Cover-up

“Here,” she said, “put this bag in the glove box, honey.”

“Why? What’s in it?”

“Don’t look at it. You’re going to need it later.”

Sam obeyed hesitantly. What on earth would he need? Least of all… ah, who knows. He figured when he got there he would understand.

She kept driving, erratic and uncontrolled. Trees and children flashed by, all were menacing, all dead. The limbs of the trees twisted into infinitely smaller fingers, sprightly and pointed to each other. Sam caught the gaze of another dead child, only for a moment though as the car’s tire rolled over it, sending that gaze deep into the rubber and concrete.

After about twenty minutes of driving, she stopped by the edge of a creek.

“Here we are,” she said. “Get the bag, and get out of the car.”

Again he obeyed. She made her way down to the creek, him following as if in a trance. When they got there he about asked her a question, but paused when he saw she had started crying.

“They weren’t supposed to die,” she said. “None of you were. It was all a mistake.”

Sam wanted to go to her, comfort her, but knew there was nothing he could do. Not now.

“Look in the bag, Sam.”

Sam obeyed once more. Inside was a thin rectangular device, adorned with one large accusatory button.

“Press it.”

“Why—“

“Just do it. The world can’t know of what I’ve done.”

“What did you do, Mom?”

“Push the button, damn it!”

She lunged for the device, tears streaming down her face. She wrenched it out of her son’s hand, hugged him, and pressed the button.

The fire purged the land. The rain cleansed it. All that remained were ash, rocks, and a very large hole where the base used to be.

Mood: jazzy
Now Playing: The End of a Dark Campaign by Oh, Sleeper