Story Excerpts
by Susan Palwick
We had Mama in the shed when the caravan came. It was still hard winter, the ground too frozen to dig, and she was frozen that hard in the shed, too. The parts of her that would grow would be safe. They’d wake up when it warmed.
I’d wanted her safely planted with us, home forever, but I had a gut feeling a caravan might get here before that could happen. Don’t ask me why: they don’t come through here often. Our last one was eight years ago, which is one reason we have so many crops here, because most of our dead stay. Maybe I was just being superstitious. READ MORE
by John Richard Trtek
I entered Reio’s corner of the Wayside Eatareña only to swear under my breath when I saw two guys eyeing my favorite picnic table with more than casual interest. Fortunately, they chose the next booth instead, and so I was able to slip in and stake my own claim. Then, as if on cue, Reio himself emerged from the order shed and approached with food in hand.
“You saw me coming,” I said amiably, slipping my bag off one shoulder to sit down beneath translucent awnings.
“Knew you were coming,” replied Reio as he presented a cardboard tray loaded with my usual pair of chykkyn bustados, plus chips and an ubercup of raspberry lager. “Add to your sheet?” he asked. READ MORE