Griffiths Copyright © K.R. Griffiths 2013 All rights reserved This one’s for everyone that read Panic Thank you.
One Bodies everywhere. Pieces of bodies, to be more precise. The oozing, glistening lives of what looked like dozens of people reduced to smears and stains on the trees; obscene puddles on the ground.
John Francis took in the scene, trying to remain as impassive as possible, at least externally. Inside, his guts churned. He’d seen bloodshed before, of course. Hell, he wouldn’t be anywhere near his current job – or this godforsaken place – if he hadn’t. He’d seen bodies in the desert, punctured by bullets, exposed; the sand creeping over the wounds as though trying to preserve the modesty of the dead.
At its most extreme the violence he had witnessed took the form of a roadside device, drawing human flesh and fragmented steel together like some terrible magnet.
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