After the Apocalypse
A pandemic survival story
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The afternoon sun pulsed orange behind distant clouds as it sank toward the horizon like blood draining from a wound.
There was an earthy, sickly-sweet smell that lingered across the plaza, chased by a lackluster breeze.
“Yeah, we got some strange shit here,” the old man said, as he examined the bone monument in front of the town courthouse.
“Agreed,” Janet confirmed as she stole glances around at the quiet buildings. “Something doesn’t feel right.”
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","author_name":"Christopher Russell"}