With the Whip
Two hundred pounds dropped from the artillery plane. A beast of a bomb calcified in the heart with naught but devastation roaring through its ugly mind. Nuclear holocaust teetering on the brink of apocalypse in the form of a hair point trigger. Too many maniacs with itchy fingers. Sweaty palms and ravaged agendas. Ready and overly willing to release the poisonous payload. How soon before it smashes? How many will be left standing? Mutation city. Radiation break away. Don’t take the candy when the stranger offers a sweet taste of bliss.
