Bacon And Lanarous Cizon and Dorron sat down in the comfort of their wooden dining table which specifically represented the dining for two near the fireplace on the perfect night which was dark but loud by the deafening sounds of thunder and rain, the best time to fill tummies with deliciously prepared meal and slip in the comfort of warm and cozy sheets. The smell of the soil outside was soothing but their noble wooden cabin loved the smell of freshly prepared turkey bacon savored with melting spices covering every inch, with the pinch of red chili flakes and pepper, served exclusively on beautifully carved glass plate, and complimenting hot Lanarous Delight, bluish green in color which tastes like Vanilla and Chocolate, quite famous in the town of Costerwoods nearby. Cizon and Dorron were highly excited to taste their mouth watering dish which they have been preparing since afternoon and they wished to enjoy every single moment with their dinner. “This is going to be fun”, said Cizon excitedly rubbing his hands together and looking at the meal. “This is the best part of the day”, said Dorron who settled himself rightly in his chair. As they hastened to have their first bite there was a loud knock on the door. Cizon and Dorron looked at each other, this was unlikely because it was dark and rainy outside, and the town of Costerwoods was already in deep deep sleep, but there also was an explanation for the same because it was likely that someone might have lost their way and is looking for a shelter in this extreme weather. “Should we open the door?”, asked Dorron and he looked with suspicion at Cizon. “Not before we hide our meal, I am not sharing that”, said Cizon. “Me too”, said Dorron as he stood up, took the plate and hid their Turkey in the oven back in the kitchen while Cizon somehow managed to hold the glasses along with the bottles of Lanarous and hurried to the kitchen behind Dorron but by this time there was a second knock on the door. Dorron then marched swiftly to the door and unbolted it, his eyes were amazed to find an eyes pleasing girl standing at their door, her eyes were enchantingly blue, and the face was a perfect oval and red hair added to her beauty. Even though she had her cloak hood on, the frills of her dress still dripped rain water; she looked scared and obviously was alone. “I apologize for showing up this late at your door but I did not find the way to the town, it is raining and I do not find it wise to roam in the woods alone”, said the girl in her sweetest but shaky voice. Dorron was lost looking at her and did not speak for another 10 seconds, after which his mind reminded him of her sayings. “Oh! Do not apologize my dear, step in for it would be our greatest pleasure to serve you”, said Dorron. “Who is it Dorron?”, asked Cizon in an echoed voice as he walked behind Dorron and finally his eyes met that of their late night intruder’s. His jaw dropped but the eye contact did not last long. “Make way for the noble lady Cizon”, said Dorron as he simply pushed him back to the wall, Cizon came back to his senses and the girl helped to put in a faded smile. “Close the door will you Cizon?”, said Dorron as he hurried to guide the girl to the fireplace not wanting to miss any moment with her, “I must give her something else to slip in”. Cizon took the hold of the doorknob but before he closed, his attention was caught by a dark figure moving inside of the woods at some distance, he did not look at it for long as he knew it would have been an animal living in the same. Cizon bolted the door and hurried back in. Dorron in meantime gave her the clothes and she rushed to one of the rooms on the second floor to change. “We must give her something to eat, she must be hungry”, said Dorron as he was enchanted by the girl. “Are you talking about serving our meal?”, asked Cizon with desperation. “Yes of course”, said Dorron as it was obvious. “I will cook something else for her but that, I am not sharing”, said Cizon. Before Dorron could speak however, the girl stepped down, wearing Cizon’s clothes, her hair were still wet but she was much comfortable to smile nicely. She walked up to the brothers and said, “I shall thank you for having me, I would have died otherwise”, “Mention nothing of it but are you hungry please tell me”, asked Dorron. “Yes, although we finished our dinner I will prepare something nice for you right away”, said Cizon quickly. Dorron looked at Cizon with the look of disappointment but then looked back the girl and smiled. “I am embarrassed to say but yes I am a bit hungry”, said the girl. “You will have to wait a bit”, said Cizon after which he disappeared in the thin air. “Warm yourself up dear”, said Dorron as he stretched his arm, showing way to the fireplace. The girl settled in and by her side sat Dorron, both on the floor. The girl constantly looked into the burning ambers whereas Dorron was looking at her in moments. Cizon joined them a little later with the bowl of soup in his hands. The girl took the bowl with happiness and smiled at them. “So”, said Cizon as he tried to start a conversation, “What is your name and how come you ended up here?”. The girl heard the question with calmness as if she knew it was coming all along. She took the sip of the vegetable soup and said, “My name is Amber, I live in the town of Costerwoods, I was going to visit my uncle who lives on the other side of the mountain Virago but I lost my way after twilight, and it began raining and rest is before your eyes”. “Poor you, poor fate”, said Dorron simply. Cizon however kept on looking at the girl, who in a little while returned her gaze to the ambers in the fire. “I will leave, the first thing in the morning”, said Amber with a smile, “you have been so kind”. “Make yourself at home dear Amber there are no problems”, said Cizon with a smile. There was a complete silence for some minutes and Cizon grew restless at last he spoke, “We must take your leave now Miss, I hope you find your way easy, call us if you need anything, we will be one call away”. Amber smiled lightly and Cizon helped Dorron on his feet who did not want to leave the girl but his brother, second time in this evening ruined his moment. They both marched upstairs, and even though Dorron knew that Cizon was right about everything in this night he still was mad, but however chose not to speak and walked quietly into his room just opposite of Cizon. Cizon was restless, the rain still poured and as much as he liked sleeping in the coziness of his sheets in rain today something was unusual, he thought the reason behind that was because he was hungry and stomach growled from time to time, but the uneasiness suggested otherwise. It was dark and the candle flames were dying. Cizon slept for half an hour but it felt like a minute, as if he never slept, his throat however was dry and he needed water. Cizon slipped his feet in his night slippers, opened his door and quietly walked downstairs. The fire in the living room was exhausted, and Cizon made sure that his footsteps were not heard for he feared the disturbance in the sleep of his brother and the guest. His feet were moving towards the kitchen but in the darkness of the living room, he saw something moving outside the house in swift movements through the curtains of the windows in thunder lightning, he tried to ignore it. The late night intruder was however nowhere to be seen, Cizon reached kitchen and his heart sank, he froze at the sight of what he saw. Amber was sitting like a beast on the table, her hands clutched the meat of the turkey bacon and she ate like monster, with every strike of lightening she looked more horrifying. Cizon thought he was hallucinating for a moment lightning struck him directly but it was no hallucination, he quietly ran to Dorron’s room and knocked as quietly as he can. “Dorron, Dorron open the door”, he said in hushed voice. Dorron finally opened the door but he was sleepy and could barely understand anything. “What is it that got your wand in a knot at this hour Cizon?”, asked Dorron as he rubbed his eyes. “The girl, Amber she is a witch, or a beast I don’t know but she is not what you think”, said Cizon as he entered in and closed the door behind. “Monsters are not that pretty Cizon, you just have been dreaming”, said Dorron. “No, I went down to fetch water, you have got to believe in me she ate our bacon”, said Cizon “She must have been hungry”, said Dorron. “Not that hungry, she looked like she will even eat you and me”, said Cizon, quickly, he was gasping and sweating. “Let’s do this, I’ll go downstairs with you and we will settle the matter”, said Dorron who was sure about the nightmare that he thought Cizon had. “It is not safe, we must lock our doors and avoid danger at all costs”, said Cizon Dorron, took him by his hand and tried to relive him, he then opened the door and led Cizon out. “Bad idea, bad idea”, said Cizon with a cracking voice. Dorron and Cizon quietly walked down the stairs but to Cizon’s horror everything was perfectly fine, as it was on the first half of this night, the room was warm, the fire was alive in the fireplace and the Amber sat in front of the fire. For a moment Cizon thought he really did dream, but his intuitions told him otherwise. Dorron walked up to the girl who still stared at fire and said, “My brother had a nightmare about you, we are not used to strangers you see”. The girl was quiet for some seconds but at last she said, “One must not take in everyone, showing up their door”, her eyes fixed on fire. “I am sorry I did not understand you”, said Dorron going a little close to her. Cizon’s heart was thumping loud under his skin he knew something bad was coming. Girl looked at him quietly, then in one instance, she grabbed Dorron’s collar and barked at him, Dorron got confused and scared and tried to go away from her. Ambers’ grip was however powerful and there was no easy way to avoid it. Cizon ran to help Dorron but Amber got the hold of his arm, Cizon and Dorron were putting their utmost force and the arm began slipping through her hand, but to add more pain she scratched the whole arm with both of her hands wand long nails. The bond was broken with a loud jerk and Cizon crashed on the wall, Dorron however ran to the front door, Cizon’s head messed up, but heart skipped a beat or two when he saw Amber coming towards him with her tangled body. Dorron unlocked the door and opened it wide in haste, his way however was blocked by another monster, it was an inhuman spirit, made up of nothing but darkness, ready to suck in every ray of light or happiness, it growled on Dorron and before he could understand anything, the spirit growled angrily at him and galloped him completely. Cizon’s sense gave up, his brother was gone, a monster stranger girl was coming for him and an inhuman spirit waited for him at his door, he stood up as soon as he could and ran upstairs, he did not know where to hide or where to go, the images of his dead brother were flashing before his eyes, he threw himself towards the window of his room, and even though it was high, he still made his mind for making a big jump but the inhuman spirit spread his wings growling at Cizon below on the water logged ground, it was the moment of utmost horror, he closed his door, but it was soon smashed by Amber, looking nothing less than a possessed soul, she came nearer and nearer to Cizon and as he looked out of the window, the Inhuman spirit he found was now at the level of second floor, looking like an angel of death waiting for Cizon to give up. Cizon accepted his fate and sat down with his head between in knees, crying and waiting for death when he heard Dorron’s voice. “Cizon, Cizon”, it called. Cizon then looked around him and the voice grew louder. “Cizon, wake up our dinner is ready”, said Dorron as he walked past Cizon sleeping near fireplace in their living room. Cizon opened his eyes, but he was sweating with fear, he looked around his house and his heart received the sense of utmost satisfaction, everything was fine, Cizon knew he was dreaming. Dorron asked Cizon to help him decorate the table and he with high excitement joined. Cizon and Dorron sat down in the comfort of their wooden dining table which specifically represented the dining for two near the fireplace on the perfect night which was dark but loud by the deafening sounds of thunder and rain, the best time to fill tummies with deliciously prepared meal and slip in the comfort of warm and cozy sheets. The smell of the soil outside was soothing but their noble wooden cabin loved the smell of freshly prepared turkey bacon savored with melting spices covering every inch, with the pinch of red chili flakes and pepper, served exclusively on beautifully carved glass plate, and complimenting hot Lanarous Delight, bluish green in color which tastes like Vanilla and Chocolate, quite famous in the town of Costerwoods nearby. Cizon and Dorron were highly excited to taste their mouth watering dish which they have been preparing since afternoon and they wished to enjoy every single moment with their dinner. As they hastened to have their first bite there was a loud knock on the door!


The Diner  The Robo-waiter charged the booth like an Olympic figure skater. It coasted right on up and made a perfect, abrupt stop barely an inch from the table's edge. A pleasant male voice coming from the automated attendant asked, "Are you folks ready to place your order yet?" Seated at the table were a man and a woman, both sixtyish and presenting a countenance common on folk that have hardened against an environment of scarcity and worry. The woman lowered her menu and looked across the table at her dinner partner. He folded his menu and gave the woman a quick nod. She asked their mechanical waiter, "What's your special today?" The automaton started up a display on its chest showing a video of a delicious looking dinner, and answered. "Ma'am, we have country fried steak and American fries, drizzled with gravy, with a side of fresh steamed, garlic-bacon green beans. Today's special comes with your choice of coffee or soft drink, and a dinner roll or biscuit." The woman customer noted a hint of southern accent from the machine's voice, and thought to herself "nice touch," as she said, "Yep, that looks real good. I'll have that, please, with some coffee and a roll." "Make that two," said the man. "Only I'll have mine with a biscuit and a Coke." He gathered up the menus as the woman handed over hers. He passed the menus to the robot who put them in a holding basket, located where a human waiter's leg would be, using one shiny metallic appendage. Meanwhile, it deftly filled two water glasses, and a Coke glass with another arm which seemed to have a drink spout for each beverage on offer. The automaton then inquired, "Ma'am, would you like your coffee now?" The woman thought for a moment and replied, "Actually, no, could I have my coffee after we eat?" "Certainly, Ma'am. Will that be all for now, folks?" asked the robot. "Yes, thank you." she said. "Uh, yeah, I guess that does it." replied the man, then went on to ask "Any idea 'bout how long 'til we can expect to get our food?" "Four, to four and one-half minutes, sir." the waiter answered confidently. The man let out a soft, slow whistle, a look of surprise on his face. "Say, that's pretty fast." "You can say that again." said the woman, as the robot rolled off toward the kitchen. She looked around the diner. It was busy. Every table had customers, a few more sat on a bench by the door waiting for vacancy. Their waiter was already rolling out a delivery to another table without even slowing down. It just swung by the food station and swept up a large tray of meals. The woman said to the man, "Gee, maybe I should have worn roller skates here. Anyhow, that waiter tires me out just watching him race around. " "Imagine it does." said the man. "Did you hear how fast he, it, said our meals would be out here? Under four and a half minutes? I couldn't a kept up cookin' at that pace, busy as this place is today." "Yeah, it sure is busy," the woman said, "I guess people go out to eat more often now." "Well, won't we?" the guy asked back. "Now that we get the Freedom Dividend? Shoot, we can eat out twice as much as we did before." "We never went out to eat before. What in the heck you going on about?" she replied. "Yeah, I guess your right. Well, we sure can now. One thousand dollars a month, for you, me, Tommy. That's an extra thirty-six thousand, each year, until he decides he wants to get his own place. Then, still, that's twenty-four grand for just us. Man, President Andrew Yang came along just in time too. We sure were hurtin, and what with automation taking people's jobs everywhere, and them self driving trucks." As he finished his thought, the man looked over the kitchen at the automated cooking machine that was flipping burgers, lowering fry baskets, and drizzling the gravy over their dinner plates. "Do you miss working the kitchen?" she asked him. "You know what, Alice, sometimes I do. But, I think things are better, now. More time for Tommy now. He and I are enjoying refurbishing all those boats for people. He has a real knack for it, ya know? I'm try'n help him much as I can. But, even though he has a passion for it, he never would have made a go of it, as a business I mean, had that UBI not kicked in. It just wasn't steady enough work. It was too hit or miss between projects. It sure is working out well now though. Folks got more money for things like boats, now." he said. The woman nodded and said, "Mrs. Coleman wants me to clean her house on Mondays and Fridays. And, I can start writing that novel I was always going to write. Besides, look how well this old diner is doing without us, Mel." Mel looked around the diner and began, "Yessiree, the time for man to trudge and toil for his dinner is over at long last, I reckon. We can't even keep up with these machines on our best day. We sure gave it a heck of a run though, didn't we?" Alice patted his hand and looked Mel right in the eye and reassured him, "Mankind created the machines. They're the product of our labors. Honey, we aren't being replaced by machines, we're being served by 'em." Just then the waiter zoomed up to the table again and deposited two perfectly cooked steaming hot plates of food onto the table, and said, "Enjoy your meals folks!" as it rolled away.


She twists and turns under me; if it wasn't the look in her eye that got me going, it was her heavy breathing. So beautiful, so graceful, her body only incited me closer. If any one saw us now they would want to join me, they'd like to get on top of her as well. But I can't let them have her, I am in fact making her mine. She is so soft, her hair so long and sleek; like a black river slowly drowning her as it falls over her sweet... quiet face. My hand passes over her throat and then her chest; I love how it rises and falls, such a gentle girl. My sweet girl, you can not fight me. Look how weak you are now, have I tuckered you out? Do you want me to remove my weapon now? I was just starting to have fun. Oh stop struggling My Sweet, once I pull it out... You'll have only seconds to live. Just close your eyes dear fall asleep now, I'll keep you safe. The knife I had driven into her lungs; now lays on her throat. Her glassy green eyes stare at me, so lonely. Oh, My Sweet, gentle girl still so beautiful...even in your early yet perfect death. Sadly you now bore me child, when your mother gets home she will take your place...


First parts can be read here, Part 5, Please Enjoy, feel free to critique. The more input the better. I had to late post, work has taken up a lot of my time. Thank you to whatever loyal readers I have, I promise I'm always trying to improve. \ I stood in the woods watching the wildlife around me. Stark was behind me with the rifle I had assembled for her, slung over her shoulder. Fenrir was at my left side, off maybe fifteen or twenty feet keeping pace with me. I could hear Stark huffing and puffing behind me as we paused to listen and watch. We had been out all yesterday and today, finding that we were near the top of the hill. I had seen what was east, so I went West yesterday and now I was going north. I had decided we could snag that second cache today and bring it back as well knocking two birds out with one stone. We continued on our course for another hour, keeping quiet. We had not spoken much and I wasn’t sure if this was my doing because I was quiet. Or if there just wasn’t a topic between the two of us that could be brought up. I had the shotgun cradled in my arms as I walked and I could hear Stark’s heavy feet behind me. Deep inside I was growing annoyed with her clumsy movements out here. “Could we take a break please?” she asked me out of breath. I turned back facing her as I stopped. “Now?” I asked. “Please?” she nodded. “Are you fucking kidding?” I grumbled. I took a knee and sighed as she sat on a large rock. She set the rifle aside and I could hear her noisily undoing the hook on her camelback. She drank loudly and every single noise was like crashing glass to my ears. “Is something bothering you?” she asked me bluntly. I turned my head looking at her out of the corner of my eye and I really thought about what I should say. “You are the noisiest person on patrol,” I said to her just as bluntly. “We aren't in combat, the enemy isn’t lurking around the next tree,” she said to me returning the annoyed tone. I stayed quiet not wanting to argue over the matter. She was right, but I belonged to a much different profession despite our military link. “You’re struggling to keep up at a normal pace, should I leave you behind next time?” I snapped. *That came out much more rude than I meant*. I thought to myself. “Look buddy, I’m not some grunt. I’m not attached to a groundside unit. My only postings have been aboard ships as a receiving triage technician. I have literally never set foot groundside in a combat role. Dick,” she said to me. I cringed as I had now realized just how rude I was being. I had not really thought about that, I was used to rucking with a hundred pounds of junk on my back, 20 miles or more a day, patrolling long hours into night and morning. Sleeping for only a few hours and sustaining off of minimal food. I was expecting a person whose job was to dwell on a ship, to keep up with me. I tried to give my attitude a one eighty and I turned to face her better. “I’m sorry,” I said to her. “I will slow my pace,” “Mmm,” she replied but I could see the annoyance in her face. “Ready,” she said, ignoring my apology and standing up. I rose to my feet and continued on my course but making an effort to take smaller and slower steps. We walked in silence again but I could tell she was struggling less to keep up and she wasn’t gasping for air anymore. I felt something in my throat as I was exerting myself. This whole trip I had been clearing my throat and finally I had enough and was able to cough. It was wet and thick like the end of a bad cold. I hacked up a thick bitter mucus and spat it out. It hit the ground and I looked down to see a wet chunk of thick black. I cringed. “Did you just spit that up?” Stark asked me. “Uh... yeah,” I said to her as we both stared at it. “You said you inhaled those spores?” she asked. I nodded, “did that hurt?” “No,” I admitted. Before she could say anything I shrugged, “let’s just keep moving, I’ll let you know if it gets worse,” I said burying my fear. The deep inner fear that there was a mushroom farm growing in my lungs. She didn’t protest only following me. As we traveled through the woods, I looked up and in the near distance I could make out what almost looked like a mountain. It stretched high above to tree tops and I could clearly see it rose almost at a right angle at its face. I stopped and tried to get a better look in the dim light. I could tell that the top of this formation was a ridge and probably a relatively flat surface. “What is that?” Stark asked. “It looks like a monadnock,” I said back to her absent-mindedly. “A what?” she asked. “It’s like a...” I thought about it. “Like a small mountain where mountains don’t normally form. This one is huge though,” I said to her trying to explain. “Oh,” she said as she took a deep breath. I could tell she was winded. “We should go look at it,” I said. “Like climb it?” she asked. I shook my head in reply. “No, it would be too windy on top and too much exposure to weather, I don’t see any tree cover or anything up there,” I said. We continued our slow pace until the ground began to slope. As we approached the base of the mountain the sloping would get too steep to comfortably continue, I noticed a large dark alcove about the size of a large grown man. I approached the dark hole and pulled out a small flashlight. I shined the bright LED light into the entrance seeing that this was a cave. It looked like the rocks over the top of the cave jutted out and created a sort of rooftop. The water drained directly down and pooled at the mouth of the entrance. I stepped into the entrance about half a foot and checked the inside. It consisted of a large chamber and I could feel a draft coming into the opening. The ceiling looked like it gently arched overhead, and the footing looked to be solid rock. The back of the chamber veered off the the right and I could see that I could fit probably ten people comfortably inside of this chamber. I could hear the soft click of Fenrir’s paws as he stepped into the cave and I eased slightly seeing that he was comfortable with this setting. I stepped in further and headed to the back of the cave. I could see that it opened into a smaller chamber. This smaller room led off to the right more, and as I followed this around I could see that it led to a third even smaller chamber that was the size of a large closet or bathroom. I realized that there was light in this room, and I could see a hole about the size of a basketball in the ceiling. I looked back and realized we had walked on a downslope and we were under ground level here. “Corporal?” I heard Stark called to me. The echo spooked me slightly, surprising me. “HM3!” I called back sarcastically. I pat my leg for Fenrir and I walked back up the slope to the main chamber. I could see Stark had set her pack down and she was sitting with her back to the wall. She had her head back and her eyes closed. She looked to me without moving her head and closed them again. “Why did we come in here?” she asked. I thought about it, looked back and forth at the walls and the entryway. I looked back to her and could see Stark was staring at me now waiting for an answer. “We should move,” I said. She scoffed for a moment before realizing I was being serious. “What? When?” she asked. “Now?” I replied. “Why wait? We are already here. This place is more defensible, it has solid walls, we can close the entrance, and I can rest easy knowing that the hyenabear can’t sneak up on me in my sleep,” I said. “Hyenabear?” she asked sarcastically before realizing what I meant. “Damn, that's a good one,” “Yeah, wish you woulda’ thought that one up first, don’t you?” I chuckled at my lonely joke. “Just upack what you have, I will go back and grab the other stuff I can, I will be quicker and I have the map,” I said waving my arm left and right with the PDA on it. I was lucky that we had only been walking a few hours, I was able to half that time alone. I made Fenrir stay at the cave and I went back to camp. I packed my main pack, my assault pack and a jump bag with the contents of my drop pod that I could take. It was heavy but I knew that I was capable of carrying it. I stacked the med box and the cache I had and I began my trek back to our little cave. It was an uneventful trip to and from the pod, aside from hacking up more black gunk. I had decided to not scuttle the pod with a grenade to the interior. I decided it could serve as a small last bastion now that I knew even something as big as a bear can’t get into those. I locked the door with my key pad and shut down any power to save the battery. I made my way back to the cave after packing our stuff up. When I came back in I found Fenrir seated outside the cave on a large rock, with Stark standing at the entrance. I set the stuff down on a dry spot of stone and I looked at the two in confusion. Stark was leaning on another rock with her head tilted back. She looked at me and sighed. “I don't want to sound like a girl, but I saw something in there and I don’t want to go back in until its dead,” she said simply. “Really? I left you with a fuckin’ rifle and I have to be to the one to go smash the spider?” I growled in annoyance. She chuckled sarcastically as I stormed into the cave in frustration. My anger immediately dissipated when before me I saw the most terrifying thing I had ever seen. It was a dark gray and looked like it was a rock at first. It was the size of a softball, with twelve large thick legs, six at each side. It resembled a scorpion in body type, with a small short tail but it didn’t wrap over the top like a typical scorpion. The front also lacked the large pincers, instead bearing two large needle looking arms. It sat still and I seriously debated how to kill this thing. I shined my light on it and the large creature skittered backwards. I realized that the light had scared it. I thought about stepping on it, but the small fear of it brushing off a boot stomp only to stab me or retaliate kept me from doing that. I made a small but important decision, I would shoot it. I withdrew my sidearm and stepped back to the mouth of the cave. Putting aside all safety knowing that shooting a firearm at a rock face was probably on the top ten stupidest things to do with a gun, the risk was worth the reward to destroy this monster. I took careful aim and squeezed the trigger. The round shot true and I observed the small critter jerk suddenly as the bullet passed through it. The oversized bug took a few steps and then laid in place twitching. The pop made my ears ring and I could hear Fenrir barking at me from outside. I stepped in further and knelt down looking at the bug. The bullet had made a clean neat little hole with minor fracturing around the entry point, but the bottom of the bug had burst apart and there was catastrophic damage to the internal organs. I had seen that I had made a good choice as I could tell now, the carapace on this bug was thick enough it probably would have survived the initial boot stomp. I holstered my weapon and heard Stark enter the Cave now. “Seriously?” she said sounding irritated. “I got scared,” I said looking back at her. I could see a smirk crack at the corner of her mouth and she struggled to tell if I was joking or not. I kept a serious blank stare before turning back to the bug and debating how to remove the carcass. I decided I would just build a fire and burn it. In a matter of thirty minutes I had a neat little semi circle of large stones against the flattest part of the wall with the highest portion of ceiling to vent to smoke. I had a pile of wood that was beginning to really catch flame and next to this was a semi large pile of wood that was going to dry as the fire burned. I then searched every nook and cranny I could with my light to root out anymore of those massive bugs, but I found none. I scooped the body into the fire as it burned away and I heard the fatty tissue inside the chitinous mass sizzle and crackle. It smelled like burning fat, and it was not a pleasant smell, but nothing strong enough to clear out the cave by any means. I watched as the shell began to blacken but as the fire burned, it never truly was destroyed. As I sat with my back against my pack I took in this cave. Smoke rolled across the ceiling and out of the entrance, barely visible as the fire burned hotter. I could see that the cave entrance did have a small pool of water formed that we stepped through to get in. It was ankle deep and I debated a way to redirect that runoff into a container. As my mind wandered I withdrew a small pouch of electrolyte powder, flavored orange, and I dumped it into a cup of steaming water, I used a foldable knife in my pocket to stir the mixture and set it on a flatter rock by the fire to keep it warm. *Mmmm orange,* I told myself sarcastically. I sat back again and began to let my head wander once more. I had stashed the two crates near the second chamber and I began to debate my next move. I would need to start recovering equipment to find some comms gear to rig up and send out a message. I could get a message far, and it would hit life boat computers, drop pods, and PDA’s. I could get people to come here and although we may struggle a bit for food or water, and maybe space, we would be safe in numbers. I placed my head in my hands and leaned forwards feeling tired from all of this stress. I coughed again and didn’t have to work hard at getting the mucus out of my throat, I spat it off into the flames. I sighed and rest my head back into my hands. I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up to see that Stark had noticed my mild distress. She gave a gentle squeeze and let go with a smirk. “Glad I’m here Corporal,” she said. I nodded and gave a half hearted smile back. “Im happy you found me,” I replied. There was a brief silence before I looked back at the fire. “Ivan, by the way,” I said to her softly. I watched the dancing flames, taking a small log the size of my wrist and tossing it on the fire. A shower of sparks soared towards the ceiling and quickly died as they hit the stone. “Natasha” she replied. I heard Fenrir sigh heavily and looked over to see him staring at me from the doorway, lying on his stomach, head resting between his front paws. I held out a hand and he wagged his tail briefly before approaching me. I pet him on his head and scratched his ears. “Where did he come from?” she asked. “I don’t know, he found me. Like you,” I said to her. “He was in the woods when I got here. It took a couple days, but he warmed up to me, and I him,” I said as I scratched him under the chin. I stopped and Fenrir laid next to me sighing again. “That’s fast for a wild animal,” she said. I nodded absentmindedly. She was right, domestication not being an overnight thing. I took note of it but pressed the thought to the back of my mind. As I thought the day was winding down and we should be getting settled for the evening I heard the sound of a large animal outside. A breathy growl followed by the sputtering I would recognize from a horse. Natasha and I looked at each other. I snatched up the shotgun and flicked the safety off. She had drawn the rifle from the leaning position against the wall. Fenrir stood and went to the doorway standing just out of the last of the daylight cast inside. I edged to the door as the growl came again. I feared another visit from Hyneabear and friends, but as I came around the corner I could start to see that this was not that. I could see from around the wall, a large four legged animal. It was clearly a beast of burden, on it, was a very plain looking dark brown contraption that was strapped around it. *Is that a saddle?* I asked myself as I stared at it. There was no rider that I could see and I began to feel the gears turn in overtime as I tried to process this info. I could see that there were very vibrant blue marks on the animal’s hindquarters. I observed how the animal had a similar build to an earth horse. It’s snout was elongated but it’s eyes were more forward and it’s mouth was flatter and wider. The muscles were larger, and it’s whole frame was wider, almost build like a gigantic pitbull dog without the bark, teeth and claws. “What is it?” Natasha asked. I looked back at her dumbfounded. “Uh...” I responded. “Well?” she asked again. “A horse,” I said without a better word for the animal outside.


My Love/Hate Relationship with New York City Suzanne Marsh I had two strikes against me before I was even born, both my parents were from New York City. My Dad hated the city and would do anything to avoid going there; Mom loved it. My first trip with Mom to New York City I was about five months old. It would be the first of many trips by car, train, bus and yes even plane. The first trip that I remember I was six years old. That year Mom decided to take me to the Bronx Zoo. I rode a camel that day, needless to say once we returned to Grandma’s the bathtub awaited yours truly. The Bronx Zoo was huge compared to the Buffalo Zoo. It was an adventure between the subway and buses. For the life of me to this day I won’t get on a subway; I saw the subway close with a lady’s arm caught in the door. The following year Mom thought I should see more the New York City; ergo we went to the Empire State Building and the Statue of Liberty. The Empire State Building has one hundred and two floors, when it was built in the thirties it was the tallest building in the world, or so they say. The elevator seemed to be soaring we got off on the observation deck on the eighty sixth floor. The deck was all fenced in, Mom explained that a lot of people jumped from that floor. I walked around the deck, begged Mom for a dime to view the city from one of those observation viewers. I had great fun with that; then I had an idea. It was not to brightest idea I have ever had: I looked over and straight down. My stomach did flip flops and I decided it was time to leave. No, I have never returned to the Empire State Building. The Statue of Liberty is something that every American should see. In the 1950’s you took a boat out to Governor's Island, that I enjoyed. We debarked from the boat, walking toward the entrance. We took an elevator up to the skirt, from there we took winding stairs that became narrower and narrower. We ascended to the crown. There were windows that we looked out. That was when I had a very stubborn moment. It took Mom almost an hour to convince me we had to leave. I wanted to stay in the crown the rest of my life, so did not have to descend those stairs! The years went by Mom took me to the Bowery. That was a dirty place even back in the day. She told me about the Bowery and why it was famous. We went to Chinatown, Mom bought me a pair of silk type pajamas and beaded slippers. I still have a picture of me with those blue and pink pajamas, my hair was teased. We roamed Chinatown, Mom purchased a Buddha and incense. Mom lit the incense, it smelled horrible. Grandma spent the rest of the evening basically airing out the house. Time has a way of creeping up on all of us, me included. I have been to New York City several times since my younger days. My husband is a truck driver, we had several loads that we delivered. I have never been an ardent fan of New York City, I never cared for the odors. The city is laid out in a square, it is not accommodating to truckers. The rule of thumb was to stay in Pennsylvania if you had an eight o’clock appointment you left at four in the morning. The first trip my husband made to New York City was as a student driver. His mentor was driving, actually that was a good thing. The city has always been a challenge when it comes to parking. So the situation they found themselves in I could empathize with. There was a sign that stated: no parking here to the corner. There was a red Mazda RX7 parked on the corner. The mentor saw the sign and stopped. He did not want to take out the car. They sat there until one of New York’s finest approached the tractor trailer. He asked why the truck was sitting there with its four ways on. That was simple, the mentor did not want to hit the car: “Get that damn truck out of here you are hold up traffic.” “If I go around the corner I will take out the front of the car!” The cop pointed out that the car was parked illegally. The mentor put the truck in gear and over that beautiful candy apple red Mazda RX7 the truck went. When I heard about it I could still envision my Mom in her burgundy bathrobe, her hair in bobby pins, standing in a parking space while Dad moved the car from one side of the street to the other. Our first trip to New York City was a load of crackers going to Hunts Point, the Bronx. Just the thought that I was going to the Bronx scared me. It was not one of the better sections of New York City any longer. It had a high rate of theft in the area. When we crossed the George Washington Bridge, it was still dark. Trucks are only allowed on the upper level, we sat and waited until the trucks in front of us moved. We followed the directions, this was a load from hell! The first hint that we were in Hunts Point loomed in front of the tractor trailer, it was a prostitute no doubt on her way home. She had blond hair, a tight fitting leather fringed jacket, a very short skirt and glow in the dark pink knee high boots. The windows were up and doors locked. She continued on her way; we did also. The street we were looking for was a tight turn, we missed the driveway. There was a very helpful JB Hunt that told us if we continued down that street, we would be hijacked. My husband found a driveway and turned back to the driveway we had missed. That area was disgusting, between all the garbage strewn all over the area. The smells were horrendous. The adult in me could only remember how the city looked now not back when I was seven. I hated being there and wanted to leave. My desire to go to New York City is just not there. So much has changed over the years. It is still a dirty city but then most cities are. I used to love to go and visit Grandma. I remember there was no grass in the front only cement. Firefighters would open up the fire hydrants in summer so the children could cool off. Those memories remain that memories. The realty of New York City today is totally different from when I was a child. Yes I do have a love/hate with New York City and I always will.


The snow falls gently, as if it has all the time in the world. It covers everything in it’s white mask, disguising the trees, the rocks, the mountains, the whole world. The tiny crystals blend together, a whole being and separate entities. Some crystalize against the window, and I can see their individual shapes, how gorgeous and different each and every one are until there’s enough in the layer to make it one big frost. One could stand there forever, basking in the morning glow against the snow, hot tea in hand as the smell wafts up, feeling warmer knowing how cold it must be outside. My beautiful brown kitten, Puff, comes and rubs up against my leg, breaking my focus. “Well, hello there handsome,” I whisper to him, picking him up. I turn him so that he’s looking out the window too, and I sigh “Isn’t it beautiful?” “Been awhile since you’ve seen snow hasn’t it?” my mom asks, coming up behind me “Yeah, I forgot how gorgeous it is,” I respond “Bet you’ll be surprised by how cold it is too then,” my mom laughs “you being so used to that california heat.” “I’m sure it’ll be a surprise.” “Excited to go out today?” my mom asks “do a little sledding, a little skating, maybe a snowball fight?” Skating. Right. “Oh, yeah. It’s been a while.” I tell her, staring at the ice “See you in a bit!” she calls as she walks out of the room It’s been years since I’ve skated. In fact, it’s been years since I’ve stepped on ice. The thought sends a shudder down my spine, chills me to my core. I can feel the anxiety rising, and the possibility of an impending panic attack coming on. I take deep breaths as I walk to the kitchen to grab a glass of water to calm myself down. “Wassup, loser.” my older brother, Brantley greets me as he comes into the kitchen “When’d you get in?” “What a nice greeting.” I say “Hello to you too, dear brother. How are you? How is school? How’s that girl of yours?” “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I just thought I was getting a couple more hours of peace.” I make a face at him “My delay ended up taking less time than I thought, so I got in at about one last night.” “Well, that’s a shame.” “Oh, shut up.” A few hours later we all head outside. The snowflakes land gently on my eyelashes and the cold bites my nose. I pull my jacket up a bit. “Awe, is Hollywood finding it a bit cold out here?” Brantley knocks into me a little as he walks by. He has his skates flung over his shoulder and is holding a stick in his hand. Instead of responding, I choose to grab a handful of snow and rub it in his face. “Hey!” he yells, dropping his stuff. “Get over here!” I take off and he chases me. I run around the trees in the yard, trying to lose him, giggling as I go. I feel like a little kid again, running through the trees with my siblings and cousins, playing a game of pretend where we’re fighting against some near-omniscient foe, holding powers of another world. Suddenly I’m face first in the snow. “Ha-ha!” Brantley calls as I get up, propping one foot on a tree stump and doing a heroic pose. “I have prevailed!” I wipe the snow off my face and stand up. “Now I’m going to be all wet.” “Should’ve thought of that before you pushed snow in my face. You seem to forget that I am now bigger than you, and that you and Ceila can no longer team up on me-” his face falls as he realizes what he’s said “Crap. I’m sorry.” My lip quivers, but I bite down on it to stop myself from crying “N-no. It’s okay. You don’t- We shouldn’t... I-” I sigh “We shouldn’t have to dance around talking about it so much. You shouldn’t have to watch what you say.” “Really?” “Really.” “Oh, uh okay.” he looks taken back “So those therapy sessions... they’ve been working then?” “Yeah. At least, I think so. It’s... it’s better now. At least a little. I came here, didn’t I?” “That’s true. Should we get going?” “Sure.” Together, we walk back to where everyone else is. I take in the sights. It’s stopped snowing and now it just glitters, undisturbed until we walk on it. “Hey! Look!” Brantley calls excitedly “Check it out, it’s still here!” “What’s still- oh!” I see him standing beside an old oak tree, bare and gray now that it’s winter. Hanging from one of the branches is an old tire swing. The trunk of the tree has wooden planks nailed to it. At partway up, there it is. The old treehouse. We had found it before, many years ago. We spent hours in it, playing games and hanging out. “I can’t believe it’s still here.” I murmur, placing my hand against the trunk. “Yeah, I haven’t seen it in years, and I come out way more often than you.” he looks around “Guess I haven’t ran through the trees in a while.” “Yeah,” I give a small laugh and look around “me either.” We spend the day in the snow. Sledding down the hills, being pulled on a tube behind the quad, snowmobiling over mounds of snow. It’s complete nostalgia. It’s as if I’ve time traveled back to a different life. I love my life in California, my job, my friends, the heat, but this place, these experiences will always hold a special place in my heart. Everything feels as it once were. At least almost everything. It’s near dark before we head over to the fire. Everyone else is already there, eating hot dogs and roasting marshmallows. “Hey Hollywood!” one of my cousins call. Evidently, Brantley had shared that very endearing nickname with the family. “Gonna join us for a game of shinny after supper?” Anxiety begins to rise in me, but I remember what my therapist said. Feet on the ground, anchored. Deep breaths, still breathing, still alive. Face your fears. “Sure, why not?” Everyone’s lacing up their skates. I’m sitting on a log, people all around me, chattering amounts themselves. All I can hear is the rushing of blood in my head. I stare down at my skates. The ice is not in front of me, I can see the edges of it at the edge of my vision. Before I know what’s happening, I’m gone. I vaguely hear people yelling behind me, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. I just need to get away. From them, from the ice, from her. I hazardly run through the trees, knocking into branches, snow piling on top of me. I don’t even bother to wipe it up. Suddenly, I’m at the trunk of the old oak- and I’m climbing the wooden ladder into the house, not even considering how dangerous it may be. I huddle in the corner, the adrenaline wearing off. “I’m sorry.” I whisper “I’m so so sorry.” We were all obsessed with skating. We loved it. Celia was like a dancer on skates. She could fly through the air, defying gravity. Spin so fast that she became a blur. Brantley and I preferred hockey. The quick motion, the adrenaline rush. He was better than me, but I was catching up. I could’ve probably played for a university. I dreamt of playing for the Canadian women’s Olympic hockey team. I was 14, Celia was 15 and Brantley was 17. We were at the cabin. It was getting warmer, but not too warm. Everyone else was sleeping. Celia and I snuck out late at night to go skating. We wanted to be under the stars. She loved the stars. She was telling me about this boy that she liked, and how excited she was for their first date when we got home. We laced up our skates. She got on the ice first. “Watch this!” She called out. She began skating. Fast, so fast. Closer and closer to the middle, like a spiral. She was going faster than I had ever seen her go before. At the middle, she jumped up and spun in the air. She made three full spins before coming down. The ice cracked beneath her as she hit it. She looked up, and I saw the fear in her face as the ice broke. She fell in. I ran towards her as fast as I could. I tripped when I was close to her, and I broke the ice more, falling in behind her. I tried to turn myself around, kicking desperately to get up. My skate connected with something. I was drowning, dying, I couldn’t figure out which way was up. I woke up to sirens and bright lights, a mask over my mouth and nose and a strangers face hovering over mine. Apparently, Brantley just so happened to see me fall in as he was getting water in the kitchen. He screamed for our parents as he ran outside in nothing but Star Wars boxer shorts. I remember because he had gotten them for Christmas that year in a pack. He jumped in, bare chested, and grabbed me, pulled me up. He later said that I was so cold that I had turned blue. He thought I was dead. My parents and everyone else in the cabin came out too. They didn’t know that Celi was under too. They only saw me. Only knew that I was there. They were so panicked, so stressed, that they didn’t realize that I wouldn’t go out by myself. It wasn’t until my uncle asked where she was, after the ambulance had been called, that it occurred to them. My brother and dad almost jumped in. They had to be physically restrained. My aunt, an EMT, told them that they couldn’t go in, that they didn’t know where she was and they may only cause her to sink deeper. They didn’t care. They wanted to save her. Half an hour later, she was fished out. The people who got her out said that she was dead before they realized that she was in there, that there was no saving her, that it wasn’t their fault. Which, of course it wasn’t. It was mine. Sure, we both wanted to be out there. It was even her idea. But when she was pulled up, there was a gash on her forehead. Something had hit her. I had hit her. My skate had hit her head and knocked her out. If I hadn’t been so stupid, had gone for help instead of running to the water, she might’ve still been here, alive. There were so many things that she never got to do. Never went on her first date, had her first kiss, her first love. She wanted to be a doctor. Get married and have kids. Travel the world. Climb Mt. Everest, see the pyramids, go to the top of the effiel tower. She had her whole life in front of her. I killed her, and she never go to do any of that stuff, never got to experience life. And it’s all my fault. “Lila?” I hear the soft voice of my brother outside of the treehouse “are you up there?” I sniff, but don’t answer. I just want to be alone. “I know that you’re there. If you don’t come down, I’m coming up.” I still don’t answer, hoping that he’ll just leave. A moment later I hear the creaking of wood as he climbs up. He sits beside me, and puts his arm around my shoulder. “It’s not your fault.” He tells me firmly This time I respond “Yes it is. I did it. I killed her.” “No, you didn’t.” “Yes I did!” I sit up, now angry “I didn’t go inside to get help. I skated over to the water, tripped and fell in, and I kicked her in the head! The gash was there. She might’ve lived if it weren’t for me!” Now he’s angry “Damn it Lila, you have to stop blaming yourself!” “I blame myself because it’s my fault! I-“ “No! Shut up!” He yells “did you push her into the water? Did you purposely kick her to kill her? No! If anything it was my fault- you were unconscious, and I was too stupid to realize that you would go out alone!” “Brantley, it wasn’t your fault.” “I know. But it took a long time for me to realize that. And it’s still hard. Sometimes I still think that I could’ve done more, saved her too.” “You didn’t know.” “I know.” We sit in silence for a while. Suddenly he stands up and extends his hand. “Come on.” He says I look at him, perplexed “Where are we going?” “Just come on. Trust me.” So I do. We walk slowly through the woods, past the trees. Brantley leads me. I have no idea where we’re going. We emerge from a path, and we’re in front of the lake. “No.” I say “no way.” “Lil, listen. After Celia died, I felt... broken.” He takes a deep breath “I couldn’t even function sometimes. It felt like I was dying too. I guess you’d understand that, huh?” I nod. I do know how that feels. “Anyways,” he continues “it took me a while- less than you- but still. The way that I even kind of got back to being myself was by doing the things that I loved, like skating. I know that I wasn’t there for the whole thing. I know that you experienced it, the whole thing. I know that it’s different for you. You were there, under the ice. But now you need to come back on it.” He steps on and holds out his hand “come onto the ice with me.” I take a deep breath, and grab his hand. I close my eyes, and, ever so slowly, I step down onto the ice.


The old witch must have died in her garden. The smell of pungent decay was snaking out from behind her house and resting bodily in the southern heat. The humidity did nothing to attenuate the issue. The stench had come suddenly at dawn and reached everybody in town simultaneously. Nobody was enthusiastic about the prospect of collecting the corpse. Outsiders deemed the townsfolk superstitious. The townsfolk deemed themselves sensibly cautious. They traipsed around the issue for hours until the stench got so bad, the men putting up the telegraph poles refused to go on working. Behind the grates of the lone cell in the Sheriff’s office sat a man, licking his mustache. He did this deliberately and hopelessly like one might do when sealing an envelope containing their broken heart. The steel bars were cool and cumbersome in his flimsy grip. He let his hands go slack at his sides. Chinked out of the concrete wall there was a grated aperture that was supposed to be a window. It was set just above his eye-level so that he had to get on his toes to see through it. Outside, a bird sat on a crumbling well, just distinguishable through the suffocating mist. As soon as he looked at it, the bird twitched and vanished into oblivion. The mist was mousing its way into his cell. His once-bristly mustache had wilted into a caterpillar by the time the Sheriff returned. “There’s something you’ve gotta tend to before you’re shipped off to the pen,” the Sheriff buzzed, “Somebody’s died. You're gonna bury the corpse.” “I didn’t realize I took up an apprenticeship with the undertaker,” the man retorted. “Shut up Dalton. You know more’n your share ‘bout death, I might remind you.” “And don’t you forget it, old man. That bastard was asking for it. Now tell me why you want me to get my hands dirty.” “Well it’s that old hag that’s died, way out in the swamp.” “ ‘Course she did. Think I haven’t been smelling that rot all morning? That ain’t what a man ‘posed to smell before he’s executed. Ain’t a chance in hell I’m doing it. You can’t force a man to lose his soul to that rotten bitch before- before he-” “They gone commute your sentence, boy. If you do it.” “You saying I won’t fry?” “That’s the deal been struck up.” “By who?” “City council. Ran it by the state too. All hunky dory.” “Sounds like quite an imaginative deal. Mind if I get it in writing?” “You sure are a crafty bastard.” “A self preser-vating one.” “Well, wasn’t time to draft anything up, but I assure you we’ll have something written by the time you get back.” The witch’s old manor was sunk into a saturated hill guarded by beards of Spanish moss and mire. Down the bog from the house was the old cemetery where the inscription on every gravestone terminated in 1893. Another town had once thrived on the other side of the swamp until this marked year. This was the year everybody in that town had perished to some nebulous disease. This was the year their corpses were dragged out to the swamp for burial, one by one, to prevent contagion. This went on until everyone had dropped dead. The only woman from that town that lived to see the next year had settled down in that manor on the hill and had been plotting for decades. What she was plotting, no one knew, but she was plotting something. Everybody in the neighboring town knew she was culpable for the plague. She took everybody out in order to eke out her wretched existence peacefully in her contrived swamp-palace, growing mutant botany in her garden. Lord knows what sort of sorcery she invoked to bring forth their decline. Worse, she was proving to be just as odious in death as in life. The algae aggregating on the swamp-water’s surface was sheared by beating paddles. Men with guns were gliding across the stagnant water. One of these men seemed to have swapped his gun for chains, and his uniform for tattered pajamas. Alligators pooled by the banks, watching the scene unfold with skepticism. Unchained, Dalton was prodded off a boat and onto not-so-dry land. The disintegrating palace, dressed in foliage, loomed overhead. Its whitewash was anything but; mainly yellow. The window panes were opaque with dust. The entire crumbling edifice was being consumed by the frenzied garden in the backyard. It seemed clear that the smell was coming from back there. It was impossible, though, to enter or even see through the thick sinewy vines that encompassed the backyard. He had to enter through the front. Tetanus in mind, Dalton made sure his hand was unscathed before jingling the rusted doorknob. It opened without so much as a creak. He froze with his jaw hanging - not from instant lockjaw, but rather due to the sight of the interior; it was immaculate. Its waxed floors reflected yellow coruscation from the lamps lining the walls. There was not a speck of dust on the antiques. The glass cover shielding the china cabinet wasn’t blemished by so much as a thumbprint. But the stink was worse than ever. He could have been sharing a coffin with a months-dead gorilla drenched in spoiled milk. The paintings hanging in the living room all decided upon flowers for their subject matter. The pillows on the sofa were neatly fluffed and he guessed that even the piano nestled in the corner was perfectly in tune, though he dared not touch it. A gleam of light suddenly swiped his eye. It came from a photograph hanging by the stairwell. Pictured were three rows of suited men with a lone woman hiding among their ranks. She was wearing a bashful smile. The entire group was wedged between two budding trees, the scene well lit by a beaming sun. A caption at their feet read “Graduation.” A date was scrawled beside it, though this was muddled to obscurity. Then he heard the creaks. They were almost imperceptible, whispering to him from the second story. He suddenly remembered the ubiquitous stench of pure rot and propelled himself away from the stairs and straight toward the backdoor. He braced and burst it open. His nostrils were plugged with melted rats but there was no corpse in sight outside. There was only a chaos of green and in the center of it all, a goliath flower of deep crimson. It was inundated with flies. He got the impression that somehow this was his culprit. Amazed, he stretched his arm to it when he heard a door click gently shut behind him. He turned. An ancient lady was scrutinizing him from two pearls hidden deep within the grottos of her eye sockets. Her puckered mouth smoothed itself into a smile. “Hello Gabriel. Come to see Eleanor?”, she squawked. “Pardon me?”, came the petrified response. “Oh isn’t it beautiful, the monstrosity?” “I’m sorry?” “The titan. Titan arum, isn’t it?” “What is?” “Say, what sort of a lousy botanist are you anyway? The daggum Titan arum you were just gawking at. That’s the daggum stink plant you and your wife sowed in my garden ages ago.” “My wife?” “Oh, I’m sorry. Your fiance.” “My fiance?” “Oh, you’re such a kidder, teasing an old lady like me. It’s a shame Eleanor’s gone out. It was her daggum idea to plant it, now it’s blooming and she’s gone out. Bet she’s glad she don’t have to smell the damn thing, at least.” “Uh-huh.” “Gee, when did you get so talkative? Well come inside, Gabriel, the smell is just unbearable. Oh but it is so beautiful, isn’t it?”, she said, pointing at the plant. “Unbelievably so”, he rumbled. Once inside the house, the old lady hurried into the kitchen to prepare some tea and biscuits. Dalton was instructed to make himself at home, so he began snooping the instant she was out of sight. He scanned the cabinets, drawers, until his shrewd eye landed on an oblong vase resting on the mantel. It was cool and heavy in his hands and whispered with powder when he carefully shook it. He turned it until he came upon an inscription, one that had been facing the wall before he had inspected it. Eleanor Crosby, April 13th, 1894- September 8, 1931. He replaced the urn, careful to conserve its position, and went to close the drawers. A letter caught his eye. “It is my professional opinion that your mother’s dementia should be ameliorated-” he heard her coming. Shutting the drawer, he rushed to his seat on the sofa. Shortly after, the old lady came bustling out of the kitchen, refreshments in hand. He mulled over his cup of tea for a moment, then spoke, “I’m sorry to bring this up, but are you from that town that had that sickness come through?” “Don’t be sorry. Yes, I was.” “Did you have to bury all those people?” “Oh no. My husband, Nicky, was out there burying most everybody, till there wasn’t a soul left to bury. Then he died. He was the only one I had to bury.” “I’m sorry to hear that.” “I’m sorry it happened, but that was all so long ago.” “And you were the only one that did survive the plague?” “Oh, I wasn’t the only one, dummy. I was already pregnant with Eleanor. Nicky would have loved her. Nicky loved plants too, so when she went to study them, I was just thrilled.” He thought for a while longer, then asked in a broken voice if she had anybody to care for her. “Eleanor’s always around, Gabriel, you know that. Though after the wedding, I suppose you’ll whisk her away. I’ll need to hire some help then.” He gazed out the window and thought some more before declaring, “No. I’ll stay here and look after you. You oughta be accounted for.” “Oh Gabriel, you’re too sweet.” “I mean it. There’s just one thing.” “Oh?” “I have a friend named Dalton. He ran off to California not too long ago. Now, there’s some fellers in town, think he’s missing. I been tellin’ ‘em he’s left town but they just won’t believe me. They’re down by the swamp right now looking for him, matter of fact. Perhaps you might go outside and tell ‘em, real simple, ‘Dalton’s gone, y’all go home now.” Say it just like that. Straighten things out. I’m sure it’ll send ‘em packin’.”


“Ma’am? It’s almost time to meet the ambassador.” Delaney Cohen cracked her neck and buttoned the last button on her top. She puffed out her cheeks and examined her lipstick for any smudges--it’d been a while since she spoke French. Maybe the ambassador would speak English and she wouldn’t have to fake her way through a terrible accent. She grabbed her lucky pebble and slipped it into her skirt pocket. “Ma’am? Ms. Cohen?” “Sorry, Olive.” Delaney smoothed down the fly-aways in her hair and brushed the “I still believe” bumper sticker she’d stuck to the inside of her drawer, where nobody could see. She should’ve left earlier. “I’m ready, I promise.” “Good. We really can’t afford to be late.” Olive scuttled in front of Delaney and straightened her collar, and although Delaney rolled her eyes, she didn’t push Olive away. She might treat Delaney more like a child than a boss, but it’s not like she could complain. Not now, not as late as she perpetually was. “Come this way, ma’am.” Delaney followed Olive until they got to the end of the hallway. There, she overtook Olive, so it looked more like the professional-associate relationship it was supposed to be. “Straighten your back, ma’am,” Olive hissed as Delaney opened the door, and Delaney managed to not roll her eyes a second time as she pressed open the door and squinted in the bright sun. Blinking furiously, Delaney walked briskly towards the circle drive where she stopped. Luckily, the black car that signaled the ambassador’s arrival was just a speck at the end of the mile-long driveway. Delaney curled her toes in. Her pumps were professional, spotless, and so, so painful. She should’ve cut her toenails last night, but she hadn’t, and she hadn’t this morning and now it was too late, and she would meet the ambassador with pinched, swollen feet. He probably wouldn’t notice though. He’d probably see right through her, just like all the other pompous bureaucrats she’d shown around their new homes. “Remember, the new ambassador has an aide who is in a wheelchair, so you’ll want to show her all the--” “Wait, she?” Olive rolled her eyes. “You really don’t listen, do you? The new ambassador is a woman. The old ambassador retired. That’s why there’s a new ambassador. That’s why you’re showing the new ambassador to her new home. We went over all of this yesterday. Are you a fool, ma’am?” “No,” said Delaney, feeling quite the fool. “No, I just... I just assumed.” The black speck was getting larger and Delaney straightened her back. A woman. Not that there was anything wrong with that--Delaney had just been expecting a carbon copy of the old ambassador, in all his windbag-ness. With a cramp in her stomach, Delaney realized that she didn’t remember the new ambassador’s name. The black speck morphed into a real life car, and as Delaney scrabbled at every French woman’s name she could think of, the car came to a stop in front of her feet. By the time the driver had opened the backseat door, Delaney had given up, and she smiled at the short, brown skinned woman who climbed out of the car and looked up at her with strangely familiar eyes. Delaney’s smile almost faltered. There was something familiar about the new ambassador. “ Bienvenue , Madame l'ambassadrice ,” Delaney said, going into an unnecessary curtsy. Olive gave her a murderous look--no doubt just realizing that Delaney had forgotten the new ambassador’s name. “ Je m’appelle Delaney Cohen, et je serai en charge de l'hébergement pour votre séjour dans notre ambassade . C'est mon assistant , Olive Condos.” The French spilled off her tongue clumsily, almost drunkenly. If she’d known she’d be making a first impression, she would’ve practiced earlier. Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve. Olive bowed her head in respect, momentarily breaking her stare. “Enchantée, Ambassadrice Desmarais,” she said pointedly and Delaney relaxed her shoulders back. Ambassador Desmarais smiled politely, and suddenly something clicked in Delaney’s head. “Oh! Are you related to the former Ambassador Desmarais? Sorry,” she said, quickly regaining her composure, “I mean, uh, es-tu lié --” “English is fine,” Ambassador Desmarais interrupted. “And yes, I’m his daughter.” She had no accent, unlike her predecessor, and her voice gave Delaney such a sense of déjà vu that it sent shivers down her spine. “Then you would have grown up here, in this house,” Delaney said, gesturing towards the front door. “Yes,” Ambassador Desmarais said, gazing up at the awning. “My father always said that when my brother was old enough, he would have this job and live in this house. Theodore became a stripper instead, and now this is all mine. Guess which one of us has a more heavy paycheck, though.” The ambassador looked down at Delaney and smirked, and Delaney couldn’t help but laugh. When she rumbled down into a giggle, she found the ambassador examining her curiously. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to laugh--she’d just thought it would break the tension that had swamped her every experience with the previous ambassadors. Then, Ambassador Desmarais laughed as well, and took a step towards the door. “It has been a while since I lived here.” “Let us show you around.” This was the part Delaney was good at. She lead the ambassador from room to room, floor to floor, and the Ambassador willingly followed, commenting on her own childhood memories in the house. Still, though, Delaney couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew the Ambassador from somewhere, somewhere else than just her familiar last name. “And here is the service elevator,” Delaney said. Olive fluttered by her elbow--no matter how much she disliked how casual Delaney was acting, there was nothing she could do about it in the presence of the ambassador. “When I was younger,” Ambassador Desmarais said, “my older sister and I tried to put our little sister in there, before our father caught us.” Delaney lead her away, towards the third bathroom. “You must have had a big family.” “Bigger than some. It was us, the three girls, and then my brother, the oldest. My father liked him best. We joke around that he wasn’t paying attention when we were born so he gave us all the same name.” “Did he?” “Sort of. My sisters are Veronica and Victoria and I’m Berenice, of course,” the ambassador said, and Delaney nodded. Of course. “They all mean victory, or something about victory.” “That’s very interesting, This is the largest bathroom in the house.” Berenice Desmarais. That was so familiar. Delaney couldn’t deny it now. She knew the ambassador from something, and from the looks the ambassador was shooting her when she wasn’t looking, Ambassador Desmarais knew her too. They never seemed to make eye contact, though. “It’s very nice. Good tub space.” “I think so too.” “And in here is the master bedroom. It’s got a lovely view.” Ambassador Desmarais pulled open the window. “Ah, screens. I will have to get used to American window screens again.” She sneezed. “Gesundheit.” “Thank you. Allergies, I fear.” “That’s a shame.” Delaney narrowed her eyes at the ambassador. “I get them too.” “Really? Are you new to the area?” “Nope. Lived here all my life.” Ambassador Desmarais examined her again. “Where did you go to school? Grace Hodges Academy?” “No, my mother homeschooled me,” Delaney replied. “I didn’t socialize much as a child. We couldn’t have paid for Grace Hodges Academy. We never did anything on that side of town.” Stalemate. Delaney and the ambassador studied each other. “Do you have family in politics?” “No. My father works in a grocery store and my mother was a professor.” Olive, who had watched this back and forth and understood none of it, nudged Delaney in the side. Delaney got the message. “Alright. All that’s left to show you is the gardens.” Berenice Desmarais, Berenice Desmarais, Berenice Desmarais. Delaney tumbled it over and over in her mind as she walked down the stairs. She didn’t bother mentioning the art that adorned the walls--it had been there for more than twenty years, so the ambassador had undoubtedly seen it. “Careful on the threshold,” she called behind her. “Of course.” “These are the mums--we have them planted each spring.” “Oh?” Ambassador Desmarais bent towards the earth. “Can I choose the colors at least?” Delaney shrugged. “Sure, if you’d like. I can have the gardeners come by next week, if you’d--” “No, no, I can do it myself. Besides, I’d love to be able to have a garden again. I haven’t been able to dig in any dirt in years, but I learned the basics during a summer camp that I--” Suddenly, she stopped, and looked up at Delaney, the flush gone from her cheeks. Delaney took a step back. Berry Desmarais, the only other girl who could speak French at Wilderness Camp in 1983. The only one who had snuck out with her to watch the sunrise. The only other person who had seen Bigfoot that night. The ambassador stood and bowed slightly, never breaking eye contract with Delaney. “Thank you for showing me the house, Ms. Cohen.” “Of course, Madame Ambassador,” said Delaney. “I must be going now,” the Ambassador said, her eyes shining just as brightly as that warm July night when they’d seen Bigfoot emerge from the trees. “I have meetings to attend to.” “I will call a car for you, Ambassador Desmarais,” said Olive, pulling out her cell phone. “And if anything doesn’t fit your standards,” Delaney added, “anything at all, feel free to... feel free to call me. I am in charge of accommodations after all.” The ambassador reached into her pocket and grabbed something, and although she didn’t show it to Delaney, it looked to be about the size as Delaney’s own lucky pebble that she’d stolen from the woods that night to remember. “I’m going to go use the bathroom. I’ll be back before the car comes.” As the ambassador crossed back into the house, Olive finished her phone call and nudged Delaney with her elbow. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that you and the ambassador seemed to be flirting, ma’am.” “No, not really.” Delaney smiled. The bond they shared was far greater than any romance anyway. Delaney smiled. France-US relations were in good hands.


No one knew the woman that accompanied Finn Dralor through the dimly lit corridors of the trader’s deck, but everyone knew enough about Dralor to realize that whatever business she was conducting with him, it was sure to be bad. Dralor was well known to be a slaver, smuggler, pimp ...and worse. If this were anywhere but the pirate-run Salvation Station, he’d have a dozen or more Inter-Sol bounty hunters already taking aim on him. His rakish good looks and unusually tall frame, in addition to his penchant for rich, colorful clothing, made him quite recognizable for those looking to cash in on the sizable reward offered for his capture. Fortunately for him, it was Salvation, the only space station in the entire solar system where the laws of the Inter-Solar Union didn’t hold sway. Those who came here knew that while they might look and listen, they had better keep their mouths firmly shut and mind to their own affairs. The woman herself was anything but attractive. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, but her scowling face and the fierce glances she cast about made her seem older than her years. One cheek was badly scarred, perhaps from a serious burn, and her left arm, from the elbow down, was a cybernetic replacement, steel and plexicon grafted to living flesh. Her dark hair was cropped short and her clothing, in contrast to Dralor’s rich finery, was made of a course black fabric, sleeveless and unadorned. Usually, no one would have taken notice of her, save for one glaring detail; she wore no weapon. On Salvation, a lawless bastion of murderers and thieves, everyone was expected to provide their own protection. The fact that the woman in Dralor’s company didn’t feel the need to carry any form of protection led to one of only two possible assumptions. Either she believed that Finn Dralor would keep her safe (which would make her a fool) or, there was much more to this young woman than her appearance suggested. All eyes watched as the pair made their way to Garl Varo’s shop, The Wicked Way. A run-down, rusted corner of the deck where illicit drugs, synth-whores, and other forms of debased entertainment could be easily purchased. As the sliding steel door of the store closed behind them, the onlookers turned back to their own business, secure in the knowledge that whatever happened inside Varo’s store, the less they knew about it, the better. Inside, the shop was a cacophony of lights, music, and perversion. The walls were covered with monitrons displaying images of nude synthetic prostitutes, both male and female, dancing and offering their customizable bodies to those that had the currency to buy them. One simply had to select the features and attributes they desired from the touch menu on the screen, pay the required fee, and the synth-whore would be ready and willing in seconds in one of several rooms below the shop. Directly across from the entrance sat several counters, each with a selection of holographic images showing various wares the store had to offer. Pharmaceuticals, pornographic holovids, and the latest in recreational bio-mods were on sale. The dancing colors coming from the multitude of strobing light emitters, coupled with the sound of Martian jazz, was enough to make a customer brain-dead within minutes from sensory overload, which was probably the intent. The worst salesman in the galaxy could make easy money off a zombie. At the back of the building sitting on a hover chair was the proprietor, Garl Varo himself. A bloated, greasy lump of pale, pasty flesh, Garl was not someone most people enjoyed being around. A stinking miasma hung in the air around him at all times, a result of his addiction to muru, an extract from the root of the Venusian Orchid that put the user into a state of relaxed euphoria. His bald head and pig-like face were covered in wart-like growths, a side effect of the drug, and his wide mouth resembled nothing so much as two slabs of raw liver, gone bad. His hairless torso was bare, and sweat ran down in rivulets over his sickly-looking skin, even though the room was quite cool. He was the picture of over-indulgence and gluttony. However, anyone who drew their conclusions about Garl from his appearance alone would soon be dismayed by any business dealings they might have with him. His mind was as sharp as a razor, and his greed knew no bounds. Those two traits, along with the selection of wares he chose to sell, made him one of the most ruthless and under-handed traders on the station. He glanced up as the two entered the shop and his face broke into a wide, stained-tooth grin. Removing his muru pipe from his lips, he beckoned to them. “Finn, my boy!” He exclaimed throwing his gelatinous arms wide in greeting, “What brings the dirtiest scoundrel in the nine quadrants to my humble little corner of space?” Finn grinned back at the fat blob as he strolled towards him. “Oh, you know,” He said with a casual wave of his hand, “business as usual.” “Oh?” Garl replied, his eyebrows arching. “Well, let’s see if I can help you out then, alright?” Suddenly, Garl’s hover chair spun around one hundred eighty degrees. From the back a series of panels dropped open and half a dozen tubes extended out. Finn dove to one side as the tubes began discharging ion rounds, all of them aimed squarely for the young woman still standing near the front of the room. The entire store turned into a blaze of screaming energy eruptions, the charges detonating on impact and incinerating anything they came in contact with. After a few seconds, the firing stopped and the chair spun back around. Garl looked around at the damage to his store. The blackened monitrons filled the air with the stench of burnt ozone, and the music that had been playing was reduced to a quiet garble. The shelves with the built in holographic projectors fizzed and sparked, while puddles of melted plexicon congealed and solidified on the floor. Of the woman, there was no sign. “Well, it looks like you owe me quite a bit of money, Finn,” He said while still surveying the destruction, “I’d say about ten thousand cred’s worth.” He finished smugly. He drew deeply from his pipe as he catalogued everything that would need to be replaced. “Who was that slut, anyway?” He asked, finally turning to look at Finn, still lying on the floor. “She wasn’t much of a looker, if ya...” Garl’s voice trailed off as he looked at the man on the floor. Finn Dralor wasn’t paying attention to Garl. His eyes were turned upward, with a look in them that Garl didn’t like at all. Just as he turned to see what had Finn’s attention, he felt a sudden burst of pain as the woman, whom moments before he had assumed vaporized, leaped down from the ceiling she had been clinging to and caught him in the side of his bulbous, warty head with a hard kick that sent him flying from the hover chair and crashing down to the floor next to Finn. He barely had time to realize he might be in real trouble before a cybernetic hand closed on his throat and yanked him to an almost standing position. Trying to focus his vision, he looked into the eyes of the woman who now held his immense weight up with what appeared to be very little effort on her part. “That was a really cute trick.” She said calmly, drawing her face closer to his. “Tell me, was it the phrase ‘business as usual’ or the wave of the hand that signaled you?” She asked. “Look, miss, I ...” Garl began. The steel grasp around his throat closed tighter, restricting the flow of oxygen. She held him like that for a few moments, emotionlessly watching him to struggle to breathe. He was almost to the point of passing out when she finally loosened her hold enough for air to pass through to his lungs. His vision fading in and out, Garl heard the woman speak again. “I don’t want to hear anything from you, beyond the answers to my questions.” She stated flatly. “Do you understand?” Garl nodded weakly, his jowls quivering. Almost contemptuously, the woman tossed him back to the floor to once again lie next to Dralor, who hadn’t moved during their brief conversation. Looking down on both of them, the woman asked, “You deal in the drug, Irellion-9?” It was more of a statement than a question. Propping himself up on one elbow and massaging his throat, Garl nodded. “It’s an inhibitor class stimulant, used mostly by rift pilots traveling beyond the Plutonian quadrant.” He responded. “It alleviates the symptoms of void sickness while allowing the pilots to stay conscious for months at a time.” The woman nodded, then asked, “Do you know of anyone other than a freighter pilot who has purchased it from you in the last six months?” Garl glanced over at Finn, his eyes questioning. Finn slowly nodded his head, not saying a word. The woman kneeled down in front of Garl, her fierce eyes boring into his. “I’m not given to asking questions a second time, Garl.” She intoned. Garl swallowed hard, his whole body now soaked in a cold sweat. “This is Salvation, miss.“ He explained, “Someone who goes around talking too much about other people’s business don’t last very long here.” “Oh, is that so?” The woman asked. Reaching down with the prosthetic appendage, the woman gripped a handful of the fat man’s belly and clenched her fist. Garl began to scream, but the sound was cut short by the woman’s other hand forcing its way into his mouth, and down his throat. “I know ways to make you suffer for days without dying, Garl.” The woman calmly assured him. Suddenly a burning, ripping pain exploded in Garl’s chest, crawling through his abdomen and worming through his extremities. The pain grew and expanded until his entire body felt as if it were imploding in on itself. Squirming on the floor, he began wishing he would die, that he would give in to the pain and horror and simply cease to be. It felt like hours passed, all the while Garl could do nothing but suffer and hope for oblivion. Then, when he was beginning to feel what may have been the first stirrings of death, the pain ceased, and the hand was drawn out of his mouth. Gasping and vomiting, he rolled to one side, fear and dread washing over him. To hell with the code of Salvation, he thought. He had never felt such pain! He would tell this woman whatever she wanted to hear, so long as it would get her out of his shop. “Now, I hope we have a new understanding of one another, Garl. You’re going to tell me what I want to know, or I’ll begin to get creative. Understand?” The woman said, in that eerie calm voice. Rolling back over to face her, Garl nodded his head vigorously in answer. After a moment or two of silence, Garl remembered that she was awaiting an answer to her earlier question. As the woman’s eyebrow raised, a possible sign of impatience, Garl sputtered forth a response. “There was a woman that came here about four or five weeks ago.” He said, “She purchased a large quantity of I-9.” “How much is a ‘large quantity’?” The woman asked. “Three liters.” Garl replied quickly. “She cleared out my entire stock.” “How do you know she wasn’t a pilot?” The woman asked intently. “I’ve been in business a long time, miss, and I know the look of a long trek pilot.” He assured her. “They get a real spacy and distant look in their eyes.” He said, partly smiling, as if it were an inside joke between them. When the woman didn’t smile in return, he hastily continued, “Oh, and she wasn’t armed, just like you.” He added. “Nobody comes to Salvation unarmed.” He looked nervously at her for a moment. “Well, at least, not usually.” “Describe her.” The woman ordered. “What did she look like?” Garl licked his quivering lips. He tried to call up the image of the woman in his mind, but he couldn’t remember what she looked like, and that bothered him. He had an unusually good memory. Years of being in the business of selling to people who might come back with buyer’s remorse had sharpened his powers of observation considerably. For him to not be able to remember a customer, especially one as unique as the one in question ...it just didn’t add up. After a few moments, he saw the woman’s eyebrow rise again. “I’m sorry, miss!” He wailed, terrified at what new torment might be forthcoming. “I can’t remember what she looked like!” He began to blubber, “I know it was a woman, but I can’t remember anything about her beyond that.” The woman seemed to ponder this for a moment, her eyes studying his for any sign of deception. Then she asked, “Do you know where she went, after making her purchase?” Garl was on the verge of telling the woman ‘No’ out of force of habit, when he remembered the pain from only moments ago. It went against the grain to tell someone about someone else’s affairs, but this was no ordinary someone. He had no doubts this woman was being nothing less than truthful when she said she could put him through the most excruciating torture for days before allowing him the luxury of dying. He also had no doubts she would follow through on her word without hesitation if he gave her an unfavorable response. “Yeah,” He nodded, “Word got back to me that she made straight for the docking ports.” He said. “She got on a transport bound for Xanadu.” Xanadu was the largest colony on the moon Titan, orbiting Saturn. It would only take a few hours to get there by ship. “You’re sure it was Xanadu?” The woman pressed him. “Absolutely, miss.” Garl answered. The woman stood up slowly and looked over at Finn Dralor. “We’ll be leaving now.” She said. Suddenly, the fabric of reality seemed to shift in front of Garl Varo’s eyes. One moment he was lying on the floor of his ruined shop, looking up at the woman who had caused him so much pain and misery. The next, he was seated in his hover chair, looking across the unmarred shop at the woman and Finn Dralor standing just inside the door. He stared in dumbfounded amazement at the displays and monitrons, all undamaged and just as they were before the two had entered his store. Finally his gaze settled back on the woman, who was looking at him with a hint of veiled amusement. Dralor was standing at her side, a somewhat regretful look on his face. Then, it suddenly came clear. “Bloody shite,” He swore. “You’re a Dah’shia!” The Dah’shia was a sect of assassins known throughout the entire solar system as powerful psionicists, beings able to manipulate the thoughts of others with their minds. Many considered them to be a legend or myth, due to the rarity of survived encounters. It was said a Dah’shia assassin could turn a person’s own mind into a weapon against them. Based upon his recent experience, Garl could personally vouch for it. “You’ve been very helpful, Garl.” The woman told him in a matter-of-fact manner. “But I’m afraid I can’t leave you alive to tell others about this meeting.” “Wait ...please ...I won’t ...” Garl stammered, before his consciousness abruptly shut off forever. Turning to her companion, who was still staring at the twitching corpse floating in the hover chair, the woman spoke. “We will return to your ship now.” She said. “I want to depart for Xanadu as soon as possible.” With that, she moved towards the door. Finn turned to leave, following the woman, and then glanced back at the body of Garl Varo. They had only stepped inside the store for a few moments, and though Finn had no way of knowing what had passed between the mind-assassin and the smut-peddler, he knew it had to have been horrifying. Exiting the shop, he and the woman, whose name he didn’t even know, made their way back to his ship.