...he ancestors of the American Indian had done, just pass straight from Alaska to Russia on foot. Nobody wanted to test it though.
Southern California once known for it's balmy near perfect weather now averaged just over sixty degrees during the day and dropped below freezing most nights. Going to Alaska . . . well it was past Canada and everybody in Canada had moved south. The men joked that it was so cold in Canada that if you didn't piss into a fire the piss froze inside you and your dick would fall off.
That wasn't the reason that Jesse was screaming at the very tops of her lungs cursing God, Einstein and every motherfucking weapons maker going all the way back to the man who'd first discovered how to sharpen sticks. The real reason she was screaming were the mutates. Monstrous creatures that had been warped by the blasts. Two headed bobcats, wolves the size of horses and worst of all were the Green Jackets, huge insects that looked like wasps. They hunted at night preferring and laid their eggs in human hosts. Jesse was screaming because she knew her fate and there was nothing she could do to change it.
She finished the soul hollowing shriek and grounded herself. Jesse leaned down picking up a piece of rebar that had been sharpened to a point and started trotting in dying light. She felt a pang of hypocrisy holding the makeshift spear she'd cursed only a moment before but that was quickly quelled by her pragmatism. It was the only hope...