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.
“Surveillance to Headquarters, code red in Sector Five.”
I frown, tapping the holo-desk to activate the map. “The city square again? But we just—”
“Shh.” My boss, Josef, pushes his archaic spectacles farther up his nose, eyes locked on his screen.
I open my mouth to protest, think better of it, and check my smartwatch.
“Rope secure?”
“Check.”
“Snacks on hand?”
“Check.”
I passed a bag of freeze-dried oranges to the shadow shaped like my roommate and watched him fumble to open it in the dark.
“Ugh. Connor. This is the best you have?”
“We’re in space, Barrett. Not many options.”
He sighed and shifted on the lumpy mattress.
“Once upon a time” is how the inhabitants of Earth begin their tales. But we are not Earthlings, and this is not a story of fiction. Gather ‘round as I recount how Moonfolk first encountered these aliens and how cunning and wit kept our world safe.
It was an ordinary day. Children were at school in the lunar craters.
Pastor Shantel peered through the little window of the flying saucer purring at three hundred miles per hour. Tsulee, the leader of the blue alien children, sat beside her, watching the screen track their progress to Area 51.
The craft flew high enough to be a speck from the ground but low enough…
“You’re Sam Luger, second baseman for the Carolina Reapers, right?” Dr. Frewer’s thick Texas accent preceded him into the examination room.
“That’s right.” I shifted nervously. People usually didn’t recognize me away from the ballpark.
Frewer smiled. “I suppose you think it’s a little weird that an optometrist called you, instead of…
The seconds ticked by on my cellphone while I waited outside Brad’s apartment. At precisely at 10:38, I rang the doorbell. This time I’d get it right.
Brad poked his head through the jamb, eyes droopy from sleep. “What do you want, Julia? I thought you broke up with me.”
“I need my photo back.”
June 7. The day I get my third memory.
I can’t keep a skip out of my step as I hurry down the forest path, humming.
An oddly cold breeze whips around me, blowing my dark curls into my face.
I sigh and roll my eyes at the sky. Though mostly obscured by branches, I can tell it’s gloomy and full of clouds.
One and a half miles. Seven thousand nine hundred and twenty feet.
That alone stood between Reese and the Triple Crown.
And eight other horses, but who cared about them? Not Reese, and certainly not her horse, Paddock Pizzazz, who butted his metal head against the starting gate, impatient. Smoke blew from the metal plates covering his nostrils, filling Reese’s lungs with acrid exhaust.
The summer I first traveled to America, my father wore a red shirt so I could spot him in the crowds. Let’s just say that system doesn’t work if other people are wearing red shirts and you’re a five-year-old who can’t see above anyone’s butt.
As soon as we joined the mob in front of JFK to catch a cab, I got separated from Dad.
On the evening of June 20, the president sat alone in the Oval Office, reviewing intelligence reports. The peace talks in Paris were going well—at least enough to silence the protesters at home. His reelection committee had hit a minor snag, but they were managing it. As long as he could distract the public…
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