The last city.
The only way out.
“Please,” the man begged. “Help. There are kids.”
She stood there, headache a mile wide, marveling how far she’d come. I’m not a bomb, anymore, she thinks. I won’t make a crater unless I mean to.
“Please,” he wept, pressing a hand against the barrier she held.
“I am helping,” she said, watching the last of him fall away into dust.
I’m not a bomb, she thinks, smiling sadly.
“But I’m still a weapon.”
