Zeke thought it was so congested here because traffic hadn’t moved since
the day of the bomb itself. Had they seen the nuke go off, these travelers? A
flash of violent white light on the northern horizon, casting long black
shadows towards the south. Then, maybe a minute later, probably much less, a
blast of searing air, like hurricane gales whipping at the bridge. That blast
curved the whole bridge’s structure, setting it at the barest angle. Most would
have stopped to look, chilled by the cloud spreading in the northern sky, a
stem and a cap, like a mushroom. The cars that were still moving were caught by
the blast of radioactive air and were tossed.
Were they killed? Zeke wondered, but he didn’t think so. There were only
a few bodies scattered around the roadway, their bones bleached white and
brittle. No, most weren’t killed. Instead, they went seeking help, blinded by
the flash, seared to the bone, rotting from the radiation. They were walking
corpses, what singed hair they still had falling out in clumps, their teeth
coming out when they emptied their rancid stomachs, their skin coming off in
layers.
And he was walking here, like nothing had ever happened. All he could
think was that this place was a monument to the destruction. It was as much a
corpse as those burned and poisoned bastards. Maybe it was still usable—it
still crossed the gap in the bay—but he felt a Vulture. He felt like a
carrion-eater.
And that's it. That's your taste of Chapter 5. It should be up soon, though. I made a nice dent in the workload last night. Until then, Happy Trails!
