The Children of the Dome
PART ONE: THE SCRAPYARD GODS The mist over the Mississippi delta didn't roll—it hung, thick and yellow and alive, like the breath of something dead that refused to stop breathing. Buck McCullough waded through it with a crowbar and a burlap sack, picking through the ruins of what had once been a town called Bayou Cane. Now it was just another skeleton in the swamp, half-swallowed by cypress...
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