Exclusion Zone 15

 Her Revolution   The shovel split the sandy earth – quiet, metallic noises bouncing off birches and evergreens. Despite stripping out of her usual armor she could still feel sweat pouring down her back, gluing her shirt to her protesting muscles, stinging in her eyes, burning in her scars and scabs, the warmth of a Kentucky summer night suffusing her, like a blanket draped on top of the world. Her mouth felt like it was too dry to even spit with – courtesy of Rufus' old berry wine – and she silently cursed herself for not bringing a water bottle along. Could have been worse. Sahara, New Mexico, Gobi, Kalahari. Might as well be happy. It's the little things. Still... six feet? Two meters? The ground was sandy, far too sandy, there hadn't been much rain, every single shovelful of sand removed seemed instantly replaced, running in from the sides of the hole every time she as much as shifted position. She had to be making progress, right? It would have been easier with th