The driver shook his head, spreading his arms wide, no words left on his white-dust lips, his bright-red eyes. There was nothing here, not a living thing worth killing, not a crop to uproot not a hut to demolish, only dust and the smell of hot metal. Somewhere, someone who couldn’t see his target had opened fire on nothingness, and where there had been nothing before, now even less of nothing remained.
The End of the Day by Claire North (page 149)
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