Before the Bomb
As I study her sitting half-undressed on my cot, I realize I recognize her from before the bomb. Or I think I do.
Short stories
Original short stories about the end of the world.
You Skyscraper Kind
A long time ago, someone scrawl’d the story of the dust men on the fire escape wall. It say dust men come an’ take our wives an’ children. They come sayin’: ‘You skyscraper kind livin’ in drowned old world places.
The Balmoral Revenants
I saw them come for the bench, the one presented to Ruth on her retirement from teaching. I’d got used to staying up late and taking a peek at the grounds from behind the curtains.
Where It All Began
I stifled a yawn as I pulled up in front of my last customer of the day and turned off the engine.
Lakewall
Carrie Michaels reclined in the dry dirt of the lakeside, watching water spiders skitter across the green-tinted water. Just below the surface, silvery minnows shot back and forth, crisscrossing in the water like slivers of living light.
Jacob and Katy and the Building People
“We really shouldn’t go near that place,” Katy said as Jacob led her toward the dark building in the middle of the abandoned village. “You know who lives there.”
Tramp the Dirt Down
Every serial killer should have a good, reliable, durable shovel. Even accidental serial killers. My shovel, Betty, was under my nose the entire time festering at the back of the cupboard behind all those other household essentials and fetish gear.
The Perfect Storm
“We opened the Gates of Heaven with pouring water.
The Sleepers
After we burned the beds in the backyard, I watched Bruce tie a rope around his wife to keep her from wandering off and falling asleep. After three days awake, he wasn’t the only one with frayed nerves.
Mooners
NOT EVEN AN HOUR INTO MARE IMBRIUM’S two-week-long night, Commander Gordon Gooch III was snoring through the end of the world.
CopyKat
I’m proud to be a CopyKat. No, scrub that crap. To be proud, I’d have to care about what you tiny wittle mousies think. I don’t. You can scurry round your make believe cages, runnin, runnin, runnin.
There Is No Happy Ending for Us
Micah looked up and saw the contrast of blues on the horizon.
Link State
The helicopter was a patchwork of mottled camouflage contrasting with the flat black sections where it had been repaired. A light wisp of black smoke trailed from the engine, dissipating with the speed of the aircraft.
The Warming Sickness
The year is 2096. The setting could be anywhere. You won’t be alive then. Read on.
For the Taking
The boy scout looked clean, even his hair. The jeans were worn but clean and the brown scout shirt almost new. Everything about him looked like Midwestern clean cut youth.
Awakening
I stand in the elevator, watch the floors click past: 22, 23, 24. Outside, the sweeping vista of Singapore’s neon nightscape flashes and sparkles.
Dreams in Soft Focus
I am thirty five years old. Two candle flames dance, reflected in Linda’s pupils. I brush her hair. “It’s all right, Jonas. You’re right. We needed the money.”
Snapshots of the End
I crossed the boundary line, entering familiar space as each breath of morning air drew knives into my lungs. The entire trip had taken three and a half days, less than I thought, but more than I would have liked. Most of the access roads were now obsolete, either blocked with rusting, snow covered cars, or patrolled by packs of ferals where nature thrived. None of that mattered now, as the last of my world depended on the few things I brought back with me.