âKind of sad, really,â Oliver said, wincing at the cheap watered down whiskey in his glass.
âSorry for the drink,â Death rasped. âItâs the only whiskey left in the world.â
Oliver gave a wry grin. âNot your fault, old chap. Weâre the ones who mucked everything up.â
The two looked out of the living room at the expanding mushroom cloud.
âAny time youâre ready,â Oliver said.
âNot quite yet. Y...