It was late when we found the old woman. She was the last. We could see it on our readouts, the other sectors reporting in clean one after another. We'd been slow, and now she was the only one.
"Wait," I told Harris, as he raised his pulse-rifle.
"Getting soft?" he sneered.
"Not exactly. But she's the very last. When she's gone, that's it."
"Isn't that the point?"
"What will it do to us, I wonder, when nobody's left to hate us for what we've done. Where will it all go?"
Harris rolled his eyes and fired.
I'm still wondering.
The Shoveller Of Widdecombe Ditch (Trad.)
13 hours ago