We are in the midst of dozens of 100 degree days and plenty more ahead. Clouds have forgotten how to rain. Trees are drying out. Pipes are cracking. Someone showed me a video of a thirsty armadillo drinking from a water hose. That can't be normal.
Rain will come. Temperatures will fall. We will recover. For this post though, I'm fanning the hyperbole flame. Our fiery conditions brought to mind several great post-apocalyptic novels. Nothing like settling into a comfortable seat and reading about worlds falling apart.
David Moody's Autumn. The City
John Barnes' Daybreak Zero
Max Brooks' World War Z
Cormac McCarthy's The Road
Margaret Atwood's The Year of the Flood