A bitter breeze rakes over my cheeks as I step from the Jackson Hole Aerial Tram, but it’s not the cold that sends shivers skittering through my gloved hands and up my arms. It’s excitement.
Up ahead, my best friend, Brandon, faces me, a wide smile plastered on his face. He signs the words,
Donny Chandler would never tell me what I needed to know. Which was why I needed to get the hiccups.
Great.
I slunk into Tornado Taco on the corner of Main Street and Bell Avenue. The last time I was here, I made a complete fool of myself. Not my fault, but still…
“Earth to Echo.”
Electricity courses through Echo as Darbo’s deep voice prods her consciousness. She stirs, blinking out at the spaceship’s main chamber.
My jail cell.
Darbo stands by the main control panel, pressing the button that shoots shock waves across Echo’s incorporeal form. Nearby, his daughter Delilah crunches on star-puffs
“I assure you, Mrs. Marcel, this drought is going to break.” Al Bee Bee Watcher smiled at his landlady. The apartment lobby’s 1920’s décor surrounded him, clashing spectacularly with the modern computer on her desk.
“And I’m telling you, there’s no chance.” Mrs. Marcel shook her head. “Put away your raincoat, Mr. Watcher;
Carrie removed the clutter from her husband’s dresser, dropping each piece onto the bed. A package of new shoelaces. An old watch, the hands on its face forever proclaiming three-thirteen. A comb. His lab glasses. Safety pins. A tie clip.
At this rate, it would take the baby’s entire nap time to get
Tank had a sixth sense about space junk. He could intuit the difference between a salvageable satellite and orbital debris, a useful skill ever since the collapse of the Sagan-Hawking interstellar gateway had induced collisions and made debris removal a prime concern for space travel. If only his spacey superpower could differentiate
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Six months into the sleep-zombie catastrophe, the survivors knew one thing: they were grateful for the winged, magic sloths.
One such survivor, Leesia, leaped over a crumbling stone wall marking an old boundary between fields. Gasping for breath, she dropped to her knees. Her brother-in-law Rayth joined her a moment later.
Esther held Raphael in her lap and rocked him as he cried. Even at the age of eight, these trying times drove him to cling to his mother. She opened her heart, and his every fear and sadness poured into her.
She smoothed his hair with a trembling hand as the tension in his
Miracle lay in the prickly grass stalks. She scrunched her fingers in the cool dirt and took slow, deliberate breaths to absorb the brown, earthy scent of autumn. And she listened. The wind rustled the seed-heavy grass heads swaying above. A tree creaked nearby. Apple and pear floated on the breeze,
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“At least we caught it early.” I offer a box of tissues to Renee Halloway as we stand outside her son’s hospital room. When she doesn’t grab it, her husband John takes the box instead.
I hate giving bad news. It wrenches my stomach every time I have to say cancer.
The thick liquid coated Violet’s tongue.
They say that when a person loses one sense, the rest compensate. Although she never did figure out why her sense of taste exploded—figuratively speaking—after a bomb destroyed her hearing, killed Silas, and nearly killed her.
A small vibration tickled her fingers when Felix tapped the table.
Darkness hangs around me in the twelve-by-twelve-foot room like the sour coating of lemon on my tongue.
“Can you tell us who did it?”
Detective Smith motions toward the glass pane, the only source of light flooding the room. A chalky film grits against my teeth.
I lick my lips and assess the five men
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