Guidelines for Cleansing of Fresh Water Tanks

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datatime: 2022-09-25 14:05:05 Author:cSlwqaYT

Artie came trudging toward them, holding his wrist. The man with the ski mask looked up quickly and then continued his work, taking off his gloves and untying one of the knots in the cord so he could slide the jugs off. "Sonofabitch get you?" he asked Artie.

He grunted, glanced at her and then went back to his task. The stream of blood was weakening. "Long way to walk," he said. "Hell of a long way, especially for nothing."

"I mean that there's no Detroit anymore. It was blown away. Just like there's no Pittsburgh or Indianapolis or Chicago or Philadelphia anymore. I'd be surprised if any city's left. By now, I guess the radiation's done a number on the little towns, too." The flow of blood had almost stopped. He capped the second jug, which was about half full, and then he carved a longer slit in the dead animal's belly. He thrust his naked hands into the steaming wound up to his wrists.

He planted the rifle he was carrying butt first in the snow, then unwrapped the cord that held the plastic jugs from around his shoulder. He set these down, too, near the still-kicking animal. His pack was shrugged off, and then he unzipped it with gloved fingers and took out an assortment of various-sized Tupperware bowls with sealed plastic lids. He set them in an orderly row in the snow before him.

"You run out of gas? Have a blowout?"

She heard a sharp crack followed closely by a third. The wolf-dog that had her ankle shuddered and shrieked, and Sister saw blood spewing from a hole in its side. The animal let her go and began to spin in a circle, snapping at its tail. A fourth shot rang out-Sister realized the beast had been pierced by a bullet-and she heard an agonized howling over where Artie Wisco lay. Then the others were fleeing, slipping and sliding and crashing into one another in their haste to escape. They were gone from sight within five seconds.

She did as he asked, and he started pulling out handfuls of bloody, steaming intestines. He chopped them up and began filling the bowls. "Did I get that other bastard?" he asked Artie.

"Yeah. Gashed my hand. I'm okay, though. Where'd you come from?"

He planted the rifle he was carrying butt first in the snow, then unwrapped the cord that held the plastic jugs from around his shoulder. He set these down, too, near the still-kicking animal. His pack was shrugged off, and then he unzipped it with gloved fingers and took out an assortment of various-sized Tupperware bowls with sealed plastic lids. He set them in an orderly row in the snow before him.

"Yeah, I think so." She had bruises on bruises, but nothing was broken.

He grunted, glanced at her and then went back to his task. The stream of blood was weakening. "Long way to walk," he said. "Hell of a long way, especially for nothing."

"Get away, you bastard" she shouted. The animal jerked her so hard she thought her leg had popped from its socket. With a scream of rage, Sister swung the duffel bag at it, clipping its snout, and the thing turned tail. But a second later another one was straddling her, its fangs snapping for her throat; she threw her arm up, and the jaws clamped onto it with brutal force. The wolf-dog started shredding the cloth of her coat. She swung her left fist at it, caught it in the ribs and heard it grunt, but it kept tearing through the coat, now reaching the first layer of sweater. Sister knew this sonofabitch wasn't stopping until he tasted meat. She hit it again and tried to wrench free, but now something had her ankle again and was pulling her in another direction. She had the crazy mental image of saltwater taffy being stretched until it snapped.

"I mean that there's no Detroit anymore. It was blown away. Just like there's no Pittsburgh or Indianapolis or Chicago or Philadelphia anymore. I'd be surprised if any city's left. By now, I guess the radiation's done a number on the little towns, too." The flow of blood had almost stopped. He capped the second jug, which was about half full, and then he carved a longer slit in the dead animal's belly. He thrust his naked hands into the steaming wound up to his wrists.

"You don't know that"

"Get away, you bastard" she shouted. The animal jerked her so hard she thought her leg had popped from its socket. With a scream of rage, Sister swung the duffel bag at it, clipping its snout, and the thing turned tail. But a second later another one was straddling her, its fangs snapping for her throat; she threw her arm up, and the jaws clamped onto it with brutal force. The wolf-dog started shredding the cloth of her coat. She swung her left fist at it, caught it in the ribs and heard it grunt, but it kept tearing through the coat, now reaching the first layer of sweater. Sister knew this sonofabitch wasn't stopping until he tasted meat. She hit it again and tried to wrench free, but now something had her ankle again and was pulling her in another direction. She had the crazy mental image of saltwater taffy being stretched until it snapped.

She did as he asked, and he started pulling out handfuls of bloody, steaming intestines. He chopped them up and began filling the bowls. "Did I get that other bastard?" he asked Artie.

"I mean that there's no Detroit anymore. It was blown away. Just like there's no Pittsburgh or Indianapolis or Chicago or Philadelphia anymore. I'd be surprised if any city's left. By now, I guess the radiation's done a number on the little towns, too." The flow of blood had almost stopped. He capped the second jug, which was about half full, and then he carved a longer slit in the dead animal's belly. He thrust his naked hands into the steaming wound up to his wrists.

"Yeah, I think so." She had bruises on bruises, but nothing was broken.

He planted the rifle he was carrying butt first in the snow, then unwrapped the cord that held the plastic jugs from around his shoulder. He set these down, too, near the still-kicking animal. His pack was shrugged off, and then he unzipped it with gloved fingers and took out an assortment of various-sized Tupperware bowls with sealed plastic lids. He set them in an orderly row in the snow before him.

The wounded animal fell on its side a few feet away from Sister, its legs kicking frantically. She sat up, stunned and dumbfounded, and saw Artie struggling to rise, too. His feet went out from under him, and he flopped down again.

"Yeah, I think so." She had bruises on bruises, but nothing was broken.

The wounded animal fell on its side a few feet away from Sister, its legs kicking frantically. She sat up, stunned and dumbfounded, and saw Artie struggling to rise, too. His feet went out from under him, and he flopped down again.

He stood over Sister. "You okay?" His voice sounded like steel wool scrubbing a cast-iron skillet.

"They can be tough motherfuckers," he said, and then he began to carve the animal's head from its neck. "Open that big bowl, lady," he told her.

"Uh... Detroit," Artie managed to say.

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