The riots were three blocks over and the power was cutting in and out, so she packed her camping gear and drove hard and fast out of the valley, leaving the smog and concrete behind.

In this line of work, you think about death every day. You have to. You sign the waivers and the non-disclosures, you take out the insurance policies and attend the procedural briefings. Every day is another opportunity to die. The risk is high. We signed on for this.

They watched the kid dig with manic intensity. The pile of dirt next to him had grown to maybe half his height. Some of the soil would tumble back into the hole with every frantic shovelful. The kid didn't care.

I step through the door clearly marked FIRE EXIT and the cold December air wraps around me like an icy blanket.

After nearly a decade of analysis, the Linguistics Department of Gabonium University cracked the enigma that is the Sea Lords Script.

“I’ll take five diamond earrings,” the lady from the fourth encampment north said. “Five pairs of diamond earrings?” I asked. “Yes, five pairs, and I want them all fingertip.”

“Hear that si–” …lence, boy? That’s right, the generator’s down.

Terra gives her best impression of a scowl up at me, though to my eye she looks more like a puppy that’s about to sneeze.

“What you have to understand is this: Some wolves are smaller than you.” He paused. “Some are bigger.”

As we wake up, our first glance is towards the giant floor to ceiling window. We anxiously rake the blackness until we spot it, still there, hanging on. The orb. 

There is a Rand McNally Histomap taped to the front of my closet, a map of human history that spans nearly floor to ceiling.

I’ve been pregnant less than a week when the earthquake hits.

Fire took out the whole damn block down to the foundations, but not our place.

Anders is crying. His face remains composed, not a single twitch, but his eyes are shining.

Michael grinned widely to see the little girl in the pink puffa jacket, bouncing as she ran towards him, probably more vertical motion than forward movement.

Dawn. Huntington. The high pitch squawk of a large crow interrupts the still air, as it picks at rubbish strewn over the pavements.

Three days after he had disappeared we still believed we would find grandpa.

Halvar sheltered under the branches of an old willow tree, hidden from sight by a thick curtain of fronds that trailed the river’s surface.

‘Ah, Doug,’ the Hawaiian said, shaking his head as he unbuttoned the tobacco leather sheath that held the knife at his waist, ‘This is going to sting.’ 

My child’s hand pulls me toward the horizon, points. I pause and stare.