by Ria Rees


The last city sprawls below—a hodgepodge of rooftop slums. With the deafening thump of helicopter blades pounding in my skull, I radio the pilot. “Target below. Keep us steady.”

One finger trembling on the switch, I repeat my mantra. We tried everything.

A small group hails us from a hospital helipad, arms flailing madly. Leaning out, I spot a single child, starved and dirty. My breath catches. The remains of a plushie dangle from their hand. I swear they look right into my eyes.

I swallow my guilt, convince myself they’re infected, and drop the payload.

We tried everything.

Ria Rees

Ria Rees writes from her cosy cottage in Wales, praying that her creations will never become sentient. 


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