. One was being told to stay, guarding the road they had been using while the others left it to get a better position. It was a good idea. It was obvious that it was the only place one could safely get to them, especially from up here, and a rear guard could be afforded if the rest were only after two mere humans.

No more watching. No more stalking. Roland jumped up, reclipped the scope and reshouldered his rifle. Staying low, he started at a swift pace, down towards the hunters. Were they indeed the hunters? They certainly thought so. But there was always a bigger, more lethal predator, and Roland was now in play.