On his way into town one hot, sticky Saturday, Paul Bunyan stopped short at a river. Well, not short—Bunyan was a giant who towered over the forest’s biggest trees. He didn’t do anything short. He did stop, however, and point to a logjam in the river, made of oaks and pines
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I crush the earpiece under my heel, then look around the dark alleyway, trying to control my breathing.
No sign of pursuit, either from within the sleek building I just exited at nearly a run, or from outside where my employers—whom I have good reason to believe want me dead—are
When I emerged from my coffin to stalk the darkness, I didn’t expect to find inspiration.
I strolled through a graveyard under a blanket of night. The gravestones glowed a ghostly gray luminescence under the gaze of the full moon, and shadows jittered with ghoulish glee as the boughs of trees swayed
The tracking device sizzles and melts as my cybernetic eye’s laser bores into it. After a moment, it’s nothing more than fried wires and chalk-like powder. Destroying it is probably too little too late in deterring whoever must be following us, but I certainly won’t make their job easier.
The tracker is
Theodore Roosevelt clicked the hammers back on his double-barreled shotgun. The mustache atop his upper lip crinkled in a defiant sneer. “Steady, Bill. The hunt’s underway, and we’re the hunted.”
A low moan echoed amongst the ominous hilltops, climbing into an ear-wrenching wail that rattled my bones. I lifted my rifle and
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