It begins with a bloody shriek at dawn. I sit up immediately. I’m in the laundry room, lying on something soft. They worked me so late I fell asleep on a mountain of dirty towels.
It’s 6am and the sun is splitting as it passes through the forcefield and outside, I can hear someone killing someone.
I’m instantly alert–no coffee required.
God, yes: let them kill each other.
God, yes: let them kill each other.The shriek is high-pitched, but it belongs to a man. It’s the same scream my barefoot bro Omar once made at school when he stood on a row of nails on the ladder of the water tower designed to stop people climbing up it.
I grab something, anything, a bucket, yes, and I rush to the door. Maybe I can escape amid the chaos. Push a car through the forcefield and clamber from the driver s
