"Headhunters" by Charlie Cole

(our hero, Simon Parks, is pursuing his wife, trying to bring her back after she left him)

I downshifted around the corner, but cut the angle sharper than Claire had and made up even more time. She was just up ahead. I powered forward and tried to get along side. Suddenly, Claire swerved, cutting me off.

I tried the other side, and she did it again. I backed off, giving her some room. She seemed hell-bent on keeping me away. I faked left and as the Audi moved that direction, I pulled up on the right side. We were side by side now in the driving rain, and the blowing wind, traveling at high speeds along a two lane road leading through a heavily wooded area. 

Claire looked at me then. Her face was without expression and she raised her hand in a wave. I didn’t understand. And then she looked straight ahead, closed her eyes and took her hands off the wheel. What…? I looked back at the road and saw the guard rail ahead of us, looming directly in my lights. The headlight flashed against the guardrail. The turn was sharp and to the right. Neither of us was going to make it.

"Rabbit in the Road" by Danika D. Potts and Oliver Campbell

 By the time the cab pulled up alongside me, I had already started to sniffle.

 "Get in," Ray said, as he opened the door.

 I slid in next to him and cried. It was warm in the cab, but even warmer wrapped up in Ray's arms. I hated him. I needed him. He needed me. The link was stronger this time. I could feel my heartbeat change its rhythm to meet his.

 "Don't cry," he said quietly, his chin resting on the top of my head.

 "But I hate you," I said. I bathed in the glow of our link.

 "Oh, I know."

"Nightmare at Emerald High" by Joana James

Malcolm raced toward the end of the hallway; he had to get to that back exit. If he remembered correctly, it was down the hall and to the right. Maybe if he ran fast enough his pursuer wouldn’t realize what direction he’d gone in and he might be able to escape. Tonight the hallway felt longer than he remembered; he felt like he’d never get to the end. He ran endlessly, but the corner seemed to be getting further away. Suddenly, the scene around him changed and he was in a room full of boxes. Amidst the boxes he could see his pursuer near the doorway looking for him and he hid behind a tall stack. Still trying to escape he attempted to move with stealth looking for another hiding place but he was exhausted. He tripped over his own feet and landed hard against the stack and sent the whole thing crashing. His pursuer turned sharply toward the sound and fired two shots in his direction. Malcolm wasted no time and vaulted over the fallen boxes. His pursuer was right behind him.

"The Final Chamber" by Cynthia Mercer Tottleben

The adopted mother of Jessie watches as her daughter, in the throes of a psychological breakdown, is loaded into the ambulance...

       “Mommy?”  You asked, looking to me for clarification.  Speaking to me in your most childish voice.  Horror haunting every letter that passed your lips.  Seeking comfort from your first mother, the one I could never be, the one you loved unconditionally even though she lounged around, high on whatever drug she could find, and collected cash from the men who touched you.

       That same woman who had forgotten about you, barricaded behind the basement door for weeks on end.  Letting you waste away your hours in utter darkness.  Begging for food.   Pleading with the men who came downstairs not to be hurt.  To be given water.  Bread.  Anything.

       Lingering with the corpses long after your sisters had died.

"The Blasphemer" by John Ling

Samir had decided that tonight would be the night. As he sat in his car with the engine off, he stared at the house across the street. The rain had eased to a trickle, and he could see movement past the windows. The man of the house was helping his wife set the table for dinner. Curtains billowed, hiding the man’s face. But Samir knew it had to be him. The apostate. The blasphemer. 

 

            Samir exhaled, feeling so many things at once. Joy and hate. Faith and doubt. Excitement and fear. Which was which? He could no longer tell. Pain started to bloom in his temples, and he could feel it reaching into his eyeballs, stabbing him in sync with his heartbeat. That damn headache was back.

  

            He clenched his jaw, trying to tough it out. He didn’t want to medicate himself. Didn’t want to risk dulling his senses, blunting his edge. But in the end, the migraine proved too crushing, too searing, and he relented. A bit of pain was good for the spirit, yes, but too much would be a hindrance.

"The Great Firewall" by Michael C. Boxall

A ruthless property developer is trying to drive the last resisting residents out of their home...

As Daniel arrived at the end of the lane the door swung open, then half-closed again, flames licking along its edge. He saw a figure in the doorway, silhouetted against the conflagration. Fugen Pan’s hair was on fire and he was beating at his head with his hands. There was a crash and a blazing beam fell behind him. Pushing it away with his elbow, he stumbled back inside.

Figures raced across the floor of the crater, carrying a ladder between them like a stretcher.

Pan reappeared, half-dragging, half-carrying a large bundle wrapped in cloth. The lower part was in flames and he flailed at them with one hand.

The rescuers reached the column and upended the ladder. One of them was already scrambling up. As he got to the top a hand reached from the bundle and tried to touch Pan’s face. Pan leaned forward. Then the roof fell in, burying the teacher and his mother in an avalanche of tiles and blazing timber.

The fire sent a shower of sparks up into the night sky and roared in triumph. 

"Devil's Creek" by Paul Maitrejean

Erika, staying at the Devil's Creek Cafe, has seen a hooded figure approach the building -- just before the power went out and Marlys, the cafe owner, screamed.

Lightning cut the blackness, white knives stabbing through the windows. At the end of the hallway, the stairway gaped like a black mouth. Erika felt her way toward it, one hand on the wall. At the head of the stairs, she shone her light down. The steps descended to a landing, then turned right to the first floor.

“Marlys?”

Thunder covered her voice, crashing overhead.

Erika started down. The creaking of the steps blended with the rain and wind beating against the building. With each step, Erika’s pulse beat harder. While the storm’s noise covered her own approach, it also camouflaged any sounds an intruder might create below. Did someone wait for her at the stairs’ foot? She didn’t dare imagine it. Right now, Marlys needed her.

At the landing, Erika bent down to see into the café. In the nearly constant flicker and blaze of lightning, the room appeared deserted.

“Marlys?”

A tall hooded figure stepped before the foot of the stairs, not ten feet away, a black silhouette against the lightning.

"In Many Ways" by Peter Carroll

He had no particular preference when it came to how to make money and wield power. To get where he was, he had certainly had to ditch any sense of empathy or sympathy for those he dealt with. Better still, he was almost certainly born without such cumbersome baggage. This unburdening undoubtedly saved him the angst that those initial, moral, gangster dilemmas would have elicited in most until they had dulled themselves to it. It would always be difficult to decide in any individual, which one of nature or nurture had played a bigger part in shaping who they were. However, from a fairly early age, spurred on by the example (or genes) set to him by his father, he really did not appear to be all that interested in whether his actions had a negative effect on, or outcome for, other people. No matter the conclusions drawn in any intellectual debate as to the origins of his disposition, it was fair to say that if ever there was a man that had been born to profit from the misery of others, then this was he, and that lad in the chair was about to be very miserable indeed.

From "Danger Danger" by Gerry McCullough

The shining red car hurtled across the road towards them. ‘Dec!’ Katie shrieked.

Declan swerved to the left, jammed on his brakes, and felt the Honda bike skid to a shuddering stop. It toppled over. There was a blinding pain in his left leg, then nothing.

Katie felt herself flying through the air. She landed on her left arm. The black leather jacket ripped apart. She felt her head crash into the hard surface of the railing in the centre of the road. Then darkness, and silence.

The motorbike had come up out of nowhere. Steven saw it out of the corner of his eye. He’d thought he could make it across, in the last moments after the lights changed, just before any traffic came from the other direction. But here came this bike, way before anyone could have expected it. He dragged on the wheel, tore the Mazda round. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Annie’s shoulder bang against the passenger door, saw the door burst open, saw her shoot out of the car. He wrenched at the wheel, trying obsessively to regain control of the car. His head hit the windscreen.  There was nothing more.

From "Covert Dreams" by Michael Meyer

It was 1984 and people were doing crazy things to other people in the name of one thing or another, and Dabbie Hodson could see it clearly. She had but seconds to live. And just because she had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

She was helpless to do anything about it, but her eyes would be her weapon. They would remain open, probing, pleading, rebelling.

“I really don’t know that much.” She repeated this over and over, but seemingly on deaf ears, until she realized the terrible choice of words she had used. That much? What was that supposed to mean? How was he to take such a thing?

From "Night Market" by Hunter F. Goss

Vienna, December 1904. Andrew Kirkland prepares for a confrontation with his Undead Austro-Hungarian nemesis Josef Graf von Borbek...

 A coded phrase in Henri’s message told me he and Arkady had engaged Borbek in conversation and would try to hold him there until I arrived, so I had only limited time to act. Veronica and I swiftly made our way upstairs where she insisted on helping me dress. What she did was more like a squire helping a knight into his armor. But the armor she’d helped me choose was custom tailored and I had possibly the most attractive squire a knight could ever want. She even combed my hair as I adjusted the shoulder holster that held my Smith & Wesson, now loaded with .44 caliber silver bullets courtesy of Baron von Augsburg. It was a precaution I insisted on taking. I knew if I had to use it I was fast enough to get off one shot, but I figured that was all I’d need. I was well practiced with the pistol, subscribing diligently to Wyatt Earp’s famous dictum, ‘fast is fine, but accuracy is everything’.

From "Legends of the Light Bearer" by L. M. Aldrich

Breanna arrived that morning with the same sense of foreboding that had lingered for days now.  After parking her car, she hurried down the street, deep in thought, trying to isolate the source of her growing conviction that something was terribly wrong.  Not one for introspection, she actually relaxed a little when a more familiar emotion welled up.  Hello, she reminded herself, the whole frigging world is on a slow boat to chaos.  Of course, there's something wrong.  Though it was already warm and muggy, an unexpected chill rippled down her spine, and she resisted the urge to look over her shoulder.  She picked up the pace and, avoiding eye contact, began to maneuver past a crowd of angry protesters, screaming and spitting at each other.  Far-left, far-right, who knew, she was just grateful that she was still rarely recognized.  

From "The Adventures of Augustus Fuller" by James Rickon

“Surely you’ve heard the cry these past few days? The village’s oldest inhabitant is back with us once again,” said the professor as he began a slow foot to foot hop.

 

“Don’t be barbaric, man,” scolded Mason. “This is England, not Africa and we do not entertain the likes of lions here. If I were you I would send up to Canterbury to see if any criminal has escaped the prison. As I said earlier,” he turned to Lord Harry, “this sounds to me like the work of some lunatic.”

“Yes, yes I suppose I had better do that,” agreed the young lord with the curious lingering distant look in his eye.

“I say, what do you mean by ‘the village’s oldest inhabitant’?” queried Wood as he put a hand on the professor’s shoulder to steady the man’s increasingly manic hopping. “Is there some old boy with a penchant for blooded beef in these parts?”

Professor Farthing gave a short laugh. “No, my dear sir, I did not mean a geriatric at all. In fact, not even a man if you believe the tales. No, I was referring to what is locally colloquially known as ‘the Devil’”.

From "Anonymous Realm" by Linda Picinich

I smirked, feeling fairly confident that I was going to get the better of this prank.  “Oh, okay.  So what happened to you then?  You know, since you’re not really dead?  Have you been reincarnated?”

“Kind of.  Maybe.  I’m not entirely sure.  That’s why I need your help. To find out what happened to me.  To my body, I mean.”  This man truly believed he was who he said.

“You died.  You suffered a sudden, fatal heart attack, and you DIED.” He looked genuinely stunned and confused.  “Oh, and you donated your organs too.  Your two minutes is almost up, Pal…”  I got up again to leave.

“Wait!”  He said.  “Meet me here again tomorrow.  Please.”

“Yeah, okay.  I’ll jot it in my calendar…lunch date with the dead guy with no organs at the park.  Right.  Look, Pal, I may look lonely, but I’m not so desperate that I’ll start dating zombies.  Rest in peace, Fella’.” I turned to walk away, but he stood up and blocked my path.

From "Drop By Drop: A Thriller" by Keith Raffel

Sam Rockman, a Stanford professor, is dropping his wife Rachel off at San Francisco International Airport:

 
I pulled Rachel's black Tumi case out of the trunk, extended the handle, and trotted into the terminal to check the gate for the flight to Boston. I arrived in front of the bank of terminals and turned around to look through the glass. Rachel waggled her fingers and blew me a kiss. I smiled, jerked a thumb at the video monitors, and turned around to find out her gate.

Then it hit me – an enormous whoosh and the sound of a dozen thunderclaps.

I was deaf. Couldn't hear anything.

I was blind. No, the air was filled with sooty black smoke.

I was on all fours. Sticky blood was smeared on the floor beneath me. I pushed down on my hands and heard the crunch of glass underneath them. Shards embedded themselves into my palms. The pain chased the grogginess away.

Rachel. I staggered up and crunched my way back toward her. Now I could see dim light through the smoke. The huge window I had just looked through had been blown out. Even as I stepped through the jagged opening, I could see an abandoned Accord in flames.

I started to scream.

"Rache, Rache." Where was she?

From "Epidemic" by John Holt

Was it an accident? Everyone said that it was. But was it an accident, or was it something more sinister?

Tom Kendall, a down to earth private detective, is asked to investigate the death of a young newspaper reporter. The evidence shows quite clearly that it was an accident, a simple, dreadful accident. That is the finding of the coroner, and the local police. Furthermore there were two witnesses. They saw the whole thing. But was it an accident, or was it something more sinister?

Against a backdrop of a viral epidemic slowly spreading from Central America, a simple case soon places Kendall up against one of the largest drug company in the Country.

From "Milkshake" by Matt Hammond

Senator Elmerstein is explaining how the American public has been fooled once. They can be fooled again...

Elmerstein paused and leaned over the table, placing his large craggy palms face down on the burnished maple. He shot a dramatic glance, catching the gaze of every man as his eyes swept the room. “Why was the first space shuttle called 'Enterprise'? I’ll tell you why. Popular myth has it that it was due to a public campaign to persuade NASA to begin a dynasty of spaceships that would carry the name hundreds of years into the future, blurring fact with television fiction. To boldly go where no man has gone before etc etc. A romantic notion, which again captured the imagination of a public actually pretty bored with space travel at that time. So it was decided to call the first Space Transportation Craft 'Enterprise'. The public thought they had influenced the choice of name and it became their spacecraft.  Anyway, gentlemen, I digress. Nowadays the corporate guys have gotten hold of the idea, and the technique they are using is termed, I believe, 'viral marketing'. It’s just starting to be looked at as a serious marketing tool in the commercial world but we believe we can also use it to good effect.”

From "Upon Release" by Glenn Langohr

Narcotic detective Pincher looked in his rearview and saw the same black Lincoln Town car a few cars back when his phone vibrated a new text message. He looked: YOU OWE FOR WHAT YOU WERE SHORT LAST TIME! MAKE IT RIGHT!

From the passenger seat of the Town car Chuco asked, “Veto, what are we going to do about this pinche detective Pincher for ripping us off? The pinche guava pinched out of our ounce of heroin!”
           
Veto glanced at his youngster’s animated face and laughed. “Kick back L’il hommie. Detective Pincher might have shorted us some dope but look at the big picture. We have a narcotic detective who steals dope from the evidence locker who is addicted to heroin.”

Pincher took off his gang and narcotic task force Rampart Division jacket and secured his 9mm in a lock box before entering the evidence room. He thought about his transfer from Orange County to the LA Rampart division. He laughed at how it took a year to escape the investigation from internal affairs that allowed him freedom from the job and a paycheck that covered that year he’d just deposited in the bank.

From "Train Wreck: A Novel" by Bennett Gavrish

Jamal rose from his seat as if he was about to address a congregation. “I ain’t scared of no Harry Potter. I finished all of them stupid books. All I can say is this: that’s some wicked unrealistic crap.”

“Imagine that,” Nick said sarcastically, “a book about magic being unrealistic.”

“I like the books,” squeaked Samuel. He was gripping the tome tightly, fearing the angry black man might rip it out of his hands and destroy it with one of his evil swearing spells.

“You hear that, Grams?” Jamal shouted. “He likes the books! Next thing you know he’s gonna be asking for a freakin’ broomstick and a magic cloak for Christmas.”

Bradley got giddy. “Oh man, how cool would it be to have an invisibility cloak?”

By this time, Matthew had slid over to the other side of the bench and joined the conversation. “If I could be invisible, I would sneak up behind people I didn’t know and give them invisible hugs.”

“Matthew,” Bradley said, “that’s called sexual assault. And it’s a felony.”

Jamal seized control of the discussion again. “Oh please. An invisible cloak would be the worst thing to give a kid. He’d put it down to go take a piss, come back and never be able to find it again.”

From "Vengeance Is Sacred" by Peter Healy

 After experiencing a premonition, Paolo races to the scene of the infamous Triangle Waist Company fire to try to save a young friend from the disaster...

He frantically raced to the river and saw that a ferry was just departing. He poured on the speed, reached the wooden dock, and streaked to the edge. The wood planking gave him a bounce to his step and Paolo took a flying leap with every ounce of muscle he had in his legs. He sailed through the air, cleared the water, and landed with a crash against the back side of the boat. His hands grabbed desperately onto the railing as his body thumped against the wet wall of the vessel. A foamy turbulence was created by his dangling legs as they buffeted in the frigid Hudson. The icy water felt like piercing knives as it washed up and over him. The rail was wet and cold and he struggled to hang on. Finally, with a hefty effort, he managed to pull himself on board, soaked from the neck down.

Lying on deck, he fought to catch his breath as his dripping clothes shaped puddles around him. He wrangled to stand, then felt the river wind blow into his face and chill his wet body. Paolo already knew that his freezing torso would later be considered a blessing compared to the searing heat he would soon face.