"You're gonna smoke it with me, aren't you, Vic?" he asked, following me. I stopped in the living room and kicked off my hiking boots."Huh, Vic? How about it?" He walked around me and plopped himself down on the couch, which was even greasier than the carpet, if that was possible. "It'll be just like old times."A towering, purple bong sat at his feet, ready to go. I sat down in the easy chair across from him, rubbing my temples. It's coming."Sure, " I said, finally. "Just like old times."

Red Marillion

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, 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, 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. It is a world where frightened commuters will do battle with murderous bikers even as primordial monsters close in, and others will take refuge in an underground theme park only to find their worst enemy is themselves. Where ordinary people-ne'er-do-wells on a cross-country motorcycle trip, a woman on a redeye flight to Hell, a sensitive boy stricken with visions of what's to come--will find themselves in extraordinary situations, and a gunslinger and his telekinetic ankylosaurus will embark on a dangerous quest. A world where travelers will be trapped with an unravelling President of the United States and a band of survivors will face roving packs of monsters and men in post-apocalyptic Seattle; where rioting teenagers will face deadly predators (as well as their own demons) while ransacking the nation's capital; where a Native-American warrior will seek to bury his past--and offer an elegy for all the Earth--in what remains of Las Vegas. 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.

The Big Empty - The Flashback Cycle, #3

The Lost Country - The Flashback Cycle, #2

That's when I heard the strange sound: a kind of forlorn mewing, like the note of a horn being drug out too long, coming from just around the corner, just beyond the liquor store-and paused, holding up my hand. "What? What's going on?" I waved her into silence, dropping the rein, then hustled to the edge of the building-where, after peeking around the corner, I saw a juvenile sauropod of the Diplodocus family (meaning it was the size of a typical school bus) collapsed in the middle of the street-its right front leg stuck in a manhole. "What is it? What do you see?" I looked from the sauropod to the corner of a nearby building, where something had moved, then across the street to an overgrown alley. Yes, I thought. There. And there. Between the tattoo parlor and the marijuana dispensary . "Allosaurs, " I said, gravely. "An entire pack of them. In desert camouflage. They-they've got something trapped." "Omigod. It-it's not your dog, is it?" I returned and picked up the rein, began leading Blucifer forward, into the intersection. "No." "Wait . what are you-" "We're going through, " I said. "But what if those things-" "They don't care about us; they want the bigger game. For now. Just hold on." The horse's hooves went clip-clop, clip-clop as we passed, the bluish-gray sauropod coming into full view ... A moment later she said, "It-it's stuck. In the manhole. Do you see that?" I eyed the predators warily, continuing to lead. "There's nothing we can do about it." "But she'll be helpless against-" "That is the way of it, " I insisted. "The way of the-" "Look, would you stop with the Indian clap-trap? I'm not even sure-" There was a thwomp as the allosaur by the building leapt into the road-not by us but about fifty feet away, near the sauropod. "Jesus, can't you do anything? What about your bow?" "And risk bringing them down on us?" I intensified our pace, sprinting toward the Stratosphere. "No!" And then they were coming-the allosaurs from across the street-passing so close we could smell the meat on their breath; closing in on the frightened herbivore . until we passed the scene completely and sought refuge in a nearby gas station (its storefront had long since collapsed) and gathered there trembling as the sauropod cried out-for it wouldn't be long now until they fell upon her. "Jesus, " said Essie, listening. "What a world." "Yes, " I said, remembering. "My father used to say it had a demonic sublime; every tree and every rock, every animal, including man, down to the lowest insect." I listened as the sauropod moaned, seeming already to give up, to resign its fate. "And yet." "What do you mean?" "What?" "You said, 'and yet.' What did you mean?" I un-shouldered the compound bow-rubbing my aching deltoid, stretching my arm. "Nothing. It's just that . maybe it doesn't have to be this way." When she didn't respond I looked at her-found her already looking at me: calmly, meditatively, her eyes seeming to glimmer. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean." "I mean . that I could end it. Her confusion and terror. That I-could prevent her from suffering." I looked at the bow and the dark, poisoned bolts attached to it. "That it's in my hands to do so."

A Survivor's Guide to the Dinosaur Apocalypse, Episode Five: "Elegy" - A Survivor's Guide to the Dinosaur Apocalypse, #5

Into the Flashback: The Flashback/Dinosaur Apocalypse Trilogy, Book One - The Flashback Trilogy, #1

When she awakened, there was a fly buzzing about her Jell-O and the ice-cream had melted. The storm was still on, but seemed farther away - so much so that she could hear the solemn ticking of the wall-clock. And something more: a squeaking sound, like the protests of a wheelchair too long neglected. It was coming from outside her room. It was coming up the hall. She looked at the doorway. Sure enough, an old woman in a wheelchair muscled her way past, skinny, ashen elbows working. It was a comical sight, frankly. Slow down, you old bag, Tika wanted to call out - and almost did. Then the squeaking stopped, abruptly, and the old woman backed slowly into view again. She looked at Tika. The younger woman looked back. Between them, up on the wall, the old IBM clock ticked. The resemblance was uncanny. Both women had long hair, though the younger's was blonde and flowing, like lemon molasses, and the older's was thin, platinum, flyaway. Both were skinny. Both had blue eyes, fine features, were gaunt as castaways, and -Suddenly, the crone was rolling, charging, Buchenwald elbows  pumping rust-spotted wheels, a hand like a dead tree branch reaching out, groping, flailing, batting away Tika's I. V., tumbling her saline bottle which shattered against the blood-red tiles .When she awakened, there was a fly buzzing about her Jell-O and the ice-cream had melted. The storm was still on, but seemed farther away - so much so that she could hear the solemn ticking of the wall-clock. And something more: a squeaking sound, like the protests of a wheelchair too long neglected. It was coming from outside her room. It was coming up the hall. She looked at the doorway. Sure enough, an old woman in a wheelchair muscled her way past, skinny, ashen elbows working. It was a comical sight, frankly. Slow down, you old bag, Tika wanted to call out - and almost did. Then the squeaking stopped, abruptly, and the old woman backed slowly into view again. She looked at Tika. The younger woman looked back. Between them, up on the wall, the old IBM clock ticked. The resemblance was uncanny. Both women had long hair, though the younger's was blonde and flowing, like lemon molasses, and the older's was thin, platinum, flyaway. Both were skinny. Both had blue eyes, fine features, were gaunt as castaways, and -Suddenly, the crone was rolling, charging, Buchenwald elbows  pumping rust-spotted wheels, a hand like a dead tree branch reaching out, groping, flailing, batting away Tika's I. V., tumbling her saline bottle which shattered against the blood-red tiles .

The Girl in Room 22: A Book About Disability, Hope, Friendship ... and a monster

She supposed it was what they-or at least Sting of The Police-would have called synchronicity: that twangy guitar and soft-pedaled keyboard emanating so clearly from the RV's speakers as she ascended the vehicle's aluminum ladder. All she knew was that the song matched her mood perfectly, absurdly, as Karen Carpenter sang, Such a feeling's comin' over me / There is wonder in most everything I see .She gained the RV's roof and looked around: at the motor homes being corralled in the parking lot of Bluebeard's Cove, at the velociraptors gathered like spectators outside the fence, at the brontosaurus mulling its cypress leaves nearby and the pterodactyls circling in the blood-red sky and the volcano spewing lava not thirty miles away. Not a cloud in the sky / Got the sun in my eyes / And I / Won't be surprised if it's a dream .

Flashback Dawn (A Serialized Novel), Part 4: "Charlotte" - Flashback Dawn: A Serialized Novel, #4

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

On a clear day you could see all of the Anchor Rock valley from here; not so tonight. Tonight it was but a vast pool of nearly impenetrable fog, beneath which Sheila could just make out the glowing, yellow lights of Anchor Rock proper. And she supposed she was grateful-so very, very grateful-for that much. For as long as the power was on and men such as Whitman were still doing their jobs, there was hope. Hope that the world might somehow pass through this day turned to night and this inexplicable time storm, this apocalypse no one saw coming and no one could have imagined. It was supposed to be zombies, she thought insanely-even as Whitman's brake lights winked on suddenly and Erik shouted, "Mom, look out!"She focused forward in time to see the Sheriff's car looming in the windshield, and hit the brake pedal, causing the Toyota to lurch into a tailspin even as it careened toward Whitman's bumper- which they missed, barely-before sliding into a tree with a resounding crash. And then she was craning her neck to see what had caused him to stop so abruptly, and saw, by the strobing lights of his red and blues (which he had turned on in order to guide them better), what could only be considered a Tyrannosaurus rex. It had crashed through Whitman's driver's side window with its snout and pulled him free-shaking him like a ragdoll, smashing him against the door-after which they could only watch in horror as it gnawed off his head . which bounced twice across the road and went rolling down the hill, whipping blood as it went. And then the thing was loping toward them, and Sheila had pushed in the clutch and jammed it into first-too late, for the beast pounced upon them instantly, causing the roof to sink beneath its massive weight. She screamed as its claws raked through the thin steel of the car's shell, barely missing her head, then put it in reverse and floored the gas pedal, winding the Toyota's engine as high as it would go, before finally popping the clutch.

Red Marillion

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