It was the first night of the Sacrificium, a night of sacrifice and death, a night when the black coins tendered in the Lottery would be tendered back. It was also the Hora Mille Semitis, the Hour of a Thousand paths-for that is the day the Sacrificium had fallen on this year-the hour when best friends might become enemies, when lovers of longstanding might betray oaths, the hour in which anything and everything was possible. And the alignment was felt: from the upper echelons of the capitol to the poorest quarters of the downriver provinces. For the message of Valdus' rebellion had spread-whether it was a tract nailed to a door before quickly being torn down or a blast in the night that caused the power to fail in entire regions. It was a night for dreaming and for huddled collusions, for the breeze to course through rustling leaves, for long dead hearts to awaken and start pumping blood. The Sacrificium had once more come to Ursathrax, but so had the Hour of a Thousand Paths, and Valdus' Revolution, and something else, something elusive but impossible to ignore, nebulous, but as real as the River Dire, which seemed to have stolen into the world on the wind itself.

The Complete Ferryman: The Entire Ferryman Saga in One Place

Dark horse/'därk '?hôrs/noun1. a candidate or competitor about whom little is known but who unexpectedly wins or succeeds."a dark-horse candidate"Join us for a monthly tour of writers who give as good as they get. From hard science-fiction to stark, melancholic apocalypses; from Lovecraftian horror to zombies and horror comedy; from whimsical interludes to tales of unlikely compassion--whatever it is, if it's weird, it's here. So grab a seat before the starting gun fires, pour yourself a glass of strange wine, and get ready for the running of the dark horses. In this issue:A+ TEETHRobert Nazar ArjoyanDACOIT, SON OF A NOBLERonit J. ERASURE (GOING NUCLEAR)Sylvia WoodhamLAST RIDE ON THE NIGHT TRAINAnthony FergusonDEATH GRADERWayne Kyle SpitzerNECROPOLISJohn K. PeckTHE AIR, BUT WITH HANDSJake WilliamsMYGALOMORPHAEClay WatersTHE DROWNING POOLVonnie Winslow CristWOUNDS ARE LIPS WAITING TO BE KISSEDEric Nash

Dark Horses: The Magazine of Weird Fiction No. 22 | November 2023 - Dark Horses Magazine, #22

She didn't respond right away but only continued to stroke Ank, who's stony texture seemed to fascinate her endlessly. At length she said, "Okay, " and turned one of its dials, and the room was immediately filled with the slightly raspy voice of a woman, who continued, ". if you're heading our way through Shadow Canyon, following that beautiful river, perhaps, be advised there's a pair of allosaurs operating in that area we call Lenny and Squiggy, and stay alert. And while we'd prefer you didn't kill them if in fact you are armed, we wouldn't recommend you get too friendly with them either. Once again this is Radio Free Montana, nestled just south of Paradise at Barley's Hot Springs Resort, where we've got power, lights, food, and about three-hundred survivors who'd love nothing more than to meet you. But be advised as always: if you're a marauder or a carpetbagger, you won't like what we've prepared for you. So take a little advice from Bella Ray and don't even try it. And on that it's another round of AC/DC . for those struggling to get here even now, we salute you!"

A Dinosaur Is A Man's Best Friend: "Radio Free Montana" - A Dinosaur Is A Man's Best Friend (A Serialized Novel), #1

They streamed out from the tree line in a veritable blitzkrieg, the guns of the tanks rotating and firing, the foot soldiers alternately taking cover behind vehicles and squeezing off bursts, the raptors and triceratops and stegosaurs charging-as Red and Charlotte and Roger and Savanna continued shooting and the children ran ammo and Bella lit the gasoline trenches, as Gojira and the clerk prepared shoulder-mounted rocket launchers. As hundreds of others joined the battle belatedly and began to kill and to be killed. And then they were there; they were at the gates, and the triceratops and stegosaurs had waded into the burning trenches and begun serving as bridges-sacrificing themselves so that the raptors and the foot soldiers could cross-even as a column of bulldozers fanned out along the perimeter and prepared to break the lines for good: dropping their blades-which rattled and clinked against the hail of gunfire-revving their engines, spewing black smoke."Bayonets!" cried Red as the raptors fell upon them, thrusting his own so that it skewered one of the dinosaurs like a shish kabob even before he used its own weight and momentum to swing it over and behind himself.

The Complete Flashback Saga

Dark horse/'därk '?hôrs/noun1. a candidate or competitor about whom little is known but who unexpectedly wins or succeeds."a dark-horse candidate"Join us for a monthly tour of writers who give as good as they get. From hard science-fiction to stark, melancholic apocalypses; from Lovecraftian horror to zombies and horror comedy; from whimsical interludes to tales of unlikely compassion--whatever it is, if it's weird, it's here. So grab a seat before the starting gun fires, pour yourself a glass of strange wine, and get ready for the running of the dark horses. In this issue:QUESTIONS A MAN OUGHT NOT TO ASKElizabeth BroadbentSTRANGE WATERSteve CarrHOLY MOUNTAINC. J. ScuffinsTHE DEVIL'S TRIANGLEWayne Kyle SpitzerMAKE IT A DOUBLEWarren BenedettoTHE UNSCARED CROWCody NowackSTRONGMAN SAFARIMark MellonTHE GECKO KINGSam FletcherBIRTH STORYTaryn Martinez

Dark Horses: The Magazine of Weird Fiction | August 2022 | No. 7 - Dark Horses Magazine, #7

Welcome to the Big Empty, the world after the Flashback ... a world in which most the population has vanished and where dinosaurs roam freely. You can survive here, if you're lucky, and if you're not in the wrong place at the wrong time--which is everywhere and all the time. But what you'll never do is remain the same--for this is a world whose very purpose is to change you: for better or for worse. So take a deep dive into these loosely connected tales of the Dinosaur Apocalypse (each of which can be read individually or as a part of the greater saga): tales of wonder and terror, death and survival, blood ... and beauty. Do it today ... before the apocalypse comes.* * *I looked at the nearest mount, a triceratops head with a broken horn (and a frightful visage), wondering what the circumstances of its death had been. Had it been charging-with the Flashback in its eyes, perhaps-and thus aware that it had an opponent? Or had it been unaware, just mulling its soft grasses, until the bullet entered its brain? "No, " I said, finally, turning my attention back to him. "Can't exactly say as I am. It-it's never seemed like a fair contest to me." I jerked my leg against the chain-twice-to make a point. "Does it to you?" "Pshaw, " he protested. "You speak as if we're enemies. As though this were some contest between you and I, personally. On the contrary, Mr. Hayes. It's a collaboration." I'm afraid I just stared at him. At last I said: "Okay-why not. I'll bite. What are you talking about?" "I am talking, Mr. Hayes ." He stood and began pacing the length of the table. "-about legend. About myth and memory-and the securing of one's place in the natural order of things." He withdrew something from his housecoat as he walked-a pipe; but didn't light it. "Posterity is what I'm talking about. A place at the table of the gods. That, and endings. Inevitabilities." He paused and struck a match. "One last and penultimate hunt." He lit the pipe and waved out the match, then turned, slowly, regarding me through a cloud of smoke. "Atatilla, is what I'm talking about. Queen of the Mammoths. The, ah, Leviathan of the Steppes, as they say. I intend to kill her. And you, my lost and wayward friend, are going to help me. By acting as my driver."

A Survivor's Guide to the Dinosaur Apocalypse, Episode Eight: "The Elephant Slayer" - A Survivor's Guide to the Dinosaur Apocalypse, #8

Extreme Horror Tales from the Edge ... Minus the Boring PartsAnd then he was sliding down, down, leveling off briefly, then down again, and he couldn't help but notice that the people he had planned to rule were fleeing now, and that the Nano-T had broken off its engagement with the tiger long enough to snap at them and give chase, and that in its absence the great feline had turned its mighty head to face the bottom of the slide and opened its maw, which was mottled pink and black, and that he was helpless to do anything but continue sliding toward it-until his kicking feet and legs were trapped between its terrible, curved fangs and its central incisors bit mercilessly into his abdomen (which crunched and splattered and was ripped in two as his bowels exploded outward and his heart and lungs and spleen steamed on contact with the air) and blood erupted from his mouth only to gurgle back inside and choke him. And then the darkness engulfed him completely and he felt himself slithering between its throat muscles and down its gullet-into the burning blackness of its stomach, where he saw by a brief and inexplicable light the dead face of the man the cat had eaten earlier in the day, and knew at last that he walked the earth no more.

Death Scene | Stories That Take Place at the Moment of Death

Naaygi found them waiting for her-as she somehow knew they would be-as the cage doors opened, their forward-facing eyes glinting the same hue as the lights in the sky and their dark, storm-colored bodies held absolutely still (even as another animal joined them and brought their number to four). She even knew somehow what they were; that they were a breed of carnosaur the "evolved" humans had called nanotyrannosaurs, the "Pygmy Tyrants, " and that one of them, the one with the brand upon its tail, the leader, even had a name-Napoleon, for he had been bounced forward and back in time via another alien species well before the Flashback and still bore the scars of his sojourn among the humans. She didn't know how she knew these things, no more than she knew just where, within herself, Naaygi ended-and they, the lights in the sky, began. She just did; just as she knew that the Nano-Ts represented a queer offshoot of the dinosaur population that was altogether fleeter and deadlier and cannier than anything that had come before it. And thus she bowed to them, her avengers, her killers-their killers, the lights in the sky-the rain running in rivulets down her body as she dropped to her knees and touched her forehead to the pavement, a pavement which ran red with blood and was strewn with the dismembered, disemboweled corpses of at least fifty men and women. And then she whispered to them in a language older than words, Follow me.

Flashback Dawn (A Serialized Novel), Part 6: "Throw Wide the Gates of Hell" - Flashback Dawn: A Serialized Novel, #6

First came the time-storm, which erased half the population. Then came the dinosaur apocalypse. Welcome to the world of the Flashback, a world in which man's cities have become overgrown jungles and extinct animals wander the ruins. You can survive here, if you're lucky, and if you're not in the wrong place at the wrong time--which is everywhere and all the time. But what you'll never do is remain the same, for this is a world whose very purpose is to challenge you: for better or for worse. In short, it is a world where anything can and will happen. So take a deep dive into these loosely connected tales of the Dinosaur Apocalypse (each of which can be read individually or as a part of the greater saga): tales of wonder and terror, death and survival, blood and beauty. Do it today, before the apocalypse comes. "Jesus. Just-Jesus, " said Amelia, staring at the decomposing body. "How long do you think it's been here?" I examined it where it was sprawled on the back porch, facing the ocean, its skin blackened and clinging to the bones-like it had been vacuum sealed-its wispy hair fluttering. "Hard to say. Few weeks. Maybe a month." I batted away the flies. "Long enough for the organs to liquify." "How-how do you know?" I studied the holes in its head, a smaller one which was about the size of a dime and a larger, more cavernous one-the exit wound. "Because, otherwise, there'd be brains all over." I stepped over it and picked up the gun, checked its chamber. "There's still bullets in it." She stared at me tentatively as I closed the chamber and gripped the weapon in both hands-neither of us saying anything. At last I nodded to the back door-the screen of which banged back and forth in the wind-and tried to brace myself. "You ready?" She shook her head. "Let's go, " I said. And then she was holding the screen as I inched forward and gripped the knob-turning it slowly, carefully, easing the door open. Stepping into a room which was dark as pitch; which reeked of cat piss and despair.

The Lost Country, Episode One: “The Big Empty” - The Lost Country, #1

As it never had before the Flashback, the supermarket slept, mostly. Although its exterior was covered with creeper vines and mossy growths, its interior remained remarkably unchanged-even its power continued to hum. Still, the long lights that hung suspended over its aisles had largely gone dead; and of those that remained live, many had begun to flicker and fail. No humans walked the once-polished floors of the Ozark Food and Drug Supercenter, nor did they crowd the expansive front lot where they had once competed-sometimes violently-for parking space. And yet, from the markings on the signboards and multitudes of packages to the Christmas music drifting like fog up and down the aisles, their presence remained.

Flashback Dawn

The exciting all-new prequel series to Flashback and Dinosaur Apocalypse ..."There's no footprints, " said Tess, examining the ground. She looked up at him as though she felt suddenly ill. "Nothing leading away. Just ours and his walking to and from ." She paused, her lower lip trembling. "How is that possible, Coup? And not just him but-where is everybody else? Where are the other cars? How in ."And then she just broke suddenly and rushed into his arms, and they remained like that for several minutes, during which time he scanned the sky, and, to his deep relief, spied a passenger jet arching glimmeringly across the sky, its contrail just as white and reassuring as angel dust."Look, there, see, " He released her abruptly and spun her around. "We're not in the Twilight Zone, after all. Hey, yo, Freedom Bird! We're down here!" He waved his arms back and forth. "Give us a lift! Albuquerque or bust!"Yet there was something odd about the plane's trajectory he hadn't initially noticed-or had he? For it truly was arching, which is to say it wasn't crossing the sky so much as it was . falling from it. Yes, yes, he could see now that was true, as he disengaged from Tess and paced through the scrub, tracking the jet as it curved gracefully in the sun- to finally plummet straight into the far hills, where it vanished like a specter in a plume of fiery smoke. And then he was gripping the shotgun and trying to wrest it from its rack; but, finding it locked, had to search the car for a key: upon which, realizing there were none that would fit, he located a small button just beneath the seat and depressed it-freeing the weapon."I don't think that's a good idea, " said Tess as she tailed him back to the Mustang, but he ignored her until they were again seated inside, after which he turned to her and said, briskly, "Maybe it is and maybe it isn't, but I'm doing it, okay?"And it was on the tip of her lips to respond when they heard the sound: a kind of muffled whimper-something between a chirp and a meow-coming from outside. Coming from beneath the car.

Heat Wave: The Dinosaur Apocalypse Has Begun (A Prequel) - The Flashback Saga, #4

In a land of wind and willows, two canoeists encounter some other-worldly wind turbines. From The Sentinels: Dunn: He said that he was taking the way of the wind and the sky, and that he was going in-to Them-by which I presume he meant going into the tower and scaling the ladder. And he said other things: That our thoughts made patterns in their world-left 'prints, ' as it were-as did theirs in ours; and that that was how they'd found us, by listening to our thoughts, zeroing in on our patterns. And he said that Bobby was merely a bundle of sensory organs wrapped in a skin of decaying matter and so wasn't important, wasn't needed. That only they mattered-they, the beings attached to and inhabiting the turbines. And that . that . Detective Shaw: What, Mrs. Dunn? Say it. Dunn: But . don't you see? It doesn't matter what he said, because it wasn't him speaking, not really. Bobby would never have described a human being as just a bundle of sensory organs; he truly believed, with every fiber of his being, that we were more than that-more than just the sum of our parts-it was what inspired him to become a doctor in the first place. And knowing what I knew, knowing what kind of man he was, I pressed him, telling him that Bobby did matter-that he mattered to his patients and that he mattered to me-more than I would ever be able to describe. And then I approached him and embraced him and told him I loved him-feeling, for the briefest of moments, the spirals beginning to close on his back-and he smiled, his eyes returning to normal, after which he said, or started to say, "I love ." (room tone) Detective Shaw: (inaudible) He-he told you he loved you? Dunn: No. He . his eyes rolled back . and then his face, it . it simply imploded. In a spiral. Like someone had flushed a toilet full of blood and brains.

The Sentinels and Other Stories

Welcome to Black Sheep: Unique Tales of Terror and Wonder, an extraordinary anthology magazine that transcends the boundaries of science-fiction, fantasy, and horror. Prepare to embark on a thrilling journey through the darkest corners of the human imagination, where the ordinary becomes extraordinary, and the mundane transforms into a realm of unspeakable terror and awe-inspiring wonder. Within these pages, you'll discover a collection of captivating stories carefully curated to transport you to realms beyond the mundane. Each issue presents an array of unique tales crafted by talented visionaries, both established and emerging, who dare to defy conventions and push the boundaries of speculative fiction. Whether you're a seasoned lover of the fantastic or just curious to explore new frontiers, Black Sheep: Unique Tales of Terror and Wonder will be your guide through the realms of the extraordinary. Prepare to be enthralled, enchanted, haunted. So put on your dark sunglasses . and unleash your inner Black Sheep. In this issue:BRAIN LICKERAndreas J. BritzAN INCIDENT FROM MY CHILDHOODRoss ClarkDUST TO DUSTAnthony FergusonALL MEN ARE CREATED EQUALYura RiphyakTHE DAGGER AND THE CHALICEWayne Kyle SpitzerINSTINCTUALLITYJ. Brian ReedA HOPE IN HIS YELLOW EYESWess Mongo JolleyPOND MOUTHKeith LaFountaineROGUE PLANETPaul CesariniTHE FUBAR RITUALKevin David Anderson

Black Sheep: Unique Tales of Terror and Wonder No. 8 | February 2024 - Black Sheep Magazine, #8

In a future time and place . a Gender War reaches its terrifying zenith. Welcome to the future, where women have been infected with a virus that turns them into witches and men have formed a militarized cult to exterminate them-the Witch Doctors. You can survive here, if you're lucky; but only if you swear to one of the dominant practices-Puritanism or witchcraft-and are willing to check your humanity at the door in the process. Because in the future, being a man means donning black and white and carrying a fire-breathing musket-the better to incinerate witches by-while being a woman means to live as the undead or a white-eyed practitioner of the black arts. Either way, humanity is doomed. That is, unless a single man or woman can resist-and in so doing, find the courage to cooperate, even love, again. Will it be Satyena, the beautiful young witch prone to kindness and compassion? Patrobus, the salty platoon sergeant with a secret past? How about Aluka, the intersex witch-doctor caught between worlds? Dive into these tales of the Sex War to find out-tales told in the dystopian tradition of Fahrenheit 451 and Logan's Run-stories at once brutal and beatific, halting and surreal. Do it today, before the future they portend becomes reality .

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