Catching up on my three-liners, Sonya’s weekly photo prompt.
Photo ©Martins Zemlickis
They jogged out of the underpass, suddenly cold though they had entered in hot June sunshine, and into uncanny silence.
Broken trees dripped chill; sleet blew in a rising gale, and the howling that began was not the voice of the wind.
The marathon runners had left the summer of ’16 and emerged in the post apocalypse of ’26, where the Beast was waiting for them.