“Because some of us are still living,” Amanda answered. “They won’t stop doing it until we’re all dead.”
Michael shook his head. “Then why aren’t they dropping them all over the place? Why are they just exploding in the east?”
The twins were both right, Caitlan supposed, but Michael’s questions troubled her even more. “We’re a hundred miles from what was left of Winnipeg. Those nukes are atomizing anything and everything left... Why?”
A fourth white flash lit the sky, and a fourth mushroom cloud was born.
Nicholas whimpered into Caitlan’s ear. “I want my Daddy.”
***
“Mother... Fucker!” Roy exclaimed as the mushroom cloud rose above them. The sky surrounding the immense yellow tower glowed red. Seconds later an explosive crack ripped through the air. It almost knocked the big man to his knees. Louie was already on his knees somewhere behind him, crying into the dirt of the field they were crossing.
There was a second flash of light—a second detonation. It made another awful sound deep inside Roy’s brain, like a single string on a base guitar being plucked too hard. A horrible, reverberating twang.
A wall of dust and smoke was charging their way. “We’re going to die,” Louie blubbered.
Roy figured they were less than thirty miles from the city’s perimeter. The bombs were big, but he figured they still might have a chance. He grabbed his companion and dragged him to a low spot in the field. “Lay on your gut, and keep your face planted in the ground.”
The first shockwave hit. They were blasted with small bits of debris and dirt. The second wave rolled over them, hot and screaming. It too passed, leaving the men breathless, but relatively unscathed. They sat up and stared at one another.
Roy picked a clump of soil from his nostril. “Why? Why the hell are they hitting Winnipeg again?”
“The ticks,” Louie wailed. “This isn’t about the war, it isn’t country versus fucking country anymore! They know what’s been unleashed. They know about LDV3!”
He was going to say more, but a third bomb dropped. And then a forth. And then a fifth.
***
“Look at it, Sergeant... just look at it.”
Fartel couldn’t recall the last time any of the other soldiers had addressed him by rank without the slightest hint of condescension. Perhaps they never had.
They stared in awe, side by side, as the six mushrooms continued their ascent into the dark heavens. The first three weren’t as defined; the following blasts had knocked them askew, like massive trees in a forest, dying, and making way for new arrivals.
“It is a forest,” Fartel spoke his thoughts aloud. “A cancerous grove of power, light, and death.”
“Huh? When did you become a poet?”
Fartel looked at the man wearing only underwear and socks. “I wouldn’t say I was being poetic, but you have to admit a sight like that can leave you kind of... inspired.”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that.” Fred pointed to the south. “I do know those missile contrails originated from that direction. It wasn’t the Russians or North Koreans this time. Why would our own allies attack us? Why would they waste half a dozen nukes on Winnipeg?”
The sergeant shrugged. “No idea.”
A dozen black dots appeared at the center of the cloud closest to them. They grew in size and developed wings. “Look there,” Fartel said. “Birds!”
Fred had to block away the majority of yellow clouds with the palms of his hands, it was still that bright, but he saw the crows flying in a few seconds later. They swooped down and started circling the men less than twenty feet overhead. The birds didn’t caw. The only sound they made came from the flapping of their black wings. “That is fucking weird.”
Their flight paths were erratic, flying right side up and upside down. They crashed into one another, and feathers spun lazily down to the ground. One of the birds stopped flapping its wings all together and plummeted like a rock. It thumped onto the pavement at Fred’s feet.
He squatted down for a closer look. “It’s dead.” He poked at it with his finger. “Look how fat the thing is.”
“Don’t touch it. The things could be irradiated.”
“Aren’t we all?” Fred picked it up in one hand. “It’s as heavy as a brick.” He threw it down suddenly and jumped back up. He shook his hand frantically.
“What is it? Did it peck you?”
“No! I said it was dead... Goddamn, that hurts!” He wiped his fingers along the only part of cloth available—the front of his underwear. Fartel thought he saw something gray disappear into the seams, but it was hard to tell with all the jumping and screaming.
Fred clutched at his crotch with both hands. “No! No! No! It Stings! Oh God, it hurts so bad!”
Another crow thumped down into the ditch. A third one fell next to Sergeant Jeffrey and erupted a gush of black across the highway. He backed away from it and instinctively covered his mouth and nose. Something in the air was killing these crows, and it had infected Fred Walleyes. Fartel wasn’t going to let any of the dying birds near him. The rest dropped down, like fat, black raindrops. He danced between the corpses, stepping around puddles of moving grey innards.
Fred was on his back now, convulsing and twitching on the ground. A mound was growing in his underwear, pressing up and out to the sides. “Fred?” Fartel asked quietly. “Fred, are you getting a hard-on?”
There was a popping sound and the bulge started to deflate. Fred’s white underwear turned dark red. Slime leaked out and settled on the ground in a puddle under the dead man’s buttocks. It began to spread out and move towards Fartel. The sergeant backed away. He stepped on one of the crows and it exploded under his heel. He
