I crept up the driveway of Sara Wyatt, aka Suspect 4B, who confronted me with a hideous scowl.
“Who dares disturb me?” Sara cackled and waved her broom toward the gap in the thick black curtain blocking off her garage. “Seek you treats on this dreariest of days? Then don’t be tricked by the
Logbook Entry. October Fourteenth, in the humble year 2568.
Just last month, I gazed upon the old weapons and hovercrafts from the Great War. And I finished reading the faded copy of The Art of War two weeks ago. Never could I have imagined it was preparing me for my fast-approaching conscription.
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“Welcome to Extreme Maze Fest!” the announcer’s voice blared over the arena speakers. The crowd roared as the platform I stood on descended. “Eight felons, one deadly maze…”
I tuned out the announcer’s voice as best I could. The rules for the maze that plagued the annual fall festival never changed: escape or die
Today’s the last day of the endless summer.
Sirens squall outside, and an east wind rattles the living room window screens. I lift the photo frame from the mantel, smudging dust that crusts the glass no matter how often I wipe it.
The kitchen faucet whooshes. I glance over my shoulder.
“Are you going to talk like that all day?” Jaqi flipped her hair and scowled at me.
“Aye,” I growled out the corner of my mouth as I attempted a ferocious smile. “How else should one celebrate Talk Like a Pirrrate Day? Arrrr.” I curled my finger into a hook and brandished it
At the same two-seater table where I’d fallen in love with him three years ago, Brad pleaded with me over his turkey-tomato wrap. “Julia, I know you broke up with me because I never put your feelings first. That was wrong, and I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”
Though relishing his burst of humility, I hesitated.
“We risked going to prison for a flashlight?” Big Ricky’s voice dropped to a deadly whisper. Meager light from a flickering yellow streetlamp outlined the alley’s brick wall and a dumpster off to the side. A brisk September breeze swept past them as Ricky and Jimmy crept down the alley. You wouldn’t have guessed…
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She points to my scarred neck. “You’re one of them?”
I turn up my collar and bury my nose in my book. The woman sitting across from me leans forward, waiting for a response.
I don’t look up. Get another seat, lady.
She takes the hint and rifles through her carry-on bag.
Sadie was seven years old, sitting next to her father on the flat roof of their low-slung barn as they watched farm workers move through the fields under the harvest moon. The mechanical whir of the robots filled the warm September air, and crickets sang along. Their metal limbs gleamed as…
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“All right, Ms. Fessenbender, I found a forgotten login this morning and pulled your password from the keystrokes: WH!$k3r5.” I presented my session summary to petite, gray-haired Florence Fessenbender. “Oh, and you forgot that you fed Whiskers today. Albacore Supreme for a lovely Persian.”
Florence smiled. “Thank you, Vesta.” Rummaging through her purse…
I slipped my left foot into one high heel, hopping on the other while I swung out an arm to grab my purse, steadied myself, and wrenched open the door. Thirteen minutes to get to the subway, seven minutes to my stop, six minutes to get coffee, and four minutes to run to work. Perfect.
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When I heard about our scientists’ mutation experiments, I laughed. When I saw their results, I loaded my guns.
Tranquilizer guns, of course. As the lab’s lead animal caretaker, only the pistol on my holster was deadly.
“Don’t you have anything that’s not dangerous?” I asked Dr. Jantz, our lead geneticist.
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