Terror Tuesday: Inhalation Damage

What rose up from the burning trees was not
Just any ordinary drifting smoke.
The flames were not just ordinar'ly hot.
'Twas something in the wood, perhaps. They spoke
At first of beetles; timber they had killed
Burnt diff'rently. But soon the valley knew,
Especially those who'd worked that wood, who'd milled
It into Forest Products: it was blue
And lovely, yes, but it was also cursed.
As smoke did cloud the valley, each man saw
As enemies his neighbors. All dispersed.
Distrust grew into hate and fear. The law
Was powerless. The murders didn't stop
Until one frightened cop was left on top.