Be quiet. Very quiet. Don’t scream. They can’t see you, but they can hear you. And they’re coming. Knocking at doors and reaching through windows, hungry to incinerate anything that moves, anything that breathes. Born in a searing hellstorm of radioactive dust, they own the night and if they touch you, they’ll burn the flesh from your bones. Listen. They’re coming now. Don’t even whisper. And don’t scream.
