The Distant Metropolis
The hydroponic tray sat heavy in Harold Stroud’s hands, the water inside sloshing against the plastic with a dull, rhythmic thud as he carried it up the rusted ladder into the comms relay shed. His shoulders ached from the weight of the day, a deep, grinding pain that had settled into the muscle fiber hours ago when he had hauled the last of the salvage from the storm-drifted field. The smoke...
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