…a distorted voice, coming in broken and fractured, over the last functioning closed-broadcast unit… drums of the centipede, drums of the centipede, drums of the centipede… low-frequency buzzing and a sound like house-keys scraping slates…. a thousand low-watt bulbs flaring-up and extinguishing themselves along an endless corridor… a black crow in flight sails high above a collapsing grain elevator…
…irregular dreams in the insect compound… nine days in serpent graves… a column of ants marches across a dead field; failed crops rotting into the acrid soil… aborted reconditioning of the last water-purification units… an electrical hiss coming over the outpost address system… intermittent insect clicks and centipede limbs on soaked concrete…
…a frame-tent camp left abandoned under a rotting canopy… stone-circle campfire doused in ashy soil and leaves… foot-print pools leading in all directions between scattered refuse, plastic containers and broken branches… ripped awnings, twisted poles and tangled ropes… a small compass sinking diagonally into the sodden path…
6|6|7