[The generator, at least, seemed to be running fine. It churned along at a dull roar, enough to obliterate the hiss of trapped air escaping, the sigh of new breath pushing in against the soft resistance of heavy ribs and unhelpfully still diaphragm.
Nothing. Conspicuous, uncanny nothing - not even the familiar jerks and twitches of the dying. Which might be some comfort, or might not.]
Day 6
Nothing. Conspicuous, uncanny nothing - not even the familiar jerks and twitches of the dying. Which might be some comfort, or might not.]