About In the Forests of the Night

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.

From The Forests of the Night:

And she passed me the bottle, after which I took a swig and poured the rest into her glass, then went to the cellar for more—returning with a Woodbridge Mondavi Red Blend to find her swaying to “Upside Down” by Diana Ross (playing from a battered little CD player I hadn’t even noticed she had) and letting a white strap of her halter slip—like a linguini, I thought, and sat down.

“Don’t thing I haven’t noticed it,” she said, slurring slightly, and added, “I see the way you look at me.”

I uncorked the bottle and filled my glass. “You’re a very beautiful woman,” I said—and sat the bottle between us—too hard, I think. “And a talented one. What would you expect?” I watched as she shimmied and did a little pirouette. “And I’m enjoying the conversation—more than you could know. You move beautifully, by the way. Like a cat.”

And then she attempted to spin again but only stumbled suddenly and fell smack into my arms; at which we just looked at each other, she with her boozy, breezy smile and me with an apparent moral dilemma: i.e., should I make a pass at her, like I wanted to, or should I just put her into bed and tuck her away safe (as though she were a simpleton, perhaps, or even child) like, say, John-Boy Walton might. A dilemma I answered by taking her head in my hands and kissing her—heatedly, hot-bloodedly, restlessly—what a friend of mine used to call a “come fuck me” kiss; because she was no child. And I was no John-Boy.

And then we went to her room and lay together; drunkenly, sloppily, unspectacularly, and after a while, I dreamed: of lightning permeating everything and rain pounding the roof like nails, like hail; of wives and friends and girlfriends and my father—most of whom I hadn’t seen in years; of small, predatory dinosaurs, deinonychuses, with dark skin and wet backs—who held vigil around our bed like cultists, like priests, and who trilled, softly, faintly, as though they were meditating. As though they were communing.

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About The Fields Tinged with Red

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.

From The Fields Tinged with Red:

“Mm.” He spat for the first time that morning and looked out over the green fields. “Any sign of our friend?”

“Not hide nor sickle-claw.”

But Teddy had focused on something; something out by the freshly painted barn (which nonetheless leaned precariously; a result of the hurricane-like winds that had attended the Flashback, no doubt), and frowned. “You sure about that?”

“What do you mean?” Nick followed his gaze but saw nothing, only a rusted-out van and some equally rusted drums, and something he hadn’t noticed before (probably because they hadn’t been there, he was sure of it): a stand of hoary cycad bushes. Literally—cycad bushes. In rolling wheat country. In Eastern Washington. After a bitter winter.

“I’m afraid I don’t—”

But there was something; something partially obscured by the van and the cycad bushes; something brown and tan and red and mottled green; a thing which didn’t move, didn’t breathe, which didn’t even seem to be alive—until it adjusted its head slightly and he could no longer miss it, no longer even look away.

“Oh, he’s a ninja, that one,” said Selena, having joined them at the railing. “A real cucumber. Silent Jim; that’s his name.”

“Shhh,” whispered Teddy.

“I don’t get it,” said Nick. “I mean, is he just curious, or is he afraid, is he stalking us, wh—”

“Jesus, gods, would you be quiet?” Teddy appeared taught as a whip. “And bring me that damn rifle. Hurry.”

He mumbled as Selena fetched it: “How you too are ever going to survive a dinosaur freaking apocalypse is beyond me.” He reached for the weapon as she approached but she hesitated before handing it over. “What? What is it?” he grumbled.

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” she said, and handed him the gun. “It’s just that, maybe this isn’t a good idea.”

He braced his elbow on the railing and aimed even as Nick looked at her sharply. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean, what if it’s the wrong thing? What if it turns out we need those bullets more than we’ll need that beef? Or what if it’s some kind of ambush, or—”

“Shut her up or I will,” growled Teddy, even as he eyed the scope and fingered the trigger. “We’ve got one shot at—”

She took a step closer. “Wait—”

And there was a crack! and a recoil and the shot echoed along the hills, even as Nick looked and saw the animal darting into the brush and zigzagging through the tall grass—before tripping once (but just as quickly recovering) and vanishing into a stand of trees.

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