We let the second-generation creatures get away with it. They stole the wings off all our butterflies so they could fly, so they could claim their share of what was left of the irradiated skies. We held our breath as they drank from the undulating pitcher plants, wishing we had long ago learned to adapt to the predatory movements of those plants. (more…)

Qiaohua knelt in front of her ancestors, to all the generations that once stood before, her hands holding the smoky, burning incense, as she looked at each of the names of her forefathers sincerely.

“Dear Grandpa, and all my honored forefathers, please bless your humble and unworthy granddaughter-in-law the strength to overcome these series of unfortunate events that have besieged the peace of our village. I seek your guidance in all my actions, so that in turn, I can help protect the villagers, just as how all of you, my fathers have been—honoring the family and shouldering the responsibilities. I’ll do whatever I can to stop the evil at bay until Zhenjing return. My fathers, please ensure his return! I will be forever thankful.” (more…)

The man was big; they called him ‘Bear’ or ‘Papa Bear’. Stan thought about male bears and hoped that he was a papa wolf, instead… in the Zombie Apocalypse, such a big guy had done better than most, bashing in undead skulls and keeping beyond their cold hands with the reach of the tree limb pruning-hook that he was carrying. It looked like serious hurt. (more…)

My name was John Folger, and no, no relation to the coffee. That’s always the first thing people ask when I meet them, and my response is automatic. It’s possible that by now there isn’t even an empty can of Folgers left, so maybe that reference doesn’t make any sense to you, but all I know about is the past and the right now. I guess my writing this down shows that I still believe in a future, but I have no more illusions that I’ll be in it. I hope my story can help you, even if it’s just to fill in the blanks of a moment in history. I warn you, I have no answers, only observations and a few confessions. (more…)

This is the third story of a series that began with 1ST OHIO VOLUNTEERS.

1.

A wet, frigid wind tore at the long column of ragged men as they continued their march along a snow covered highway flanked on both sides by large white hills. The tops of those hills however were invisible in the grey haze of the miserably wet and cold weather. Their heads were bowed against the harsh bite of the wind and barely a word was spoken among them. Large flakes of wet snow whipped into them, liquefied, and ran down the seams of their combat fatigues. Icicles clung to the rims of their Kevlar helmets.

Their shoulders sported the screaming eagle of the 101st Airborne division and this detachment was composed of a platoon of light infantry. In total they numbered around 40 men and they trudged through the snow with the grim determination that only soldiers can muster. (more…)

I killed a man.  I killed a man. I killed a man.  I-kill-a-man.

I killed a living, breathing, flesh and blood man.

He wasn’t one of those things.  He spoke, cried, smiled, and thought. (more…)

The Lubyanka, Moscow, RF – March 22nd 2012

“So this guy, Maalouf, what exactly is he trying to sell?” Major-General Alexandr Cherlin was getting irritated, he hated dealing with field agents. At the other end of a very poor line to their Luanda office someone spoke. “Worse than Ebola? I find this hard to believe Captain Gavrikov.  Do you trust this guy?”  (more…)

The dawn came, the sun casting its blinding rays on us. Nature’s alarm clock. My joints ached, as they did every morning. Sleeping in the truck just wasn’t good on the body. I missed the comfort of a bed and sheets and a pillow. I glanced around our surroundings. Things were much the same as the night before. The world still spun, the sun still came up… time, however, no longer sped along at a breakneck pace. It had dropped down to extra slow motion, each second like minutes, each minute like hours. Survival and loneliness are wearisome bedfellows at best and I had them both as companions.

“You awake, Humphrey?” (more…)

He rested his head against the door post. Cold sweat formed on his forehead and dripped down his face. Through the closed door he could hear them breaking through the flimsy barricade he had thrown up in front of the living room door. He trembled. He always knew this day would come but he never expected it would come so fast. No news on the TV or radio. No time to prepare. (more…)

“We have to tell the crew…” Highfield observed, grimacing.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Farris replied, “I mean, how many of them will have families…y’know…in the area.”

“That’s why they need to be told. Come on Cal, they’re professionals. They’re trained, we owe it to them to…” (more…)

Mike walked into the sun to make sure Beugin saw his shirt.  The shirt he wore boasted a Springsteen CD cover, the one with Bruce’s denim-clad butt in front of an American flag.  Since the Provisional Authority condemned Springsteen as a cultural terrorist, Mike figured sporting it would give Beugin all the probable cause he’d need to search for the contraband he’d been led to suspect was on the premises.  Mike picked the shirt, though, because he bought it at the first concert he took Tina to—a his and hers matched set of classic rock art. (more…)