The shiny black motor flew across the barren, and vengeance followed.

Marcus felt like he was drowning, and his imminent demise tasted of ginger root.

The sun had left the day, times as they were, and Allgood was set for blood.

Rachel liked the smell of a wood fire, yet, she felt a bit more uncomfortable when that smell-and the fire-were indoors.

One of the hardest things to reckon out in the wide barren, times as they are, is not only losing folk that you held close, but trying to keep a strangle on the memories they left.

Every time he balanced one of the massive tobacco jars between his arthritic fingers, Morris briefly considered escape.

Rhamuel watched the helicopter effortlessly lift into the air, and he briefly pondered how useful such a thing could be out in the barren.

Stirring, Abranyah woke, and after a small stretch of lip smacking and unfocused blinking, she saw that Rhamuel was covered in blood.

There was a solemn nature about a place designed to fly folk around the landscape-especially one now long past use-but the way Rhamuel figured, it was just a big graveyard without any bodies.

Some think The Whatever came in the form of an all-out piece of military vengeance, someone with their mitts too close to the red button and a predilection for sociopathy.