It had taken five years for a coherent narrative to trickle up from the States, assembled from the testimony of survivors and a team of investigators who had crisscrossed the country looking for any evidence not destroyed by the perpetrators. A lab accident, then deliberate releases elsewhere (as if the flu could not move fast enough on its own); and something else, something unscientific: some terrible disaster both natural and supernatural, culminating in a single atomic explosion that had ended whatever it was for good. Val knew about the dreams and the sides chosen; people had written
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What fucking nonsense.
