I stared up at what sat above me, his jean-clad legs brushing my body. Christopher Caperton stood with his arms hanging at his sides. It was almost a relief. Not only were there no more human beings, there was no more life of any kind.
God! A new God, an ancient God come again with the eyes and hunger of a child, a derangedblood God of fog and street violence. That would make him an accessory before the fact, if not more. A man wrote them, but he didn’t do so strictly for men, or forwomen. Chris would not think of it.
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