“Kytt! Wake up!”
A sharp slap of pain explodes across my cheek. My eyes shoot open, and I bolt into a sitting position.
“What happened?” I massage a throbbing spot on the back of my head. “My glasses! Where are my glasses?” Panic sets in; I’m as good as dead without my glasses.
The stiffness in my metal joints tells me there’s a chill in the air. I look up, and a flake of snow falls on my sight-sensor. Thin steel wipers swipe it away, sending it onto the miles-long heap of rubbish and waste—forgotten objects from a faraway world, once loved, now cast into the
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It was Christmas Day, which may have been more obvious if the world hadn’t ended seven years ago.
I missed the holiday season, when people still debated over whether decorations should go up before or after Thanksgiving. Now, people discussed how to avoid the disease slowly consuming all of humanity.
“Rapunzel,” Midas said, shifting
In the dense forests outside one of the last Earth cities that survived the great atomic war, the underground revolution continues. Centuries after the war, the once-vibrant landscape is now filled with towering ruins and abandoned machinery. The grim reminders of humanity’s past mistakes are being reclaimed by lush greenery that slowly fades into its fall colors.
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By Alicia Peterson When my grandkids ask about the Halloween Blizzard Invasion of ’91, I do what everyone my age does. I lie through my teeth. “Did Great-Grandpa Dave really let you run the flamethrower?” Six-year-old Nora asks the same question every time. I can practically see fire reflected in her hungry eyes as she
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The holes in the bottom of my shoes don’t irk me no more. My feet had gotten tough even before all this walking. ’Cause when the honeybees got sick—Mama said they was dropping like flies—food got scarce. People got hungry and then sick like them honeybees. And when people didn’t know…
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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.
When people warned us about the apocalypse, they never mentioned injuries. And I’m not talking about a zombie bite or breaking your legs or having a loose street sign fall and impale you while you’re trying to fish a Snickers bar out from the bottom of a drain… rest in peace, Donny.
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The nauseating ammonia smell of squid flora is always the first thing I notice upon waking. Some days it’s faint, but today the wind brings the acrid smell right into my riverside hidey-hole. I peek out at the wreckage of the squid ship—dark, twisted metal covering a half mile of riverfront.
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“I’ve got a good feeling about you, Planet 77.”
My heart thundered with the anticipation of facing the water-hungry nightmare that had buried our planet. Our ship slowed as we breached the skies of Earth.
“Don’t forget the cloaking device.” Jones reached over my shoulder and flipped a toggle. “I’d rather not be deified this time.”
The end of the world was an inconvenient time to have eighty-foot-long hair.
Rapunzel bolted through the forest, trying to ignore the echoing moans that chased her. Her head snapped back when an unruly strand of hair tangled around a branch. She yanked it free, then pumped her legs as hard as
Rydinger flipped the hood over his head as a chill wind whipped around a corner. He clutched the waxed fabric parcel closer.
“You sure about this, Red?” His insides twisted at his cowardice. Nessa deserved better.
The shadow in front of him didn’t slow.
“I guess that’s my answer,” he muttered, quickening
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