Solange looks around nervously, then hoists herself over the metal rim. She wriggles a bit. The coffin is tight. Her eyes point blankly at the ceiling, as she struggles to get her breathing under control.
Read MoreSol AsleepI think back to a night on a moonlit beach, the crash of breakers loud in our ears. Mara is beautiful in a floral sundress, her dark hair pulled back into a windblown braid. It’s the end of the term, a time for celebration.
Read MoreLaika’s DreamDavid watched from behind the crowd, as two men led a young woman up a small set of steps to the hangman’s noose. A razor-sharp wire replaced the traditional rope, ensuring a clean decapitation and a bigger spectacle of blood and death.
Read MoreCity of Refuge
To tell you the truth, my father wasn’t really that much different after he became a zombie.
Read MoreThe Days of Flaming MotorcyclesIf you piled the awards and nominations attributed to Gary A. Braunbeck, Jay Lake, Nick Mamatas, and Catherynne M. Valente on the interview table, it would surely implode under the weight of accolades. Suffice it to say, these are four writers at the top of their game.
Read MoreROUNDTABLE INTERVIEW: Gary A. Braunbeck, Jay Lake, Nick Mamatas, and Catherynne M. ValenteWhen Benjamin was a little boy he painted things. Mostly small things. Like tiny houses. Or dinosaur kits. Or invisible men. He liked using the small brushes. Painting tiny, intricate details.
Read MoreThe Last Stand of the Ant Maker“Do you think Shawn’ll be gone for much longer?” Chris poked at the campfire with a stick, watching the sparks dance above the flames.
Read MoreSnipe HuntingI showed up at the 49th Street Annex prepared to take a verbal beating from Klein and the rest of the Weekday Obsessives—they go after relapses like dogs on dead pheasant. Normally, after I screwed up, it’d take the group a few sessions to figure it out, but this time I couldn’t hide what I’d done. There was no way.
Read MoreSeafoamBridget ducked behind the remains of a burned-out Impala, crouching low as the zap-zap-zap of blaster fire split the October night. The sound was already familiar enough to turn her stomach. Not just because it meant another survivor had been spotted—because there was nothing she could do to help whoever it was.
Read MoreDying with Her Cheer Pants On