Of cloaks, elk and Izax #ScienceFiction #ActionAdventure

TROPHY: RESCUE

by Paul M. Schofield


The cliffs began to narrow in the side canyon. The flat area Martin remembered was still there, the trees hadn’t taken over, but he saw no ship or sign of his companions. A huge boulder was near the base of the cliff. He couldn’t remember it being there when he explored this area as a youth, but that was five hundred years ago.
The boulder began to shimmer and lose its definition. It disappeared, unveiling the rotary-wing aircraft. The hatchway burst open and Janet and Kolanna ran out.
“Could you see us?” Kolanna said. “We could see you. What did we look like?”
“All I saw was a big boulder, the same color as the cliff. It’s amazing! Was this built into the ship, too?”
“No. Louis Franelli gave us this mini-cloak to try out. If you couldn’t detect it, it must be realistic. Louis programmed it to take on the form and textures of natural things around it.”
“Let’s go back in and turn it on again,” Janet said. “What did you find, Martin? Show us the images.”
Back in their craft with the cloak engaged Martin described the elk, the crew, and the ships he had encountered. “They’re planning to leave early tomorrow morning. By now they’ll have a full load of elk. Is there anything we can use as a locator to attach to their ship? There has to be some way to follow them or find out where they’re going.”
“I agree,” Janet said. “It’s possible they may be familiar with Galen Bestmarke or that character named Izax who we think has your father. They could lead us to more useful information.”

Agents of Change - Espionage with a twist! #ScienceFiction #MysterySuspense

Agents of Change

by Guy Harrison


Protagonist Calvin Newsome is being interrogated after trespassing on school grounds with the ID of a teenage girl whose identity he earlier assumed...

“Read me her name, maybe that’ll help you remember.”
“I don’t know who she is.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not. I—”
“Read the girl’s name. That's not a suggestion.”
I look the man in the eye and gulp before opening my mouth. “Jenny Cooper.”
“That’s right,” he says, nodding his head as he bites his lower lip. “Jenny Cooper. You remember what happened to her, don’t you?”
I shake my head.
“Found dead in Pennypack Creek three years ago. Blunt-force trauma to the head, cracked orbital bone, broken leg. Scuffmarks on her bike that made it look like an accident. Tell me; is that the price for saying no these days?”
“No!” I say. “You think I killed her?”
He shrugs. “The evidence doesn’t lie.”
I can feel my face radiating as my arteries and veins pound the walls of my neck. I damn near faint as I sit back in my chair, letting the detective’s words reverberate in my mind. I’ve been set up...by way of human error, I think. I don’t believe an organization as benevolent as the Agency of Influence would go to such elaborate lengths to see to it that Jenny Cooper’s death—which, by all accounts, appeared to have been a cold case—was pinned on me.
The detective clears his throat. “I’ll give you credit...the marks on the bike, the absence of DNA...you covered your tracks.”
“But it’s just an ID,” I say, my eyes fixed on the card instead of the man.
“Unless you have one helluva story, it’s all we need.” He leans forward and places his interlocked hands on the table. “C’mon. Just admit it.”

Rabbit in the Road... #Thriller #Paranormal

Rabbit in the Road

by Danika D. Potts and Oliver Campbell


He gave me a name one day, walking back from the shack. "Rabbit In The Road," he said, pinching my cheek. "You ever see a rabbit run away from headlights in the road? They don't care where they go, they’re just runnin', fast as they can." He passed me the full blackberry basket to carry. "Rabbits are real damn stupid," He said softly. "Better to know what you're runnin' into, not just what you're runnin' away from. So you're Rabbit In The Road, until you know better."
I thought maybe I was starting to.

He woke one day with super powers ... but no memory #YA

Dairy of a Teenage Superhero

By Darrell Pitt

My name is -.
Wait.
Scrub that thought. I don’t know my name. I don’t know where I am. I don’t know how I came to be here.
I don’t know anything.
I’m lying flat on my back looking up at a ceiling coated in peeling mustard yellow paint. Light is streaming in through a window, casting long rectangles across the floor and the bed. A white curtain, fading to brown, covers the window. To its left hangs a small white hand basin. It’s leaning badly, clinging grimly to the wall by only one bracket. A single square mirror sits directly above it. A plain round clock to its left counts the minutes.
3.07pm
This place has all the trappings of a seedy motel room. It even smells like it. Stale. Unkempt. Even the mattress smells bad, covered by a grimy grey sheet.
I stagger to the hand basin. My head feels heavy. Everything seems to be vibrating from side to side. I feel like I’ve been drugged. I look into the mirror.
The face staring back is completely unfamiliar.
But this is me. Male. Seventeen. Maybe eighteen. Short cropped brown hair. Brown eyes. A small scar on the left side of my chin. I’m wearing a blue and white striped t-shirt. Grey jacket. Faded blue jeans. My shoes are clean, though worn.
Then I examine my hands. Not working hands. Not someone who’s used to outdoor labor. I’m probably still at school.
Wherever that is.
But I still have one overriding question.
Who am I?

From "Three-oh" by Simon Adamus

“Welcome, John Denton. We’ve been waiting for you.”

The sign illuminated the metallic surface, which instantly slid to the sides, drowning the hall in dazzling brilliance. Every nanite in his body yearned towards that light and he did not try to contain it. He stepped forward and let himself be engulfed by the brightness.

From "Never Saw It Coming" By Mike Jordan

Tim Finnegan has tracked the two men that abducted his brother, James, at gunpoint to a river camp in Evansville, Indiana, after retrieving his inheritence: A Remington 870 twelve gauge shotgun...
    “Look, we was told to grab him and pound on him for bit, then hold tight.” Ziggy whispered, “We get told to kill him, he’s over, if not we leave him here and he might live. I don’t care what this guy did or didn’t do, what I care about is my money.”
 
   “I know, Ziggy, but---“

   “Shut up, Tiny!” Ziggy whispered harshly.

   Tiny turned the whine up a notch, “Don’t shush me, Ziggy!”

    “I heard something, bitch, be quiet.”

   To his credit, Ziggy had heard something. He heard the click when I switched my safety off. A few seconds later, the front door to the trailer swung open.

   A brief moment of clarity struck me: I am not Tim Finnegan.

   I am the twisting maelstrom of excrement and broken glass that befalls my enemy. I am my enemy.

   I am this gun.

   I am a spark. I am a chemical reaction. I am hot steel shot. I am the cloud of blood, bone and brain matter that used to that guy’s head.

   I am not done yet.

From "Pandora's Succession" by Russell Brooks

CIA operative, Ridley Fox, has just been captured by operatives working for The Arms of Ares weapons consortium. Being driven by his captors, he thinks about what will most likely be done to him...

The October Man didn’t answer. Fox hoped he could stir up his temper. It appeared to distract him. But the one thing that Fox knew that Ares operatives excelled in were their torture techniques—using medieval or ancient methods as a signature. He recalled uncovering one of their victims in the past. The shirtless man had been strapped to a table with a cage on top of his stomach. Fox still had memories of the foul smell in the room before he had seen the large hole in the victim’s stomach—with a rat gnawing away inside. Apparently the cage that housed the rat had been heated, freaking out the rodent so that it had burrowed its way through the man’s stomach and intestines in order to escape.

The only thing that Fox imagined that could be worse, was a sadistic torturer that maintained the suffering as long as possible, not allowing his victim to die.

From "After The Virus" by Meghan Ciana Doidge

He closed the tailgate just as he heard the passenger door slam. She buckled up, then sat, clutching her sack and staring straight ahead. He might vomit. He wasn’t sure if it was the fear of hurting her further, or the trust she’d so readily placed in him, that made him ill. He ripped open a box of granola bars and climbed into the truck. He placed the bars on the seat beside him and shifted the truck into gear.

“Might be stale,” he warned, then he ate one anyway.

She reached a tentative hand, caked in dirt and blood, to press play on the stereo. He’d been listening to this on the drive over, but now, the third verse of Paul Simon’s “Call Me Al” hit him in the gut. He finally got it. He clenched his jaw to quell the rising emotion. The girl bobbed her head along with the bass line. He’d never had an epiphany before. In this moment, he chose to become the man he’d always wanted his father to be.

From "Anabar's Run" by Will Granger

Anabar struggles to escape from the giant...

Anabar gasped as the rope dug deeper into his neck. He finally managed to free his hands, but he could not release the rope around his neck. He almost lost his footing, but he was angry, so he grabbed the rope with both hands and once again planted his feet and jerked back on the rope. The giant barely held on to his end and the two engaged in a deadly tug of war. Anabar was certain the giant would use the knife on him if he lost his balance. They stared across the open space between them, neither willing to give in.

The dark rider watched silently from edge of the woods. He reached down to his side and grabbed the handle of a long, curved sword hanging in a scabbard. He pulled the sword partway out.

Anabar and the giant circled around the camp, the rope pulled taught between them. No matter how hard he tried, and despite his size advantage, the giant could not gain any ground or cause Anabar to lose his footing. He growled and swore and became more and more frustrated as the struggle continued.