Long Gone Domain

Nine yards till noon, and we're still walking. Like cadets in war
the packs are low and the hope is strong. I walk with a bandoleer full
of cartridges of this and that, a bit of morphine, two pistols and
rifle slung over my back. It's Christmas here in the waste and we're
hunting Barbitol.
Several stories have circulated with hints and near misses as to his
whereabouts, it's a strange case of mistaken identities and slight
miscalculations of appearances. This beast is hard to track. In Newport
he was six-two, three-fifty. In Haines he was five-six, two-twenty.
I've even heard reports he may be a midget on the outskirts of
Hanhoi.
I can feel my mind jerk with strange images as we pass into the waste.
Atomics ripped the last shreds of space-time fabric and if you pay
attention to where you are you see that you're absolutely no where.
Five were lost to this madness and I'm sure we'll lose ten more by the
time we get to the other side of the gap.
Reginald spotted a bomb snug in the Earth a mile or two back. The
detonator was still armed, we left it maybe in the hopes it would go
off while we were in the vicinity. No transmissions out here. Just lost
space. Did I tell you we're hunting Barbitol?
The the the the the the the the the the the the th eth eth
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