Smoke, cloud or smog, Sam found it hard to tell what was clogging his throat. There was plenty enough of all of them. Smoke poured out of the chimneys that grew like termite mounds around the city. The clouds had been low and heavy since the weather experiments of the 50s, two decades of rain and grey skies. And the smog came from more or less everything; diesel generators that kept the buildings running, cars, always at a standstill, and planes overhead. Not that you could see the planes, they were hidden by the smoke/cloud/smog.
Sam trudged along in the gloom, his path illuminated by the flickering street lamps. And then it wasn’t. Everything went dark. It had finally happened, they’d burnt through everything there was to burn.
Somewhere an explosion boomed out. Finishing the fuel had started something, but in the dark, it wasn’t clear exactly what.
The Write Site 