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.
Young folk these days.
I squint between my window blinds. Amelia has another new beau—a tall, brooding fellow. They walk hand-in-hand down the street toward my house, chatting.
I frown. I haven’t met this one yet. Usually she brings them by for my inspection first, just to be safe.
They stop walking, and he leans down—
I jolted awake, throwing the sheets off me as a familiar prickle crept across the back of my neck. Not again.
My bedside clock glowed.
2:00 AM.
I sucked in a shaky breath and let it out, then tapped the homing button strapped to my wrist. Hopefully, the Control Team would find me
A whinny echoed across the hills and drifted through Sonora’s window. The sound settled around her, giving her goose bumps as she huddled deeper under her blankets.
With each wheezing breath, the bones rattled within her chest as she pushed herself up in bed on shaking arms and glanced out the cottage’s window.
“I really hope this artifact is worth all the hassle,” I remarked to my partner, Alma, as we climbed over a caved-in wall. “This maze of ruins is going to drive me crazy.”
“Oh, stop complaining. We’re getting close.”
“How can you tell? This place is so poorly designed.”
At that instant, the floor fell out,
Nobody likes ghost hugs.
This has thus far been the biggest disappointment of my afterlife. Yes, there’s the whole being tied to the dark, dank, dismal cave where I’d met my untimely demise, but—nah, it’s mostly the hugging. Or lack thereof.
I was quite the hugger before I died.
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
Miles—scarab beetle and humble photojournalist—strained to listen. He glanced at the surrounding trees, spectral colossi in the moonlight. A fallen log sat rotting, just ahead.
“I don’t hear anything.”
Calvin—atlas beetle and journalist—stood stock still. His three horns curved upward in a graceful silhouette against the dark horizon.
Commander Tri’eek’s ship was self-destructing.
Bianca muttered Earth English curses under her breath as she ran through the Argo’s gigantic ventilation shafts, holding a gargantuan stolen ring of shiny, black electrical tape around her waist like a life ring. She had spent three precious hours tracing the problem to the engine maintenance room.
“My Sam.” Aba strode in waving pieces of paper. “Look!”
I peered up from my desk. Being such a slow day, not a new case to be had, I longed for an excuse to stop shuffling papers and paying bills. My hubby was the best possible distraction. “What, love?” I stood up to kiss him,
I revved my motor and slipped out of park, checking the glowing digits of the clock on my nightstand. 2:59 a.m. I’d woken just in time. It’s tough to be a crime-solving teenage car. Sometimes you have to sacrifice a little sleep.
But I had a mystery to solve.
The iksomi opens his mouth, and his cry pierces the thick, morning air. All gloom and pain strips away. The noise is rigid like a lyre string, warm like honey, and I let it fill my being.
His mouth snaps shut, pointed teeth curving over black lips. He stretches, arching his back
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