The Golden Greenhouse
The mud was thick. It sucked at his boots with a wet, rhythmic sound, like a mouth chewing on a bone. Major Elias Thorne waded forward. The forest was wrong. The trees were too green. A vibrant, impossible green that hummed against the gray of the sky. He held his rifle loose in his hand. The weight of it was familiar. A comfort. He was hunting a signal. A text message that had been sent from...
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