Wayne Kyle Spitzer
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STORY BY Wayne Kyle Spitzer
Dark Horses: The Magazine of Weird Fiction
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dark horse/ˈdärk ˈˌhôrs/noun1. a candidate or competitor about whom little is known but who unexpectedly wins or succeeds."a dark-horse candidate"Join us for a monthly tour of writers who give as good as they get. From hard science-fiction to stark, melancholic apocalypses; from Lovecraftian horror to zombies and horror comedy; from whimsical interludes to tales of unlikely compassion--whatever it is, if it"s weird, it"s here. So grab a seat before the starting gun fires, pour yourself a glass of strange wine, and get ready for the running of the dark horses.In this issue:CLOUDSWayne Kyle SpitzerME AND NO-MERobert PopeLAURENCameron TrostTHE VOICE OF SAVAGES WOODTim JeffreysTHE GOLDEN ROSEAlexandra AmickBETWEEN STOPSJohn MangioMALPRACTICEJames MathewsURNEMichael FowlerPREDATOR IN A PINAFORE DRESSTre LunaANGEL HOUSETim Newton Anderson
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In the Season of Killing Bolts
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How did it all begin? That depends on where you were and who you ask. In some places it started with the weather—which quickly became unstable and began behaving in impossible ways. In still others it started with the lights in the sky, which shifted and pulsed and could not be explained. Elsewhere it started with the disappearances: one here, a few there, but increasing in occurrence until fully three quarters of the population had vanished. Either way, there is one thing on which everyone agrees—it didn’t take long for the prehistoric flora and fauna to start showing up (often appearing right where someone was standing, in which case the two were fused, spliced, amalgamated). It didn’t take long for the great Time-displacement called the Flashback—which was brief but had aftershocks, like an earthquake—to change the face of the earth.From In the Season of Killing Bolts:“Looks like a mushroom cloud–only, like, horizontal.”I confess I jumped, and that my hand dropped to my weapon—had I carried one. “Donovan. Now how many times have I told you not to cut through the cemetery?”“Ah, Chief, but then I’ve got to go all the way around. And there’s a mean dog on Oberlin; you know that. Besides,” He stepped up next to me and gazed at the cloud. “You don’t really mean to tell me you care about that when there’s, well, that. Am I right?”I peered at the cloud: at its curtains of rain and lightning—like the tendrils of a jellyfish—at its billowing cumulonimbus, which flickered and flashed.“What is that?” I mumbled. “Is that, is that lightning up there, or something?”I guess he must have followed my gaze. “Up there? Near the top? No—no, I don’t think so. More like—more like balloon beacons, or aircraft. Their wing lights, maybe—glowing in the gloom. Those colors, though. They don’t—they don’t look right. Almost like—”“That’s because you’ve never seen them,” I said, and toggled my radio. “No one has. K-94, this is the Chief. Do you copy?”But there was nothing—only static. Only white noise. I listened for the truck’s radio: nothing. Just dead air. Just silence as thunder rumbled and the rain fell and the wind gusted—powerfully. Alarmingly.“K-94, this is the Chief—do you copy?”More static, more noise. I looked at the fast-approaching cloud.“Donovan,” I said.“Yeah, Chief?”“Don’t cut through the cemetery.”And then I hustled for the truck and quickly climbed in—jammed it into gear, activated the light bar. Then I was driving out of the cemetery at a dizzying clip; reaching for my cellphone even as it started ringing and ringing; glancing at the shotgun as it lay—bleakly, funereally, like a coffin—between the seats.
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Dark Horses: The Magazine of Weird Fiction
Reads
dark horse/ˈdärk ˈˌhôrs/noun1. a candidate or competitor about whom little is known but who unexpectedly wins or succeeds."a dark-horse candidate"Join us for a monthly tour of writers who give as good as they get. From hard science-fiction to stark, melancholic apocalypses; from Lovecraftian horror to zombies and horror comedy; from whimsical interludes to tales of unlikely compassion--whatever it is, if it"s weird, it"s here. So grab a seat before the starting gun fires, pour yourself a glass of strange wine, and get ready for the running of the dark horses.In this issue:"In the Forests of the Night" by Wayne Kyle Spitzer"The Devil"s Playground" by Kurt Newton"Death Before Birth" by James Harper"People of the Land" by Alistair Rey"A Whisperer Among the Graves, Prt. 2" by Bill Link
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The Concrete Veldt
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How did it all begin? That depends on where you were and who you ask. In some places it started with the weather—which quickly became unstable and began behaving in impossible ways. In still others it started with the lights in the sky, which shifted and pulsed and could not be explained. Elsewhere it started with the disappearances: one here, a few there, but increasing in occurrence until fully three quarters of the population had vanished. Either way, there is one thing on which everyone agrees—it didn’t take long for the prehistoric flora and fauna to start showing up (often appearing right where someone was standing, in which case the two were fused, spliced, amalgamated). It didn’t take long for the great Time-displacement called the Flashback—which was brief but had aftershocks, like an earthquake—to change the face of the earth.From The Concrete Veldt:I finished my rows and took out my Bick; followed his gaze.“Looks pretty quiet,” I said.“Yeah.” He readied his lighter. “But we can fix that.”And we started flicking; lighting up the rows with grim precision, setting off a hail of sparks and hisses, retreating into the grass as first one then another then another piffed and launched—screaming into the air; whistling toward the target, exploding like grenades on its roof and in the bushes. Turning the suburban street into a warzone.Laughing and carrying on as the carnage unfolded and at last subsided; the smoke drifting, the embers settling. Patting ourselves on our scrawny backs for another mission accomplished; even as shots rang out and something whizzed past—a blunt thing, a humorless thing. Something which struck a granite tombstone deeper in the cemetery and punched a dollar-sized crater in it.And then we were scrambling: crawling as fast as we could—double-timing it toward the car as still more shots rang out and echoed along the streets; as bullets pocked the mausoleum and cut the air like knives. Until we reached the Charger and leapt to our feet, throwing open the doors—even as raptors gathered and encircled the car—at which I lit a string of M-80s and threw them into the group; and the fireworks exploded like dynamite, reverberated like shotgun blasts. At which the animals scattered in perfect unison and we peeled from the lot—en route to the Nunnery, I suppose. En route to Alexa.En route to the last shag of our lives.
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Urban Decay
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Blood-thirsty carnosaurs ... gangs of hipsters .... post-apocalypse Seattle and Los Angeles are to die for.How did it all begin? That depends on where you were and who you ask. In some places it started with the weather—which quickly became unstable and began behaving in impossible ways. In still others it started with the lights in the sky, which shifted and pulsed and could not be explained. Elsewhere it started with the disappearances: one here, a few there, but increasing in occurrence until fully three quarters of the population had vanished. Either way, there is one thing on which everyone agrees—it didn’t take long for the prehistoric flora and fauna to start showing up (often appearing right where someone was standing, in which case the two were fused, spliced, amalgamated). It didn’t take long for the great Time-displacement called the Flashback—which was brief but had aftershocks, like an earthquake—to change the face of the earth.These are the stories of a group of experienced survivors and their incredible machine, Gargantua: How they came to possess it, and what they did with it after. This is the recounting of a heist in Seattle in which they barely escaped with their lives and a journey to Lost Angeles to find their forever home--which just happened to be occupied when they got there.Welcome to the Flashback.
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The Midnight Country
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In retrospect, I wish I’d continued recording, for what I saw in that instant is difficult to describe, even now. Suffice it to say that it had a body like that of a manta ray—upon who’s tail the balloonist had been impaled—or a manta ray combined with a bat, albeit huge, and that it was covered with a kind of camouflage which reminded me of pictures I’d seen of Jupiter—just a roil of purples and pinks and browns. I suppose that was when it first hit me: the possibility that there might be a connection between this thing and the Jupiter 6 probe. That the probe might have brought something back, even if it had just been a sprinkling of microbes on its surface.And then there was an explosion somewhere above us, the concussion of which rocked our balloon, and we all looked up to see Gas Monkey—my God, it was like the sun!—on fire; and yet that wasn’t all we saw, for as it dropped it became evident that there were more of the bat/manta ray things attached, suckling it as it fell, crawling upon it like flies. Then it passed us like some kind of great meteor—its occupants shrieking and calling out—and was gone below, the heat of it still painting our faces, its awful smell, which was the smell of rotten eggs, filling our nostrils.And then we were just drifting, all of us crouched low in the basket … and the only sounds were those of Karen sobbing and my own pounding heart.
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Riders on the Storm
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First came the time-storm, which erased half the population. Then came the Riders on the Storm.Welcome to the world of the Flashback, a world in which man’s cities have become overgrown jungles and extinct animals wander the ruins. You can survive here, if you"re lucky, and if you"re not in the wrong place at the wrong time--which is everywhere, all the time. But what you"ll never do is remain the same, for this is a world whose very purpose is to challenge you, for better or for worse. In short, it is a world where anything can and will happen. So take a deep dive into these loosely connected tales of the Dinosaur Apocalypse (each of which can be read individually or as a part of the greater saga): tales of wonder and terror, death and survival, blood and beauty. Do it today, before the apocalypse comes.Includes every Flashback/Dinosaur Apocalypse story through 2021, in the order in which they were written.
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A Best of the Flashback Almanac
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First came the time-storm, which erased half the population. Then came the dinosaur apocalypse.How did it all begin? That depends on where you were and who you ask. In some places it started with the weather—which quickly became unstable and began behaving in impossible ways. In still others it started with the lights in the sky, which shifted and pulsed and could not be explained. Elsewhere it started with the disappearances: one here, a few there, but increasing in occurrence until fully three quarters of the population had vanished. Either way, there is one thing on which everyone agrees—it didn’t take long for the prehistoric flora and fauna to start showing up (often appearing right where someone was standing, in which case the two were fused, spliced, amalgamated). It didn’t take long for the great Time-displacement called the Flashback—which was brief but had aftershocks, like an earthquake—to change the face of the earth. Nor for the stories, some long and others short, some from before the maelstrom (and resulting societal collapse) and others after, to be recorded.Welcome to the world of the Flashback, a world in which man’s cities have become overgrown jungles and extinct animals wander the ruins. You can survive here, if you"re lucky, and if you"re not in the wrong place at the wrong time--which is everywhere, all the time. But what you"ll never do is remain the same, for this is a world whose very purpose is to challenge you, for better or for worse.In short, it is a world where anything can and will happen. So take a deep dive into these loosely connected tales of the Dinosaur Apocalypse (each of which can be read individually or as a part of the greater saga): tales of wonder and terror, death and survival, blood and beauty. Do it today, before the apocalypse comes.
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The Wine Dark Earth
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First came the time-storm, which erased half the population. Then came the dinosaur apocalypse.How did it all begin? That depends on where you were and who you ask. In some places it started with the weather—which quickly became unstable and began behaving in impossible ways. In still others it started with the lights in the sky, which shifted and pulsed and could not be explained. Elsewhere it started with the disappearances: one here, a few there, but increasing in occurrence until fully three quarters of the population had vanished. Either way, there is one thing on which everyone agrees—it didn’t take long for the prehistoric flora and fauna to start showing up (often appearing right where someone was standing, in which case the two were fused, spliced, amalgamated). It didn’t take long for the great Time-displacement called the Flashback—which was brief but had aftershocks, like an earthquake—to change the face of the earth. Nor for the stories, some long and others short, some from before the maelstrom (and resulting societal collapse) and others after, to be recorded.Welcome to the world of the Flashback, a world in which man’s cities have become overgrown jungles and extinct animals wander the ruins. You can survive here, if you"re lucky, and if you"re not in the wrong place at the wrong time--which is everywhere, all the time. But what you"ll never do is remain the same, for this is a world whose very purpose is to challenge you, for better or for worse.In short, it is a world where anything can and will happen. So take a deep dive into these loosely connected tales of the Dinosaur Apocalypse (each of which can be read individually or as a part of the greater saga): tales of wonder and terror, death and survival, blood and beauty. Do it today, before the apocalypse comes.From The Wine Dark Earth:What is it? I sign, gripping the M14’s handguard (which has become slick with sweat); locking eyes with Beth.Will thinks he heard something; something in one of the shops. Something big—heavy. He says to check our flanks.I just stare at her, bewildered. But I don’t want to check my flank, I think. Because if I do, I might see something; something I won’t be able to unsee. Something I’ll have to react to. And I’m not ready for that.But then, of course, I do—check my flank, that is. Then I look into the dusty, broken window of Swanberg’s and, seeing only handcrafts and crystals and strings of fine beads, begin to exhale—deeply; wondering what it was I was so afraid of (for it is only the dogs, I am certain; the stringy, pitiable creatures we saw in the street; the slim, spare scavengers whom, having now inherited the earth, have simply followed us up from the pier). Then I just stare at the crystals; the prisms—the lovely, pure, many-faceted gems—which manage to glimmer even though there is so very little light.At which, strangely, something seems almost to blink—to shutter and reopen. At which something does blink; just as surely as I am standing there. Something blue; ovoid, which glitters like a gem. Something which is encompassed by dark, tapered brow ridges and cruelly-curved hornlets; and bright-yellow markings—like a witch-doctor or a cannibal. Something I glimpse only briefly, fleetingly, in semi-profile—before it flits back into darkness and is gone.
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The Strange Season
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First came the time-storm, which erased half the population. Then came the dinosaur apocalypse.How did it all begin? That depends on where you were and who you ask. In some places it started with the weather—which quickly became unstable and began behaving in impossible ways. In still others it started with the lights in the sky, which shifted and pulsed and could not be explained. Elsewhere it started with the disappearances: one here, a few there, but increasing in occurrence until fully three quarters of the population had vanished. Either way, there is one thing on which everyone agrees—it didn’t take long for the prehistoric flora and fauna to start showing up (often appearing right where someone was standing, in which case the two were fused, spliced, amalgamated). It didn’t take long for the great Time-displacement called the Flashback—which was brief but had aftershocks, like an earthquake—to change the face of the earth. Nor for the stories, some long and others short, some from before the maelstrom (and resulting societal collapse) and others after, to be recorded.Welcome to the world of the Flashback, a world in which man’s cities have become overgrown jungles and extinct animals wander the ruins. You can survive here, if you"re lucky, and if you"re not in the wrong place at the wrong time--which is everywhere, all the time. But what you"ll never do is remain the same, for this is a world whose very purpose is to challenge you, for better or for worse.It is a world where frightened commuters will do battle with murderous bikers even as primordial monsters close in, and others will take refuge in an underground theme park only to find their worst enemy is themselves. Where ordinary people—ne’er-do-wells on a cross-country motorcycle trip, a woman on a redeye flight to Hell, a sensitive boy stricken with visions of what’s to come--will find themselves in extraordinary situations, and a gunslinger and his telekinetic ankylosaurus will embark on a dangerous quest. A world where travelers will be trapped with an unravelling President of the United States and a band of survivors will face roving packs of monsters and men in post-apocalyptic Seattle; where rioting teenagers will face deadly predators (as well as their own demons) while ransacking the nation’s capital; where a Native-American warrior will seek to bury his past--and offer an elegy for all the Earth--in what remains of Las Vegas.In short, it is a world where anything can and will happen. So take a deep dive into these loosely connected tales of the Dinosaur Apocalypse (each of which can be read individually or as a part of the greater saga): tales of wonder and terror, death and survival, blood and beauty. Do it today, before the apocalypse comes.
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