I grip Flor’s clammy arms and hoist her onto my back. Crouching low, I pass rows of straw cottages and head for the gloomy thicket. Flor presses a feverish cheek against the nape of my neck and sighs, her breath sweetened with nopal. Mamá must have coaxed some fried cactus down her throat
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Pam: I saw one
Jimmy: srsly? What do they look like? I hear they’re so orange, they’ll burn your eyes. Like the sun.
Pam: How’d you now what I’m talking about?
*know
Jimmy: Because it’s all anyone is talking about. Cam got sent to the hospital last week for getting too close
Come celebrate Havok authors Krysta Tawlks and Hannah Muldery for their recent contest wins and read the winning stories!
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If it weren’t for the street dog lazing near the curb, Daeng might have caught the songtaew heading north. The red truck teetered to a crawl as passengers leapt from the open back. Daeng lurched forward and stumbled, knocking his tall, cylindrical cargo pack off balance. The songtaew accelerated
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Day 1
Dear Mom,
I’m writing you these letters in case I die. Pa knows what to do with my body if anyone finds me out here in the wild. Peter drafted a eulogy before I left. It was beautiful. We both cried.
So far, my quest to retrieve your amulet—something I’ve
Lora, my youngest, grinned as she lifted our dinner plates with a wispy sapphire spell. “Clean up time!” Her arms wobbled. “Ooh, heavy.”
“Papa!” Thorn, my oldest, leapt from his chair, his eyes on me. “Make her stop!”
“Lora, you know the rules.” I spoke gently, not wanting to shame my daughter for her newfound abilities.
“Can I help you, young man?”
Her calm voice surprised me. I’d expected her to scream.
Inhaling sharply, I waved my revolver to the right. “Hands on your head. Move in front of the counter. Now!”
The middle-aged cashier ducked to the side, her hands behind her head.
I reached for my kitten Cleo instead of my phone. Social media wasn’t a happy place right now, not with everything going on.
Balancing Cleo on my shoulder, I shuffled to the kitchen. There by the door lay a carefully folded piece of paper. Probably my Star-Trek-enthusiast neighbors.
Today was my birthday, which meant waking up early to lock my windows and doors. I’d already powered down Ynette, and my cell-glasses rested on the charger. The lenses flashed red, green, then yellow—voice mails, text messages and vid chats.
Oh my. The birthday wishes were starting early.
I’ve been getting out more ever since the tiger chose not to eat me.
I don’t care for the brittle air poking my eyes, nor do I enjoy the shrieking pigeons that habitually scatter when I—and only I—approach. But today, as I bump against strangers on the public bus, I have a mission: my first date with Harry.
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