Getting to the battle soon!
Even before the bad times, The name “Oasis” was almost a lie. It perched right off the Old Eighty road, which meandered its way west until it came out in the Californian barbie lands. Trade caravans used it and the wells there, back when there were caravans. Or trade.
Now it was where slave-catchers brought their catches for the first wave of slave-breaking, and even at night Tabetha thought that Oasis looked just as shabby-evil as expected. The slave shacks huddled on one side of the road, surrounded by rusty fences and a couple of towers. A few lights here and there warned where the guards were; they didn’t seem to move much.
From the sound Rex was making, he didn’t seem too impressed by that. “Stupid,” he muttered as he looked through a pair of remarkably high-quality binoculars. “Don’t they care about the guards getting lazy?”
“Why should they care, Hey You?” said Tabetha. “What are they worried about? Slaves breaking out and hiding in the high desert?”