The fight across the central island in the valley takes longer than you think and it’s well past nightfall when you stumble across the old fishing lodge. You would have missed it if you were walking just twenty feet to the left or right but sometimes good guys get lucky. The Zion growth has begun taking over every square inch of the building with roots breaking through the boarded windows, but any port in a storm…

The front door needs to be torn off of the hinges and there are holes in the roof, but you have a dry and safe place to rest for the night. The MRE sits like a rock in your stomach as you drift off to sleep and prepare for another day in hell.

You fight the ever present spore carriers and spore plants on your way down to the docks but the worst is making your way through the ever-present overgrowth that literally fills every scratch of dirt in this damned valley. You had to stop using the katana to cut a path through and instead fashioned a machete from scrap.

You reach the docks nearly black on .308. Soon you’ll be taking pot shots with the plasma pistol and tearing into hostile with your bare hands.

The docks don’t have much in the way of anything usable to get you across the river and over to where the research team was supposed to set up shop. You settle on a short canoe left by tribals some time ago and throw your gear in.

You wouldn’t say you’re scared of water, more of what could be lurking beneath the surface. The worst you’ll find at Lake Mead is the Mirelurks and the water is so clear that it’s hard for anything to sneak up.

Zion had water like that once. Now it’s the color of mud with a thin layer of algae that covers the banks. You begin to paddle to the other side while attempting to make as little disruption as possible. A ripple near the canoe stops your breath.

[What the hell is that?]

>1d100, BO3