Fantasy Drabble #329 "Late For Cheerleading Practice"

Open me.

It was taped to her locker: a small note, the words made up of letters that looked like they'd been cut from the Sunday circulars.

Inside, having been pushed through the vent: Go to science class. Fine, it was someone who knew her schedule. Bobby? Maybe Hakim?

On her lab station: Boiler room. Someone was going to be very disappointed: she wasn't that kind of girl, at least usually.

Or maybe it was business. The boiler room was dark, but she could hear breathing… labored, animal breathing. She pulled a silver dagger from her bookbag. "Business it is."

He Kindly Stopped For Me

He made it to where route 40 crossed route 10 before he was too weak to walk. He sank slowly to the ground, as if he feared he'd break, as if the snow-covered median strip was moving, spinning, threatening to throw him off like an ill-tempered horse. He doubled over, dry-heaving, groaning and coughing and dangling spittle from blue-tinged lips.

"You don't sound so good."

He looked up, blinked, squinted, held out a glove-covered hand to block the cold, useless sun. A zombie stood crotch-deep in a drift, icicles hanging from its gaping mouth, frozen nearly solid. It wasn't moving. It couldn't move. He was safe enough. "Fuck you."

"You have radiation sickness."

He closed his eyes again, sank back against the snow, head spinning, not really feeling the cold as much as he'd expected. All he felt was the pounding in his head and the churning of his stomach. "You can't talk. You're dead. You're a zombie."

"You were too close to the blast. Kansas City? You walk from there? I'm amazed you got this far."

There had been a flash. He would have been blinded had he not been looking West, fooled by echoes of jet engine noise bouncing off buildings. "Going to… Topeka."

"What do you think you'll find there?" The zombie sounded amused. "I was in Topeka. I died there, in the hospital. I got shot after that, twice, but they missed the brain. I followed the smell of fresh meat East. Then it snowed."

He tugged at his knit cap, pulling it down as far as he could without covering his eyes. "Shut up. Just… shut up." He couldn't shoot it: he'd dropped his guns, along with his backpack, miles back on the road. They'd gotten so heavy.

"Sure. You want your last moments to be peaceful, I guess. I get that. Mine weren't that peaceful. It was pretty bad in the hospital, crying and screaming and panic." The voice seemed closer now; he didn't want to look. "There's nothing in Topeka anymore worth going. They'll nuke it too, eventually, unless they run out of bombs. You'd be better off trying to get to Fort Riley. But you're not getting up: you're going to die right there, and turn, and then we can be friends."

"Go to hell." He tried to push himself up from the snow, but his arms wouldn't cooperate. His head spun from the effort, and he collapsed back with a crunch. "Go to hell…"

"It has to be frustrating. You were immune; I bet you always knew you would be. You had guns, you were ready, you would have made it. Then they nuked you. Did your hair fall out?"

He didn't answer. He didn't feel cold at all anymore, and even his stomach seemed to be calming. He'd rest, just a little longer, and then he'd get up and walk the rest of the way to Topeka. He'd make it. He'd make it. He just needed to sleep a while.

Fantasy Drabble #328 "Persistence of Madness"

He didn't look up. "Just tell me. Just tell me. Just tell me. Just—"

"What's wrong with you?"

He didn't answer. "Just tell me. Just tell me. Just tell—"

The bird chirped, "He's gone mad. Nothing to do. Nothing to do."

She looked around: there were clocks everywhere, all showing different times on their faces. "Because of the clocks?"

"Because of the clocks. Because of the clocks."

"What if I make it so they all show the same time? Maybe that will—"

He leapt up, grabbed her by the arms and hissed in her face, "Then they'd all be wrong."