The storm door clacked against its frame without rhythm. Chickens scuttered through the dirt, clucking restlessly. The clouds had sunk low over the farmhouse. They smothered the earth, draining the red shutters and dirty white house of their color. "Mama, there’s no time!β€œ Verna was walking...

The vault is open. Fisch has some flash bangs he snagged from when he was in special forces. He tosses one through the open door. We cover our ears. Inside, civilians are sprawled out on the ground. Powder hangs in the air. The windows are bleached. Those...