We stopped at a gas station today. While Helen pumped the gas, I went into the convenience store to pick up more food. The man behind the counter was watching a news report on the television. It was about the recent outbreak in Chicago -- there were images (with the appropriate "graphic warning" beforehand) of people with bark growing from their skin, flowers blooming from their eyes. Officials have lots of names for it, but most people just call it Gaia's Disease.
"What I can't understand," the man behind the counter said, "is why they're keeping them alive?"
"The victims?" I said. "It's not their fault."
"Yeah, but they're spreading it," the man said. "Just kill them all and burn the place down, that's why I think they should do."
Burn Chicago to the ground. That would solve one problem and bring up a host of others. Better not tell him about the Burning Bride or the Chariot, however. Stay off the radar, Carla.
"Just these," I said as I put the bundle of sandwiches and water on the counter. I handed him a credit card that wasn't mine, but I knew would work. The transaction went through perfectly. "Thanks."
The man turned back to the television, still reporting death and destruction. I left him to it.
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