Graves

The buildings stood empty, monoliths etched by lichen and rust, each one a decaying monument to a forsaken past.

Dr. Niemann and his team surveyed the remains from the safety of their hazmat suits. Acquiring the grant money for their investigation of Old New York had taken more than a year. No one wanted to know what had happened. Perhaps out of fear it might happen again.

The surveyors delayed entering as long as possible. But the initial measurements and data tracking were complete and the time had come to learn why ten million people had all died at once.

Night

Floodlights dancing over the facade of D.C.'s skyline, lurid swirls of white illuminating lifeless constructs. Helicopters flitting, sound of thwift-thwift, fiery arcs followed by rifle's boom. Jamie clasped his fingers between chain link and watched. Behind him, scattered over a lightless tract of dirt, the naked dying, bleeding from eyes, cries of pain a muted keening of metal. Above: C.D.C. in masks and Hazmat suits, brandishing assault weapons. Washington was long dark—indeed, the entire country. Jamie gazed upwards. The milky way had manifested like fever dream, ephemeral and monolithic, a terrible Prince awaiting its prize's return to benign jungle.

From Guest Contributor John Webb

This is a repost of a story from 2014 that accidentally got deleted.