“The sunlight on the floor was the syrupy gold of afternoon when Jit was wakened from sleep by a touch that lanced through him like a hot needle. Reacting from the well of dreams, he struck at the thing that threatened him. Jesus, what a wind. Where’d that come from? The sharp otherness of the outsider’s thoughts was choppy, fragmented. Reaching for it, Jit tasted curiosity and fear, a hint of bravado, and the bloody taste of horror. Through the outsider’s eyes Jit watched fingers quickl...y flipping toggles and levers, correcting for the killing breeze. Saw the drawn concentration of the pilot before the thinker turned away to watch the city below. The strangers flew above the city, far above it, looking down on a wide ruined plain of rubble blackened by fire. Everything was dead. The Bronx, the watcher’s thought echoed in Jit’s head. The thinker looked bleakly across the Harlem River with a sick expectation of worse to come.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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