Bøger af Wayne Kyle Spitzer

He'd stepped on the gas considerably-all that adrenaline from feuding with Tucker, I suppose-and no one noticed the buck standing in the middle of the road except me until-"Jesus, look out!"-until it struck the grill like an oncoming vehicle and tumbled up against the windshield, breaking it into a thousand spidery rings, and smearing it with blood as the truck careened wildly about the road and finally came to a rest in the ditch.It didn't take long to access the damage, and the short of it was: we weren't going anywhere-other than on foot. The old Ford had a crushed radiator, and, somehow, a flat tire.I'd never see Danny quite so upset, quite that livid, and I guess I never will again. As for Tucker, he seemed more bemused by the situation than anything, and volunteered to stay with the truck-but really just the kills-while the rest of us hoofed it into town-to fetch a tow truck, I suppose.It was Billy who first noticed the thing's eyes, and called us all over. Sure enough, the buck was a dead ringer for the one I'd missed in the clearing, right down to the red diamond above its snout. It even had 13 tines.After checking the doe in the payload by holding open its eye, Danny said, "Some kind of disease, maybe?""I ain't never seen a disease that turns eyes white," said Billy."Yeah. Me neither," said Danny. He exhaled sharply, looking down at the thing. "Okay, that settles it.""What do you mean," said Tucker."What do you think I mean? I mean it can't be eaten. We don't even dare butcher it until someone from fish and game has a look. So guard your prize, asshole. But I wouldn't get too attached if I was you.""Is that so?""Yeah. That's so." He turned to the rest of us as if to say, Ready?We were.

She focused on her breathing, trying indeed not to hyperventilate, but feeling as though her heart might punch through her chest at any moment. The spot where he had touched her seemed to burn and freeze at the same time. "You don't remember ... do you?" His brown eyes suddenly twinkled and he shook his head. "No? You don't remember calling on me in the depths of those first awful nights, when you were at your most exposed, when you were at your most vulnerable?" He stroked her long, brown hair with an almost impossible gentleness; it was as though a cool-warm breeze rifled it rather than his fingers. "When it was just you and the boy ... alone, scared. Cold. Hungry?" She began to shake her head almost violently, her breathing and heart rate accelerating once again. "Oh, yes," he said, squinting, smiling. "You did. All the world did. It's nothing to be ashamed of. You called on many during that time, in those hours and days and weeks after the Flashback-you wouldn't have been aware of it. And you cursed the One who had brought it upon you ... who had taken your husband and your daughter; who had taken so many husbands and daughters. It's okay. We-we don't judge. Not like them," He looked at the hazy sky and the alien-colored lights, at the sun itself which was a white disk in the smoke. "Not like Him."

After breaking their sworn oaths in a fit of forbidden passion, a sacrificial bride (Shekalane) and her fearsome escort (the ferryman Dravidian) find themselves alone and on the run in the subterranean river-world of Ursathrax."Do you know what it is?" he said at last.She studied it, nodding slowly. "I think so. It's a doorway, of sorts. It's what awaits on the other side of death."Dravidian nodded. "It is what Montair speaks of. Not death-but transition. For what winks out in one place winks on in another, always." He stared at the fountain, his eyes seeming to dream. "If I were to step through that door ..." He turned to face her. "Would you come with me?"She looked at him longingly-at his fearsome mask-but hesitated. She trusted him, and yet, was this not how death would come? As a whispering seduction?"I don't know yet," she said.There was a soft hiss as he depressed the pad at his temple and swung the mask around to his back, then moved his lips to within a few centimeters of her own and paused, breathing slowly, seeming to draw her own breaths from her. "But you would consider it ...""But, Dravidian, where would we go? How would we survive?"He cupped her face in his hands. And though he was too close for her to see his face clearly, his beautiful eyes with their golden irises and Stygian pupils drew her in inexorably, like black holes with golden linings, if such a thing were even possible, and she whispered, "I would step through it ..."He took her in his arms and drew her slowly against him. "And would you find the strength within yourself to persevere even when the world turns its cold face against us?""Yes," she rasped."Then run with me, Shekalane. To the end of Ursathrax and beyond ..." And he gently but firmly locked his lips with her own.

Detective Rowe: Let's go back now-to when you first saw it move. Is that all right?Westbrook: Sure. Like I said, I'd just woken up from the dream when I heard it, just rumbling across the field where they'd been working on the road-Detective Rowe: The I-890-North Schenectady Corridor.Westbrook: Sure, I guess. So I went to my window-you know, to see what was going on, and saw it sputtering to a stop near the office trailers and other equipment-which were all covered in snow-just shutting down with a rattle, like it had been running for a long time. That's when I first noticed it, how clean it was-there was no snow on it at all. Like-Detective Rowe: But it was there when you went to sleep, isn't that correct?Westbrook: Yes, of course. Covered in snow. It hadn't moved since December, when they had that accident-you know, where the worker was killed.Detective Rowe: Clarke. The foreman. I seem to recall they had several accidents; including when they rammed into that layer of concrete.Westbrook: (inaudible)Detective Rowe: What?Westbrook: The Meyers. James and Mia. That's where the concrete was at. I used to talk with them sometimes, before the accid-Detective Rowe: You knew them?Westbrook: Before the traffic accident. The one with the semi. Last summer.Detective Rowe: Yes, I seem to recall that too. Something about them accelerating out of control-Westbrook: I think they did it.Detective Rowe: I'm sorry?Westbrook: The bugs.Detective Rowe: The ... bugs.Westbrook: (inaudible): In the concrete. Where the Meyers buried them. At least, until the road grader came along ...

In a future time and place ... a gender war reaches its terrifying zenith. A dark fantasy fable for the "Me Too" era.As for Jasper, he had proven to be an erudite and charming host in spite of his great age, and had regaled her with tales from before the Pogrom and before what men called the Betrayal throughout dinner, until music was heard outside and they looked out the cracked window to see a black War Wagon zoom past with its red lights flashing and its belly (presumably) full of Witch Doctors, after which a silence settled over the room and his tone became more somber. "You want to know what happened ... how women became witches and men became Witch Doctors. And how the sexes became so estranged that they would kill each other on sight rather than suffer another Betrayal or Pogrom. Don't you?"She nodded slowly.He dabbed at the corners of his mouth with his napkin and sat back. "Well, I told you how things were, how men and women were. That there weren't any Witch Doctors except the kind you saw on TV, and there weren't-" He paused, noticing how they both looked confused. "TV-television-the boob tube, squawk box, the glass teat. Nevermind. It's not important. The thing is, men and women liked each other. Sure, they got to squabbling once in a while-hell, some might say that was half the fun of it. But they didn't fear and mistrust each other to the extent that, that-okay, well, some did-they'd kill each other. The point I'm trying to make is: they were bumper cars that enjoyed ... bumping."Satyena and Jeremiah looked at each other."They danced," said Jasper. "And when they danced it was something to see. But over time that dance began to sour, mainly because, outside the dance hall, only one side seemed to have all the power. Now, whether that was true or not depends on your point of view, but having read all about it and lived through some of it, I'd say the case could be made. And if you're wondering," He looked at Satyena. "It was your ancestors that felt they didn't have any power. So, steps were taken to even the balance, just as they were with my own ancestors, and I think most would say that those steps were successful."Again there was the sound of music, and again a War Wagon blew past with its lights flashing."The problem with human nature is, it doesn't know when to stop. Eventually, every apparatus designed to right a wrong just becomes a new one-it has to, you see, because once created, its focus becomes its own survival. That's when the ideologues come-like saviors, some would say, while others would say like vampires-who feed off everyone's fear, stoking it and fanning the flames. Our Chairman Kill-sin is a man like that. Perhaps you've a counterpart among the witches ..."Satyena nodded.

"Shut up, " said Handlebar. He wiped his lip. "Listen."The floorboards were shifting beneath their feet.Carl looked around. "What is it?""Is it under the dock?" said Ned.Handlebar ignored them, listening. The planks of the pier flexed and fell like piano keys.Lonny retreated still further. "Maybe we should get back inside.""You gonna swim for it?" said Stanley. "We're cut off."Lonny looked at the cedar pole laying across the deck, and the downed lines which popped and frizzled. His lower lip started to tremble.Suddenly, starting at the apex of the dock, the floorboards jumped-rifling and breaking and splintering in a line. The men clambered off Chin, scattering as something split the dock up the middle, like a torpedo. Chin turned, saw a wave of busting boards rushing at him. He scrambled to his feet and dove out of the way, landed at the edge where he saw a dark shape sweep past just below the surface. A tail-long as the first creature's entire body.Everything stopped, and there was a silence."Stay alert," shouted Chin. He scrambled away from the edge. "It hasn't gone. It's still under the dock."Everyone looked at each other as wood creaked and water lapped. Even Handlebar seemed frightened and disheveled."Screw this shit, man," said Lonny. He backed toward the cafe, toward the spitting electrical cables. His eyes were bugged out and his flesh had gone white as bird shit. He dropped his rifle.Handlebar stared at his own boots, which were soaked in blood. He seemed to be having some sort of internal crisis. He reached up with a trembling hand and twisted his mustache repeatedly. He came out of it suddenly and looked at Lonny."Hey. Kid. Listen." He walked toward him, changing clips. "You're taking all this too seriously. It's toying with us, that's all."He held out his shotgun to him. "Here. The goo-Chin-he's right. It's still beneath the dock. Probably scared. Why don't you do the honors?"Lonny hesitated, trembling. "Y-you mean it's just trying to scare us?"Handlebar tweaked his nose. "That's right."The fire returned to the young man's eyes-almost. He looked around the shattered dock, at the riddled corpse and the oily, bloody water, at the spitting power lines and the dead lights, the peeling boardwalk on the shore.He shook his head. "No, it's not. It-it doesn't pretend, like you. It's gonna kill us, that's all." He stepped closer. "Can't you see that? You posing hillbilly? The spill's given it a-a lean season. It's sick, and it' s hungry, and ..."He glanced at the corpse. "We probably just killed its mate."

Still he continued: "The wall was necessary. It was necessary, okay? Look, we had to. We had to. People say the money could have been better spent-that it didn't need the spikes, say, or the gangway for the guards, or the mote. But I play into people's fantasies. People may not always think big themselves, but they can still get very excited by those who do. That's why a little hyperbole never hurts. People want to believe that something is the biggest and the greatest and the most spectacular. In the case of my wall, it is the biggest and the greatest and the most spectacular-I mean, have you seen it? Beautiful. Beautiful. Wouldn't you say, Coup?"Coup looked around as people started to wake up. "Well, I-I guess as far as walls go-it's a monster, that's for sure. Makes for some great shade. About 50-billion dollars' worth."Nobody said anything."I take it you don't agree," said the President."I'd say your instinct on that is flawless," said Coup. He looked the man squarely in the face. "As always."Tucker just looked back-his large eyes puffy and purple, his brow furrowed. It was pretty clear that he wasn't used to being challenged-on anything. "What's not coming through anymore, Coup?"Abbie yawned and tried to intervene woozily. "Has anyone eaten anything? I'm starving ...""No, no, no. What's not coming through anymore?"Coup pinched the bridge of his nose, already tired with the conversation. "Look, how about we just leave it-""Murderers, Coup. Drug runners. Human traffickers. Bing bing, bong bong, bing bing. You name it. Rapists ...""Murderers and rapists ...""Well, someone was doing the raping, Coup! I mean, somebody was doing it. Who was doing the raping? Who was doing the raping?""Jesus, I was doing raping, can we drop it, si?" said Johnny from Tuscan, and stood, leaving the group.Tucker and Coup looked at each other as Briggs straightened in his chair."Going to I.D. him, Chief?" said Coup, his eyes still locked with the President.And then something thumped against the window and everyone jumped, and when they all focused on it they saw an enormous tri-clawed hand pressed open-palmed against the glass; a hand which moved downward as they watched so that the tips of its claws scraped like fingernails on a chalkboard. Then it was gone, retreating into the gloom-within which Coup saw a massive shape shift and move forward, even as another massive shape crossed opposite it, so that it was clear to him that whatever had touched the window was not alone.

It was a moment that would stretch indefinitely until they lay naked and depleted in the over-cab bedroom of his fifth-wheeler, which was parked in the diner's back lot, at which time she whispered, even while edging toward sleep, "Your ring. It glowed as we danced, did you know that?"His body stiffened immediately. "It what?""Your hard-to-explain ring," she said, and giggled a little. "It-it lit up. Where on earth did you get that thing? I've never seen anything like-"He sat up with a start, everything about him seeming suddenly electrified, suddenly rigid. "What color was it?"She tittered hesitantly. "And that matters because ...?"He grabbed her by the throat-not particularly hard, but enough to hurt. "What color was it?"Her mind reeled. Hasn't it always been just a matter of when? "Green. It was green. You're-you're hurting me."He released her suddenly and looked out the window. "Green ... by the gods. What shade?" He looked at her abruptly. "What shade, Sarah?"She began to inch away from him slowly. "Just -just green. Dark green, I think. It-it only did it for-"And then she was scrambling-disentangling herself from the sheets, tumbling dangerously down the thickly-carpeted stairs, climbing to her bare feet.A gunshot rang out as she reached for the door and wood chips exploded from the cabinets above her. "Open that door and we die-do you understand?"She looked to see him crouched at the top of the stairs, pistol in hand. "The best we can hope for now is to remain still ... and pray they don't find us. Now step away from the door-do it!"She stared at him for several breaths, her heart hammering in her chest, wondering if he would really shoot-if he was really that crazy."Dark green, by the gods. Thazgul ..."Yes, she could see now that he was. Could see it just as clear as day. Could see that he'd always been crazy and had always looked it: she'd just been too stupid to see-too needy, too agreeable. Hasn't it always been just a matter of when?

"Ah, yes, indeed. I see now why little Joyung was so frightened ..."The voice had come from the wagon. Instinctively, I cocked my head back as to peer beneath the visor, and saw a man older than myself yet young nonetheless leaning against the rear of the coach, his head only inches from the wine-skin, and his arms folded in front of him. There was an exquisite black cane wedged between his arms and his chest, just below the handle of which shown a single cut ruby which blinked in the dark like a cat's eye in shadow. He was a tall, well-dressed man sporting a neatly-trimmed black beard and a high-hat of the same color.The thought was but a fleeting one, but it struck me as odd that the monkey had not followed him out of the wagon."Death has come to claim its own," the sharp-dressed man nearly whispered, and strode forward with a gleam in his eye, twirling the cane as he walked. "What'll it be, ferryman? A few trinkets for the children? Some finery for the lady, perhaps?"I looked to him with sour surprise. Then, feigning insult, said, "Who would call me a ferryman?" My hand had come to rest on Rosethorn's pommel.The stranger emerged from half-light and shadow into the multi-hued glow of the lanterns."You may call me Fenris-Wolf." He smiled disarmingly, and his teeth gleamed white and perfect in the lamplight. ..". for now."

Carnosaurs ... gangs of killer hipsters ... post-apocalypse Seattle is to die for.Welcome to the Big Empty, the world after the Flashback ... a world in which most the population has vanished and where dinosaurs roam freely. You can survive here, if you're lucky, and if you're not in the wrong place at the wrong time--which is everywhere and all the time. But what you'll never do is remain the same, for this is a world whose very purpose is to change you: for better or for worse.It is a world where a band of survivors will face roving packs of monsters and men in post-apocalyptic Seattle to retrieve a prize of incalculable worth, and a group of travelers will find themselves trapped in a service station with an unravelling President of the United States as prehistoric horror closes in ..."Like Land of the Lost--for adults!" -- Erik Schubach, ScytheA Flashback Adventure

And that's when she saw something she would never forget, three somethings, actually, one no more incredible than the next. The first was that the marsupial lion had engaged with the much-larger therapods in a full-on melee, right there between the store and the gas pumps-an entire row of which were wiped out as she watched with just the swish of a tail. The second was the enormous fireball that resulted, which all but flattened the station and rose curling upon itself like a mushroom cloud, hiding the animals from view (if indeed they survived at all). And the third was the President's black limo (Cadillac One, she knew it was called, or "The Beast") barreling toward them across the desert-its tinted windows glinting, its fender flags on fire, and driven, it seemed likely (considering most everyone else was dead), by the President himself."Well that's something you don't see every day," she said, and looked at Coup, who only shrugged."When you gotta go, you gotta go," he said. "He went."

A shadow has come to the coastal town of Cthulhu Gardens, a butcher who leaves decapitated corpses in his wake -- including, it is feared, the town's own beloved sheriff. Yet there are whispers of a new shadow, a monstrous Other, a thing sharing the Garden's own likeness ....

"Well, now we are getting somewhere," says Sula, glancing him up and down, appearing victorious. "But she was not a witch like me, else she would not have done what she did. For that is exactly what happened, isn't it? Jadis became infected by M24 and slew her own son, and your son too. And then you spent the next year and a half wandering a world you no longer recognized, a world where the dead were stacked on every street corner and the bonfires burned day and night, until you stumbled into a beer hall one night because they were offering free bread and heard a powerful orator talking about male superiority and cleansing the world; and you listened, at first just because it felt good to have something in your stomach, but later because you were swayed, and that orator's name was Kill-sin, who would go on to found New Salem and rule it with an iron fist. Am I warm, Witch Doctor?"

"Look, you guys can do whatever you want," Kate interrupted, "but I'm not touching that thing." Her keys rattled as she removed them from her purse. "Besides, I've got a board meeting to attend." She moved toward the doors. "Apocalypse or no apocalypse.""Now wait a-" Rory began."Are you-" said Elliott."Is that really a good idea?" asked Coup, which at last caused her to turn around."I don't know, is it?" she said, and slung the purse over her shoulder. "Why don't you ask him?" She indicated Long. "He seems to know everything.""He's right," said Rory. "It's not a good idea.""It's the only idea," she snapped determinedly. She patted her purse warningly. "And don't even think about ..."But they were no longer looking at her- gazing instead at something which had swooped into view outside, something which seemed for an instant almost to hover-its muscles and ligaments twitching, making a thousand adjustments, its stretched membranes undulating, its talons outstretched-before it smashed against the glass like some great, dark kite (cracking it three different ways) and hit the ground violently, scrambling and flapping, leaping and taking wing again, disappearing from sight. All of which happened so fast that the woman in the red dress, having leapt away suddenly, didn't appear to have even seen it, much less identified it, and only said, finally, "What was that?" And then laughed. "Are we under attack by wild turkeys, for fuck's sake?"

"Take the fatal shot," said Horseshoe. He must have laid down his rifle because I remember him helping to steady my own. "Easy now, you'll own this forever-" I stared the thing in the eye and squeezed the trigger.It threw back its head, rising up. It gasped for breath, spitting more blood. It barked at the sky. Then it fell, head thumping against the deck. Its serpentine neck slumped. The rest of its blood spread over the boards and rolled around our boots and flowed between the planks.I was the first to step forward, looking down at the thing through drifting smoke.Its remaining eye seemed to look right back. I got down on my knees to look closer. The thing exhaled, causing the breathing holes at the top of its head, behind its eyes, to bubble. I waited for it to inhale, staring into its eye-I could see myself there as well as the others, could see the sky and the scattered clouds. The whole world seemed contained in that moist little ball. Then the eye rolled around white-it shrunk, drying, and the thing's neck constricted. And it died.Horseshoe slapped my back, massaged my neck. "How's it feel, little buddy?"But I didn't know what I felt. I could only stare at the eye, now empty.

He looked up at his apartment window after he'd gotten out of his truck, he didn't know why, and saw Sadie sitting in the sill, staring down at him, it seemed. Hey, you little psychopath, he thought, as the snow fluttered down and clung to his face. Have you been a good girl?He was relieved to find, a few minutes later, that she had: for nothing appeared amiss either in the kitchen or the living room. The bedroom, too, seemed in perfectly good order-although Sadie was no longer at the window, which did beg the question: Where on earth was she, exactly? He began calling out her name as he moved toward the bathroom, and was surprised by how little his voice sounded, how nervous."Sadie? Saaadie?"He felt a wave of apprehension as he entered the bathroom, he wasn't sure why, but was pleased to find it normal in every respect-there wasn't even any discernible cat box odor. He laughed a little at his own paranoia. What had he expected? 'REDRUM' scrawled across the mirror in cat shit?

One wind is for Ghost, a juvenile tyrannosaur who befriends a boy ... until he develops a taste for human flesh. Another wind is for 'Black Betty, ' a road grader possessed by demonic aliens. Still another is for Patrobus, Captain of the Witch Doctors in a war between men and women. Yet one more is for the haunted wind turbines which stand like sentinels outside a town near you ..

Lightning flashed above them, and thunder cracked. It was a sharp, ragged sound-like the crunch of a busting tree trunk. The man flinched, and Napoleon turned to face him. The two of them stared at each other through the rain and the steel mesh."So, we meet again," the man joked. He expected the sound of his voice would set the animal off. But nothing happened. The man swallowed. "I know you can see me," he said at last, and found he had to holler just to pierce the storm's din. "I know you can see me-because I can see you!" The Nano-T didn't move. The man laughed brusquely, and shook his head. "What's the matter-forget about last night?" Rain pounded on metal and roared down the gutter. The T remained still. Why wasn't it attacking? Was it wary of the shock prod? Was it sick? He readied his thumb over the prod's switch. There was only one way to find out ... The Nano-T dipped its head to the ground suddenly, sniffing the mud, and the man hesitated. He withdrew the prod and shuffled forward, peering through the mesh ... It wasn't mud the animal was sniffing. It was its own- Something wet and foul hit the fence, splattering, and the man jerked away. The T's narrow muzzle darted between the bars-and slammed to a stop. Its teeth gnashed; the fence shook. Its eyes stared out at him from its wide head, their golden coronas close to the mesh. The man fumed; it had flung its shit at him! He hit the LADDER DOORS plunger and the PADDOCK plunger simultaneously. Steel pulleys whirred, and iron doors slammed into the mud. Napoleon pulled back from the mesh, bleeding. He looked at the closed gates, owlish eyes blinking, and brushed at his lacerated snout with a fore-claw. The man closed the control box and jabbed him in the hip with the prod. The Nano-T jumped, squealing, and banged its head on a crossbeam. Hot orange sparks rained down in the mud. The man laughed, his mouth hung wide, and struck the animal again. Napoleon howled at the sky.

And then he was sliding down, down, leveling off briefly, then down again, and he couldn't help but notice that the people he had planned to rule were fleeing now, and that the Nano-T had broken off its engagement with the tiger long enough to snap at them and give chase, and that in its absence the great feline had turned its mighty head to face the bottom of the slide and opened its maw, which was mottled pink and black, and that he was helpless to do anything but continue sliding toward it-until his kicking feet and legs were trapped between its terrible, curved fangs and its central incisors bit mercilessly into his abdomen (which crunched and splattered and was ripped in two as his bowels exploded outward and his heart and lungs and spleen steamed on contact with the air) and blood erupted from his mouth only to gurgle back inside and choke him. And then the darkness engulfed him completely and he felt himself slithering between its throat muscles and down its gullet-into the burning blackness of its stomach, where he saw by a brief and inexplicable light the dead face of the man the cat had eaten earlier in the day, and knew at last that he walked the earth no more.

They both felt it at the same time, even as the train lurched forward and the cars jolted thunderously-a tremor in the very fabric of things, like a ripple in a foam of potentiality which contained in it the threads of all their possible futures. Something, somewhere, had just happened-something directly related to their current endeavor of delivering the bomb to Barley and detonating it amidst the Enemy. (An attack, you think, maybe an ambush? So soon?) communicated Ank, still smarting from his struggle to climb onto the flatcar with the added weight of the weapon. "You felt it too? Like one door closed and another had opened, but with disastrous consequences, for us all ..." Williams looked at him, rattled and bewildered. "Ank, how could we know that?" (It's possible that whatever this-this thing is, this event horizon, this convergence of power dynamics ... it's speeding up as we get closer, growing stronger. Meaning that the psychological link between us could be expanding to incorporate others. Regardless, it also means that our window for getting there has narrowed still further, possibly to the point of impossi-) "Ank, don't." (It's something we need to prepare ourselves for, Will. At any rate, I'd suggest just now that you encourage our friendly engineer to step on the gas a little, or a lot.) Williams leaned forward until they were almost nose to nose. "Our friendly engineer, in case you haven't noticed, is clearly insane!" (All the more reason to give it a shot. Just do it, Will. He may actually listen.) And then Williams was leaning over the side using one of Ank's spikes for a handhold while simultaneously yelling at the engineer, who poked his head out the engine's side window, his long, gray hair flying, and shouted, "You want speed, you got it, ha-ha! The world, she's a comin' back, yesiree!" He sounded the horn suddenly and Williams covered an ear, even as his hat blew off and fluttered away behind them. "The New World Special is back in service-and it's taking its passengers to the Promised Land! Ha-ha!"

It would be hard to describe how elated I felt upon returning to our fishing spot and finding the trout gone, though in truth I couldn't be sure if Ghost had gotten to it or some other predator-at least not until I stepped through (having had some difficulty in locating the portal, I confess) and saw the fresh prints.And yet of Ghost himself there was no trace, even after I'd called out to him-in the hopes he might recognize my voice- and laid the new fish down (a giant halibut which had cost me my entire allowance); positioning it halfway in and out of the portal so I could monitor it even while studying on the nearby rocks.Nor did I have to wait long, for I'd barely cracked my history book when I just happened to look up and see the halibut yanked all the way in, at which I stood abruptly and approached-but was beat to the mark by Ghost himself, whose snout emerged out of thin air and was quickly followed by his neck and body-even the entirety of his tail-until we were facing each other next to the Mohawk River: Ghost still swallowing and licking his non-lips, and both of us, I think, chilled by the November wind."That's it," I said, rubbing my gloves together, splaying my empty hands. "No more. At least not today."He cocked his head at this, his pink, rabbit's eyes blinking, before rearing back and barking at the sky-like a sea lion, I thought-just yark, yark, yark!"Nope. All done. You're just going to have to wait until tomorrow-when I'll try to bring more. Can you do that?"He just looked at me, his little fore-claws opening and closing-a kind of prehistoric hand-wringing, I supposed. And it occurred to me-not for the first time-that, at least in the short-term, I might be his only means of survival; that, indeed, if I didn't feed him he might very well starve.What did not occur to me, at least until he began sniffing the air between us and slowly moving toward me, is that I myself might be in danger-that, in lieu of more fish or perhaps even a big dragonfly, he might try kid. Might try lying little turd-wad who was going to start 7th grade next year. Might try Denial Boy who was still convinced his parents were marooned on a desert isle and would turn up any day.Which is when, having begun backing away, I tripped over an above-ground root and fell, sprawling, onto my back, at which instant the animal's snout darted for my head and I screamed-only to find, seconds later, that it had not attacked me at all ... but begun licking me; yes, licking me, sliding its great, pebbly tongue up and down my face, slathering my cold cheeks in gooey spit, breathing into my nostrils-filling the world with dinosaur. Filling it with heat and musk and stench.And filling it, too, with something else, something I'd been missing since the last time I'd seen my mother; a thing frowned upon in Grandma's house (where the nape of the rugs always lay left to right and the plastic floor runners always gleamed and the books in their glass-faced cabinets always stood so silent, to be viewed and not read).Mere touch. Mere contact. Mere things coming into contact with other things. Like what I felt for Jenny or even my favorite T-shirt and wool blanket-the one with the U.S.S. Enterprise on it-like what I felt for my plastic model kits and comic books and beat-up fishing pole (even though I never used it).Something familiar, something secret. Something, I supposed, like love. Or what a boy could know of it.

Welcome to the Big Empty, the world of the Flashback ... a world in which most the population has vanished and where dinosaurs roam freely. You can survive here, if you're lucky, and if you're not in the wrong place at the wrong time--which is everywhere and all the time. But what you'll never do is remain the same, for this is a world whose very purpose is to change you: for better or for worse.It is a world where a group of travelers will find themselves trapped in a service station with an unravelling President of the United States as the prehistoric horrors close in ...Where a band of survivors must face roving packs of monsters and men in post-apocalyptic Seattle to retrieve a prize of incalculable worth ...Where rioting teenagers must face deadly predators as well as their own demons while ransacking the nation's capital ...Where a Native-American warrior will seek to bury his past and offer an elegy for all the world in what remains of Las Vegas ...Where a gambling park which races dinosaurs instead of horses will rise up against a tyrannical despot ...Where a dog separated from his owners will undergo a terrifying journey and a great trophy hunter will meet his ultimate fate.In short, it is a world where anything can and does happen. So take a deep dive into these loosely connected tales of the Dinosaur Apocalypse (each of which can be read individually or as a part of the greater saga): tales of wonder and terror, death and survival, blood ... and beauty. Do it today ... before the apocalypse comes.

She looked forward at Dravidian, who was also a mere shape in the night, and her heart pounded as she watched him draw upon his oar. Beautiful, undead stranger, who bid you welcome into my heart and made me feel for you almost as a lover? Will you not still deliver me to your Lucitor if you survive? Will you not use your key again to open the gates of hell at the processing terminal only to row away from me forever with your humane, dreaming eyes and your thoughts and quotes of Montair? Who are you to me, ferryman, and who am I to you? Is it selfish of me to want to live even if that means you will surely die? And are you not doing the same? Life is selfish, only a fool believes otherwise; passion is selfish, and above all, love is selfish!She looked toward Valdus and saw that he was close enough to make eye contact with, and she did so lingeringly, seeing in his face something she had never seen there before, something eager and pure and almost innocent; he was as a child to her in that instant, and yet he was also as a stranger, like something from another life altogether, whereas Dravidian somehow shared her time and space and interiority, had done so, somehow, even before she had met him, and as she turned away from them both to ponder the extra oar she wondered how the word "love" had even come into her mind.You try so hard just to make do and to get by, she thought, You try and you try and you try. And some days, you succeed! But then comes a black coin to first your husband's palm and then your son's, and finally your own, and everything you thought you knew is suddenly up for reinterpretation. Then comes a lover who is obsessed for all the right reasons but still obsessed, then comes war and rebellion and the Hour of a Thousand Paths in which anything and everything is possible. And then, just when you think you can peaceably say goodbye to it all, when the numbness finally becomes libation instead of pain, then ...Comes a ferryman.And it was at that moment and none before that she realized precisely what she had to do.

I wish I could say that when Benson and his gang showed up we drew on some previously unknown strength and kicked their Rich Kid asses; that we chased them all the way back to their fancy cars and tucked and rolled seats and kicked in their doors and fenders; although we really would do that later, not to them personally but to guys like them, in those dog days immediately after high school-when Orley had yet to join the Army and I'd yet to lose my mother, and L.A. was just a twinkle in Kevin's eye.Instead they caught us completely by surprise, knocking the tent over and rolling us up in it-like a giant snowball-after which they proceeded to kick and punch us mercilessly-before dragging us out by our feet and gloating over us in the sun: Like trolls, I remember thinking. Or Tolkien's fucking orcs."Well now look at this," said Benson, and paused to hawk up phlegm. "If it isn't our little faggots-just cozied up like lemmings." He pursed his lips and spat, causing green slime to splatter my cheek. "Our thievin' little douche-flutes, just letting their freak flags fly.""And sitting on the rest of our gas money," said Mickelson. "I can guarantee it.""Oh?" Benson raised his brow, as if he hadn't thought of that. "You're kind of the leader, Orley. Is that true?"Orley just looked at him, his mouth bleeding, his cheek scuffed and bruised. At last he said, "We used it to pay your mother. She said that's what triple-penetration costs."A couple of them laughed-Mickelson and Spelvin, I think-and Benson shot them a look. At length he said, "Funny-as always." He paused, cocking his head. "You look thirsty. Buckey. Give me your cup."He held out his hand without looking and Buckey placed in it a large container, one of those 32-ounce super tankards you get at Zip Trip or 7-11, minus its lid. "The stink bugs are terrible this year, as I'm sure you've noticed. Buckey here left this out in the sun too long," He smelled the cup's contents, wrinkling his nose-then motioned to Spelvin and Mickelson, who snatched Orley up by his arms and held him, even as two others grappled his head and began prying his mouth open. "These will probably tickle a little as they go down. A lot of them are still alive ..."Then he tipped the cup and its contents poured out onto Orley's face, into his mouth-the soda spattering his cheeks, the little bugs scrambling helter-skelter over his lips-before he chocked once, suddenly, violently, and began chewing, jerking his head free of their hands, smiling like a lunatic."Protein!" he exclaimed, and spit something out, a shell, maybe, or a leg. "Thank you, sir! May I have another!"And then there was a commotion which sent a ripple through their ranks and caused them to stand apart-staring toward the lake, into the sun, where a lone figure stood slight as a wraith, its hair sopping wet, clinging to its face, its skinny arms held straight at its sides.

When she awakened, there was a fly buzzing about her Jell-O and the ice-cream had melted. The storm was still on, but seemed farther away - so much so that she could hear the solemn ticking of the wall-clock. And something more: a squeaking sound, like the protests of a wheelchair too long neglected. It was coming from outside her room. It was coming up the hall.She looked at the doorway.Sure enough, an old woman in a wheelchair muscled her way past, skinny, ashen elbows working. It was a comical sight, frankly. Slow down, you old bag, Tika wanted to call out - and almost did. Then the squeaking stopped, abruptly, and the old woman backed slowly into view again. She looked at Tika.The younger woman looked back. Between them, up on the wall, the old IBM clock ticked.The resemblance was uncanny. Both women had long hair, though the younger's was blonde and flowing, like lemon molasses, and the older's was thin, platinum, flyaway. Both were skinny. Both had blue eyes, fine features, were gaunt as castaways, and - Suddenly, the crone was rolling, charging, Buchenwald elbows pumping rust-spotted wheels, a hand like a dead tree branch reaching out, groping, flailing, batting away Tika's I.V., tumbling her saline bottle which shattered against the blood-red tiles ...

"Well, now we are getting somewhere," says Sula, glancing him up and down, appearing victorious. "But she was not a witch like me, else she would not have done what she did. For that is exactly what happened, isn't it? Jadis became infected by M24 and slew her own son, and your son too. And then you spent the next year and a half wandering a world you no longer recognized, a world where the dead were stacked on every street corner and the bonfires burned day and night, until you stumbled into a beer hall one night because they were offering free bread and heard a powerful orator talking about male superiority and cleansing the world; and you listened, at first just because it felt good to have something in your stomach, but later because you were swayed, and that orator's name was Kill-sin, who would go on to found New Salem and rule it with an iron fist. Am I warm, Witch Doctor?"

It was the first night of the Sacrificium, a night of sacrifice and death, a night when the black coins tendered in the Lottery would be tendered back. It was also the Hora Mille Semitis, the Hour of a Thousand paths-for that is the day the Sacrificium had fallen on this year-the hour when best friends might become enemies, when lovers of longstanding might betray oaths, the hour in which anything and everything was possible. And the alignment was felt: from the upper echelons of the capitol to the poorest quarters of the downriver provinces. For the message of Valdus' rebellion had spread-whether it was a tract nailed to a door before quickly being torn down or a blast in the night that caused the power to fail in entire regions. It was a night for dreaming and for huddled collusions, for the breeze to course through rustling leaves, for long dead hearts to awaken and start pumping blood. The Sacrificium had once more come to Ursathrax, but so had the Hour of a Thousand Paths, and Valdus' Revolution, and something else, something elusive but impossible to ignore, nebulous, but as real as the River Dire, which seemed to have stolen into the world on the wind itself ...