The jets and drones exploded over the Mississippi River as they had for the past four nights, during each of the raids on the Mothership. Supposed to be our protectors, our rebellion, they had become little more than fireworks bursting over the water, reflecting failure against the rolling surface of the river.
"Are you going to make a resolution?" Markie asked me.
"Why?" I responded. "What's the point? We're all going to be killed when the military stops giving them targets to distract them from the rest of us."
"Tradition?" she asked.
I smirked. She still could make me laugh.
Chemicals clouded into fog banks in the distance, and the screams of those trapped inside sounded small and so, so far away. As if they didn't matter. As if they wouldn't be us in the coming days.
"Okay, for tradition," I said as I pulled her to me. "I'll finally give up drinking. How 'bout that?"
She laughed. "And now that it's free for the taking with all the stores busted up and ready for looting." She paused. "Any idea what time it is?"
I made a pantomime of examining my watch, which had stopped at 4:45 PM three days ago after the EMP took out the town's power. "It's gotta be midnight somewhere," I said.
We kissed and watched the fireworks.
-- Sean Taylor
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