Wayne Kyle Spitzer
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STORY BY Wayne Kyle Spitzer
Black Sheep Magazine
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Independent publisher of thrillers, non-fiction and sweet romance
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Flashback/The Dinosaur Apocalypse: The Final Trilogy of Stories
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The final Flashback begins ... It's all led to this. All the characters and situations of the Flashback/Dinosaur Apocalypse come together in a final trilogy of tales that will close out and define the saga. Join Ank and Williams, the crew of Gargantua, the kids from Thunder Road, and so many others as they heed the call to adventure one last time and face the very architects of the Flashback! 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, 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 Ghosts in Their Boroughs
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The race is on to get out of post-apocalypse New York in an all-new Flashback thriller. 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, 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 Ghosts in Their Boroughs: She loosed her hair and shook her head, allowing the locks to spill down her shoulder—and I zoomed in on them to get a focus. “Do I look any different?” she hollered. “Yeah … you shine.” Which she did, like a candelabra, as the lights reflected off her hair, her skin, her beaded jacket. As the music played and she reached for the brass ring—and got it. As she circled and laughed and gripped the pole and the camera went click, click, click. That’s when I saw them; or thought I did. The shapes. Gathered beyond the farthest poles (I’d zoomed up on the opposite side whilst waiting for her to come back around); gathered like outsized crows. That’s when I focused through and saw their eyes; their awful, red, vertically slit eyes, before dropping the camera and unslinging my rifle—pointing it directly at them … and finding them gone. That’s when I realized that I was starting to lose it—to slip, as the writer Hugo Eagleton once said. That the terror and uncertainty of what had happened—the sky, the missing people, the remaining people who seemed intent on burning the city down—had affected me more than I realized. Sylvia, for her part, only looked at me like I was insane. And I would have agreed with her; had I not looked behind her and saw them again. Had I not seen with my own eyes their black bodies and crimson snouts as they weaved between horses and slowly closed the gap; as they stalked her like panthers and the carousel went around, the music like a carnival, the horses rising and falling. As they closed to within about twelve feet of her and I fired—causing them to stop and to crouch and to look around—only to inch forward again as I resumed shooting (missing, it seemed, every time). Until there was an ear-piercing pulse which I recognized as coming from Madsen’s sound cannon (he’d demonstrated it for us before we set out) and the animals scattered—even as Sylvia crouched and covered (from the excruciating noise) and I did the same; paralyzed, debilitated.
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The Flashback Trilogy
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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.
Updated at
The Flashback Trilogy
Reads
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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Kings of the Road
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Ank and Williams ( The Ank Williams Story, A Dinosaur is a Man's Best Friend, Flashback Twilight ) return in an all-new adventure which picks up right where Flashback Twilight left off. Join them as they're recruited by an aging king in post-apocalyptic Canada and charged with transporting his daughter across country to Edmonton--a journey fraught with peril including vicious albertosauruses, a 700-pound prehistoric beaver, were-raptors, and more!
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Lean Season
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When a gang of rednecks kills the mate of a local sea legend ... the result is bloody terror. From Lean Season: "Shut up, " said Handlebar. He wiped his lip. "Listen." The floorboards were shifting beneath their feet. Carl looked around. "What is it?" "Is it under the dock?" said Ned. Handlebar ignored them, listening. The planks of the pier flexed and fell like piano keys. Lonny retreated still further. "Maybe we should get back inside." "You gonna swim for it?" said Stanley. "We're cut off." Lonny looked at the cedar pole laying across the deck, and the downed lines which popped and frizzled. His lower lip started to tremble. Suddenly, starting at the apex of the dock, the floorboards jumped—rifling and breaking and splintering in a line. The men clambered off Chin, scattering as something split the dock up the middle, like a torpedo. Chin turned, saw a wave of busting boards rushing at him. He scrambled to his feet and dove out of the way, landed at the edge where he saw a dark shape sweep past just below the surface. A tail—long as the first creature's entire body. Everything stopped, and there was a silence. "Stay alert," shouted Chin. He scrambled away from the edge. "It hasn't gone. It's still under the dock." Everyone looked at each other as wood creaked and water lapped. Even Handlebar seemed frightened and disheveled. "Screw this shit, man," said Lonny. He backed toward the cafe, toward the spitting electrical cables. His eyes were bugged out and his flesh had gone white as bird shit. He dropped his rifle. Handlebar stared at his own boots, which were soaked in blood. He seemed to be having some sort of internal crisis. He reached up with a trembling hand and twisted his mustache repeatedly. He came out of it suddenly and looked at Lonny. "Hey. Kid. Listen." He walked toward him, changing clips. "You're taking all this too seriously. It's toying with us, that’s all." He held out his shotgun to him. "Here. The goo—Chin—he's right. It's still beneath the dock. Probably scared. Why don't you do the honors?" Lonny hesitated, trembling. "Y-you mean it's just trying to scare us?" Handlebar tweaked his nose. "That's right." The fire returned to the young man's eyes—almost. He looked around the shattered dock, at the riddled corpse and the oily, bloody water, at the spitting power lines and the dead lights, the peeling boardwalk on the shore. He shook his head. "No, it's not. It—it doesn't pretend, like you. It's gonna kill us, that's all." He stepped closer. "Can’t you see that? You posing hillbilly? The spill's given it a—a lean season. It's sick, and it' s hungry, and …" He glanced at the corpse. "We probably just killed its mate."
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Sun-Dogs
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With just hours to go before the Flashback, L.A. explodes in racial unrest ... From Sun-Dogs: It happens so fast we barely have time to notice how wrong everything it is, how incongruous—how empty the intersection at Florence and Normandie feels, how the palms and other vegetation—the grass itself—all seem to have grown and multiplied. Or that the streets are now full of abandoned cars and trucks—as though everyone has just gotten up and wandered off, wandered into the smoke—or that we are being triangulated from the instant we touch down: triangulated and set upon—all of it before we've even unloaded our equipment or Peter has shut off the engine. All of it in a virtual eyeblink. All of it, in short, in a perfect whirlwind—as the jackals, the wolves, the fucking emus (only with lashing tails and monitor lizard teeth), descend on us like flies, like marauders. As Peter takes the helicopter up and I do the only thing I can; which is pretty much to drag Sunny into the nearby Chevron (even as the engine whines and the animals scatter), and, ultimately, watch her bleed out and die in my arms. And then it's over, and I'm alone, and there is nothing but the television squawking and a lone siren. Then it's just me and Bizarro L.A. and Patty Severinsen-Wood—the eleven o'clock news anchor—who apparently hasn't gotten the memo. “It is, ah, now eleven o’clock and, ah, tonight a community is venting its fury over the verdicts in the Troy Harper beating trial. Fires are raging in South Central Los Angeles at this hour—a testament to the anger and frustration felt by many of its residents. It began just a few hours after the verdicts were announced, with people looting stores and setting them on fire, but quickly escalated to assaults and beatings; four drivers, at least, pulled from their vehicles and attacked. Chaos also erupted at the downtown Parker Center, L.A.’s police headquarters, where scuffles broke out throughout the evening. Meanwhile, police in riot gear can mostly just stand by, hoping by their presence to somehow keep a grasp on order. We’re going live to one of our news …” But I’m no longer listening, only tittering uncontrollably. I’m no longer doing much of anything but marveling at the absurdity of it all—the futility. And then I’m not even doing that; but just staring at Sunny. Then I’m crying as the tv drones on and the whump-whump of the helicopter slowly remanifests.
Updated at
The Flashback Trilogy
Reads
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.
Updated at
Dark Horses Magazine
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dark horse /ˈdärk ˈˌhôrs/ noun 1. 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: THE BLUE DANCERS Erin Jones DON’T GO DOWN THERE Kemal Onor FLIES IN THE DEATH HOUSE Paul Lee IN BETWEEN Cullen Corkery MAGILLA Wess Mongo Jolly PUT IT ON Jamie Redact RACHEL: A POST-APOCALYPTIC RAPUNZEL Melissa Rose Rogers TERFARIM THE FRUMIOUS Joe Pan WE ARE ALL GOBLINS A.J. Van Belle BEYOND THE BLACK CURTAIN Wayne Kyle Spitzer
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