13Blood SuckersThe sun had been low in the sky when Conn O'Cuinn took his place at the broken third-floor window of the derelict tenement building. The long fingers of late evening sun still massaged their way over the long-abandoned cars and slid around the regiment of vandalized parking meters standing guard on the road below. The effect was anomalous: the beautiful rays protectively encircling the dirty ugliness of the cityscape. Just wrong.
He was glad for the sun. It would serve his purpose well today although he still maintained it had no place in this hell-hole. The demons had brought the blistering heat. It charred the landscape, creating shriveling vegetation of lawns, parks, and fields, leaving only dust behind.
On some days in Detroit there was thick gray cloud cover. The sun
