"Waltz of the Dead"Isaac groaned and lifted his head. The sound of his own voice startled him, and he peeled his eyes open. His nostrils stung. The rag, which had been stuck to his face, flopped off and hit the floor of the garage with a moist slap. The room reeked of solvent. He got to his knees and nearly toppled over backwards—still quite dizzy, still quite happy. His shirt was soaked, but with sweat or gasoline he couldn’t quite tell. When he shut his eyes, there she was—strobing against the backs of his eyelids like a moth against a window—a white wedding dre"Waltz of the Dead"
"Genetedestination"In the year 2011, the use and function of every known gene, human or animal, had been fully elucidated and then documented in books with black leather binding. These books exited the laboratories in convoys of armored trucks, which took them straight to various checkpoints by the CIA."Genetedestination"
Normally the CIA doesn’t ask anything to come straight to it. Normally they ask for it to be delivered all roundabout, so as to cover all their tracks. A straight delivery, Point A to Point B, was infinitely dangerous.
This was worth it.
Back in ovular rooms underground (ovals, it had b
"The Aircraft Analyst"I was hired onto the base as an aircraft analyst, which wasn't really what I was trained for. I am, by trade, an entomologist--I study bugs for a living--but I was hired for my "expertise" in the field of unidentified flying objects."The Aircraft Analyst"
I tried to tell them, my "expertise" was limited to the perimeter of my ranch, as that was the only place I'd ever seen the things, or made any other kind of contact.
But regardless, they marked me as a person of interest, and furthermore promised that my nagging federal debts would be evaporated pending my cooperation, so here I am.
The ride out was interesting.&
"Paul""PAUL""Paul"
by john soutter
It had been a few weeks since any of us'd seen Paul. The summer was ending, but it seemed to be getting hotter every day. Every day another sweat-streaked t-shirt, peeled off of my back, flung into the hamper.
We hadn't heard from Paul's brother, either. Was he back from Massachusetts?
Jack (a friend) said: "Shit, it's fucking baking in this car right now!"
But we kept moving. By this time, Paul's head must be in a jar.
One day, the last day of July, I think, the temperature peaked at a h
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