It's bad water. All around you is the wreckage: bits of houses, bits of cars. Whole trees are beached like so much driftwood, stripped skeletal by some great wind. You have to claw past the bodies to get up onto the beach. Bits of hair and gristle stick to you like seaweed.
It isn't snowing. What falls is ash, spiraling gently down from a muggy yellow sky. The whole shore is frothy and filmy with it. You can let it gather in your hair like dandruff or scramble away towards shelter, but if you know what this is, you know it won't matter.
Up the beach is a crude shelter, tarpaulin and driftwood, with the greasy smoke of a campfire rising black through the fallout. At its mouth sits a man in wet rags, head drooped like he's unconscious or dead: except that he stirs, opens familiar black-hole eyes, and looks at you.
WINTER MOURNING. cws: apocalypse, cannibalism, death, NtN spoilers.
It's bad water. All around you is the wreckage: bits of houses, bits of cars. Whole trees are beached like so much driftwood, stripped skeletal by some great wind. You have to claw past the bodies to get up onto the beach. Bits of hair and gristle stick to you like seaweed.
It isn't snowing. What falls is ash, spiraling gently down from a muggy yellow sky. The whole shore is frothy and filmy with it. You can let it gather in your hair like dandruff or scramble away towards shelter, but if you know what this is, you know it won't matter.
Up the beach is a crude shelter, tarpaulin and driftwood, with the greasy smoke of a campfire rising black through the fallout. At its mouth sits a man in wet rags, head drooped like he's unconscious or dead: except that he stirs, opens familiar black-hole eyes, and looks at you.
God says, "Shit time to come sightseeing."