Dust whispered along the contoured edges of the rifle barrel, climbing and falling like some sentient serpent. It crawled along the ground, reaching the open doorway where a pair of worn leather boots supported the tall body of a man.

Just inside the house, a deathly pale hand hung limply from a moth-eaten mattress. The rest of the body was obscured by the door frame.

Jonathan only had to take one look in before he carved an X into the door. He walked out, breathing heavily through the white cloth that hung over his mouth, and clambered up onto his horse.

“Hep, Samson, just a few more houses,” he said, and tugged lightly on the reins. The colony was totally, ear-splittingly silent, and his Samson’s hooves echoed around to give an eerie atmosphere.

The last few houses were just like all the previous – still, silent – dead. Jonathan adjusted his goggles, mask, and hood one more time, making sure everything was covered, and snapped the reins. They left the ghost town behind them.