The Last Plague

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Thanks and gratitude to my family and friends, present and absent; my old mates from the good old days (you know who you all are). Cheers to Matt Darst for his beta-reading talents and literary wisdom, Paul M. Feeney for the kind words, Adam and Zoe Millard for having faith in me, David Moody, Wayne Simmons, Adam Baker and Conrad Williams for inspiring me, everyone in the Facebook groups Moody’s Survivors and the Wayne Simmons Fan Page, all the other writers I’ve come to know online, and everyone who’s ever supported me and my writing.

My humble appreciation to you all.

Her name was Florence, and she did not cry when the end of the world came. She didn’t scream when Mr. Stewart from next door stumbled into the garden with something pulsing and wet erupting from his throat.

In the distance a plane fell from the sky and vanished beyond the curve of the earth. She heard the explosion just before the black smoke stained the horizon. She imagined fire and metal and people burning in their seats. She imagined bodies obliterated by impact with the earth.

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