There, on the I-95 north, just west of the Lincoln Tunnel, the van sputtered to a stop and died—right smack in the middle of the highway. Fungus had clogged the fuel lines, or they’d run out of gas. Either way, they were fucked. “Bollocks,” Morland sighed, tossing his weapon onto his shoulder and...
DU Trieux said from the railing. Miller wanted to agree with her, but the boat crossing the East River felt more vulnerable than anything else. The sun wasn’t quite up yet, but the eastern horizon was painted in blood and gold, a smattering of silver in the clouds. He thought he’d seen something ...
Nothing but roiling blackness outside, and the stink of fungal growth indoors. With the windows sealed it wasn’t too bad—foul smelling but survivable. Some of the refugees came down with a cough, and the medics treating it almost caused a riot talking about an airborne infection. The doctors had ...