The Distant Machine
The wind off the reservoir did not howl so much as it complained, a low, grinding friction against the rusted corrugated iron of the maintenance shed, a sound that seeped into the marrow of Elias Thorne’s bones as he sat on the overturned bucket, his boots caked in the gray sludge of the riverbank, his hands trembling not from the cold but from the terrible, vibrating weight of the device...
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