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Barron had spent the second half of the week lying on his stomach to avoid the pain of a burn he got through his T-shirt.
It took forever for him to find a comfortable position on his back that didn’t irritate the sensitive skin still healing from his exposure. Barron had never had such a bad burn before, and he hoped to never have one again.
William shook his head. “I couldn’t keep it on and get up in the treehouse. I had to check.”
He’d ask why, but he already knew the answer. Barron closed his eyes. Anyone not in a thick concrete basement or building, far from windows, had died. Most within hours. They were the lucky ones. The ones who weren’t lucky raved wildly, screaming in pain, before they collapsed.
Most of the folks dying like that were already gone. Finding the decomposing bodies, bloated and reeking in the late spring heat, wasn’t any better.
They’d cleared the cars first. Coach found Barron’s mom...