The wolverine lumbered down the tunnel swaying in a swift rolling gait, eyes darting nervously, cautiously from side to side. He could smell the moles and gophers still, their scent lingering even beneath the almost overpowering stench of the ape army that had been at their beck and call. Too was the scent of machine oil, sweat and burnt grease of machines.

And something more…

Logan stopped, hunkering down as his eyes pierced the odd gloom far down the chiseled tunnel. The walls were rough-hewn and looked hacked, almost chewed with a rough layer of rocky gravel littering the floor. The gorillas of Czar Simian had carted off the worst of the debris, the biggest chunks of stone, but there was still a thin layer of dirt and grit that kicked up with his every step, forcing the wolverine to stop every few yards to get his bearings.

Ben Boxer watched closely as the last of the Devils disappeared over the far horizon to the north. Even from almost a mile overhead he could see that the swarm had left little in their wake. The cracked and brittle earth was devastated behind the plague of mutated locusts; everything that had been in their path was gone save for some stone and metal as far as he could see. They would be certain when they lowered the Air-Tracker back to the desolation and inspected more closely, but Ben was fairly certain what they would find; a ravaged and blasted land not fit for man nor beast, as the case may be.

He hoped that the boy was all right...

"Ben?"

 Ben Boxer stood and wiped the sweat from his brow.  The sun was climbing high into the clear blue sky and the heat was rising in proportion.  There were no clouds overhead, nothing to offer the slightest respite from the sweltering climate of the barren, devastated plane.  The Midland Wastes seemed devoid of life, flat and endless stretching from horizon to horizon.  The ground was broken and cracked, almost baked by the relentless beaming sunlight that scorched the land by day and the chill, bitter winds that scoured it at night.  It was not a pleasant place to be, and Ben Boxer hoped that he and his friends would soon be on their way again.

Scanning the great, flat plane Ben could see the Air-Traveler in the distance, the huge dirigible-like ship that was carrying he and his allies on their journey west and south, back to their home and the mysterious region known as 'Tracking Site'.  He could see the dark shape of the balloon moored far in the distance, his keen eyes barely able to make out the silhouette of his friend Steve, who had remained behind to work on maintenance.  Beyond the balloon, and beyond his own sight he imagined that Renzi- his second companion was probably already on his way back, no doubt as empty-handed as Ben.  There was little left here in the Midland Wastes save what they had already found at the small oasis where they had docked the ship; a tiny pool of stagnant and slightly radioactive water and a bit of stunted vegetation.  They would salvage the water as best they could; the purifiers would make it drinkable at least.  The boy would be happy over that.  He and Steve and Renzi could survive a long time without food or water as their mutation made them more durable than most.  The boy would need provisions however, and the water- no matter the bitter irony taste- would be a welcome relief in the days ahead.  He was simply human after all.