They made pretty good time on the freeway, until a mile-long crater forced them to detour.
“What happened here?” Sinna craned her neck to see the graveyard of charred cars.
“Napalm bomb.” Bryce had seen it before. “Back when the first converts showed up, people panicked, packed up their fancy soccer-mom cars, and took the fastest way out of town; crashed, piled up, choked off an escape route, and converts had themselves a feast. The president took advantage of it and ordered a ‘tactical counteroffensive strike.’ ‘Cause why waste an opportunity, right? Drop a half-ton of napalm in the middle of the biggest jammed freeway, and you can take out an entire horde of converts. Who gives a shit about casualties?”
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish