![]() ![]() They’re taping up the stained and crumpled fliers of one of the apocalypse cults. We drive by three bald people wrapped in gray sheets. PARIS IN FLAMES, NEW YORK FLOODED, MOSCOW DESTROYED Everyone was plastered to the news during the early days when reporters were still reporting. ![]() I don’t need to read the papers to know what they say. Newspapers cover shop windows along the road, making a corridor of reminders of the Great Attack. On the horizon behind us, the angels’ aerie still smolders in flames after the Resistance strike. Half a dozen military trucks, vans, and SUVs weave through dead cars away from San Francisco. ![]() The dawn light etches the grief lines on my mom’s face while the rumble of the engines vibrates through my limp body. I lie with my head on my mother’s lap in the open bed of a large truck. ![]()
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