Yolanda Used To Be Amy

I spent eight years in prison for negligent homicide — Colton, and don’t ask me how him getting clawed by a demon and then shooting himself in the head is on me, legally speaking, but here we are — and when I got out, I moved to Minneapolis and changed my name. I worked a shit job for long enough to afford plastic surgery, and then changed my name again and moved to San Antonio. I work for a builder, managing the cash payroll for the undocumented workers, and for myself. No one here has ever asked for my social security number, and if they did, I wouldn’t show up the next day and their lockbox would be empty.

The baby, our baby, Colton’s and mine, would be about twelve now. They took her away, and later they told me she died, but I don’t believe that for a second. I don’t know whether she’s going to come looking for me one day, show up on my doorstop. I don’t know she’s evil. Not for sure. I don’t know she started that fire. But I had one of the guys find me a .32 without a serial, just in case.

Prisoner Alpha


So it’s an easy shift. No problems. You stand right here, and check in on the radio every half an hour. There used to be a chair, but they stopped letting us sit down after Portney fell asleep. Every once and a while, maybe once every three or four months, one of the big bosses comes down. You don’t have to check IDs or anything, Head of Security will be with them every time. Anybody else comes out of that elevator, you turn ‘em right back around. Don’t let them go down the hall. Nobody gets down the hall unless they’re with Head of Security. And son? Don’t go down the hall yourself. Ever. Don’t get curious, and figure, oh, no one will know because there’s no cameras. Even if you hear noises, don’t go down the hall. What kind of noises? Son, you’ll know it when you hear them.

Zombie Drabble #446: “Right-Of-Way”


Her voice was quiet, always quiet. “Is this a road, Daddy?”

“A kind of road. A railroad. A road for trains.” He didn’t like it, being hemmed in on both sides. “Keep alert.”

“Why do they… why do trains get their own kind of road?”

“Their wheels fit on the rails. See the rails?” He turned, pointed down. “No steering, nothing in the way, they can carry a lot and still go fast.”

“Oh. Okay.” She raised her bow, pulled, loosed an arrow past him. Ahead, a zombie he hadn’t seen dropped like a ragdoll. “Carry a lot of what?”

From Beneath


He poured himself a brandy while she rubbed her wrists; after taking a sip he took a moment to straighten his tie, and then placed a bottle of water on the floor next to her. “Well. That was—”


“I didn’t think I’d enjoy that as much as I did. You were… you were right.”

Of course I was right. “We could do it again sometime.”

“I’d like that.” He looked into his glass, swirled the liquid around. “And the paddle?”

She’d brought it, this time, but hadn’t let him use it. You’re mine now. “I suppose. If you’re good.”

SF Drabble #492 “Perimeter”


Mischa, please return to the path.”

She had walked onto the grass, then into the long grass, then through the trees and across the stone beach to where the wire fence was strung. There was more beach beyond, curving around to a headland, and then more trees. Nothing moved except for the drone hovering behind her.

Mischa, it is not safe this close to the wildland. Please return to the path.”

“There’s nothing out there.”

Mischa, the wildland holds many unseen dangers. Please return to the path and we can discuss them.”

She started looking for gaps in the wire.