Breeding at the End of the World
Copyright 2012 Julianne Reyer
This is a work of fiction. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
The curved alabaster ship glided by the skeletal frame of what was once a skyscraper. Another scout hunting for survivors, no doubt, he thought.
From his perch on a cratered building, Greg flexed his hand over the soft grip, easing his finger over the trigger. Although it had been overcast for months and the temperature had dropped to an unnatural low, sweat beaded on his brow as he focused through the scope.
Randy braced himself on the crumbling concrete next to him with a spotter’s scope, relaying calculations for the shot in a hushed voice.
“It’ll disappear behind rubble in about five seconds,” he whispered.
Greg watched the target slide just shy of the crosshairs and pulled the trigger. The rifle popped and jerked back in his hand, the sound muffled by a modified silencer.