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:BAD DAY AT SORALLIO 6 CANTEENGavin TurnerDEAD THINGSVincent EndwellDEAD MAN'S HANDDale T. PhillipsFALLING SUNWARDMikel J. WislerA REIGN OF THUNDER (PART TWO)Wayne Kyle SpitzerI AM NOT BERTHASeán McNichollTRINKETSFreddie KölschMY MOON, OH MY MOONAngus StewartSAY HELLO TO ALPHA CENTAURIScott CoonTHE INSIDE OUT MANLamont A. Turner

Dark Horses: The Magazine of Weird Fiction No. 26 | March 2024 - Dark Horses Magazine, #26

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. He hesitated before peeling off a wedge and placing it in his mouth, at which he closed his eyes and seemed to melt, hanging back his head, working his jaw in a circular motion, reopening his eyes-pausing suddenly. "What?" I asked. "What is it?" He tilted his head, peering into the branches. "Isn't that strange?" I followed his gaze into the tree but, alas, saw nothing. Which, of course, was precisely the problem; there was nothing-no oranges, no leaves, no uppermost branches, it was as though someone or something had picked the treetop clean. "Someone has a helluva reach, " said Maldano. I looked around the lot: at the lichen-covered Public Market and the Jersey Mike's Subs with the Prius in its window, at the Vietnamese Nail Salon and the El Buzo Peruvian Restaurant. "We should split up, canvas the area. Make sure-there's nothing else." "Yeah, " said Maldano. "I think you're right." I headed for the Public Market. "Make a sweep of the strip mall. I'm going to check out that grocery store." He laughed a little at that-which caused me to pause. "Orders-Hooper?" I half-turned, but didn't make eye contact. "Sorry?" "I mean, in all this? This Big Empty? This 'world tenanted by willows . and the souls of willows?'" There was something in his voice. Something subtle, something contentious. "Call it what you like, " I said, and continued toward the market.

A Survivor's Guide to the Dinosaur Apocalypse, Episode Nine: "The Return" - A Survivor's Guide to the Dinosaur Apocalypse, #9

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:WILD TRUTHSeptember Woods GarlandBEAUTY QUEENGeoffrey MarshallDROWNED STONEOliver FostenNIGHTMARE IS A CARNIVEROUS HORSENemo AratorTHE LIMITS OF RESOURCE ALLOCATIONFrancesco LevatoMESOZOIC KNIGHTSWayne Kyle SpitzerMIRACLE OF DEATHDouglas KolackiPLANET CLAIREScotty MilderTHE FIBONACCI HORRORRoddy NavarroVAMPIRE ZENDOJohn Wesick

Black Sheep: Unique Tales of Terror and Wonder No. 2 | August 2023 - Black Sheep Magazine, #2

First came the time-storm, which erased half the population. Then came the Dinosaur Apocalypse . How did it all begin? Well, 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 Lost Country. From "The Devil's Triangle": There were six of them, as I said-all of whom rushed us the instant our feet touched the ground. All of whom snarled and charged us like wolverines as we raised our weapons and fired-the flare gun cracking and hissing, blanching the scarlet haze (for the sun had painted everything red and gold), its projectile punching through one of the raptors' chests and lighting it up so that its ribs were backlit briefly and I could see, if only for an instant, its burning, beating heart. Yet still they came, another one leaping at me even as I dropped the gun-which clattered against the planks-as I dropped it and grabbed the thing by its neck-then brought the knife down with my other hand and stabbed it between the eyes. "Run!" I shouted, even as Amanda shot another-her second-and then bolted toward the shore, drawing the others so that I was able to snatch up the flare gun and quickly reload it; so that I was able to pursue them and to shoot one in the back-while Amanda turned and took out the last of them (shooting it in the head so that the back of its skull exploded like a spaghetti dinner thrown against the wall; so that it collapsed, writhing, about 10 feet in front of her-whereupon she quickly approached it and shot it again, just to be sure). And then she looked at me (as the dead and dying animals lay all around us) and I looked back: our chests heaving; our faces covered in sweat, our worn clothes bloody and disheveled, and I knew that she knew-which was that today we were the predators, the thing needing to be feared-the killers. And that neither of us needed to worry; not about food or other predators or mysterious lights in the sky or anything. Because we were the masters of our fate, we and no one else, not even God. And we were the master of the world's fate, too. At which she ran to me and we collided and I held her fast, there on the long jetty in the Atlantic Ocean (in the Bermuda Triangle), there beneath a day moon and the blood-red sky, in an instant in which it was good, so very good, not to be afraid, not to be alone. And as to what may or may not have happened in those breaths, those pulse points between that moment and the next-the next day, the next search, the next milestone; as to that, I offer only a quote from Gandhi: "Speak only if it improves upon the silence."

The Lost Country, Episode Four: “The Devil’s Triangle” - The Lost Country, #4

By the time I'd established a camp in the covered breezeway of the Luxor obelisk-"Cleopatra's Needle" it was called, at least according to a bronze placard on its wall-and bound her hands and feet, the sun had set and a slight rain had started to fall; something I fully welcomed after so much time in the desert. As to whether the girl welcomed it also, who could say. For even though I set her near the opening (as well as the fire) and provided her my own bedroll to sit on, she only continued to glare-probably due to us eating in front of her; for I had decided, though you might think it cruel, that I would starve her into speaking, if necessary. Which, of course, she finally did-speak, that is-although only after a considerable time, saying, hoarsely, yet clearly, assertively, "Is this some kind of torture? I mean, don't you have to feed prisoners before killing them? Isn't that what the Geneva Convention says?" I looked at her through the flames, saying nothing, even as Kesabe snarled. At length I carved a piece of meat from the spit and dropped it on a paper plate, which I carried around to her-but didn't hand over. Instead, I knelt and sliced off a single bite-sized morsel-then held it close to her nose. "Trade, " I said, matter-of-factly. "One bite per something about you. It can be your name. Where you're from. How you've survived ... Just talk."

Dinosaur Carnage - Dinosaur Apocalypse, #11

In a world beyond imagination, they would stand by each other no matter what ... After a devastating time-storm called the Flashback eliminates most the population and recolonizes the world with prehistoric flora and fauna, three boys bearing a powerful talisman set out on an impossible quest. An all-new post-apocalyptic adventure for mature young adults set in the same world as Flashback, A Survivor's Guide to the Dinosaur Apocalypse, Ank and Williams, A Reign of Thunder and The Lost Country. From Thunder Road:"Jesse! Quint! Long-fuses!" I rolled the 50-pound bag off the Talon. "And remember: Straight for the bikes!" (I was referring, of course, to the special fuses we'd made; which-it was hoped-would provide cover after we left.)"That's a negative, hombre, " shouted Quint. "I'm fresh out of lighter fluid over here." He quickly added: "Jesse! Get over here!""No!" I barked. "Belay that order! Keep up your barrage ..."And I was on my way, bounding for Quint and holding up my lighter, shaking it, impatiently, as he turned and just stared at it-disoriented, shell-shocked. (Some of my rockets had-after ricocheting about wildly-blown up right next to him.)"Take it!" I snapped-even as a ghost-white snout lunged at him through the window, lunged at him and crashed to a halt-snarling, gnashing its teeth; at which Quint spun upon it and clocked it in the nose, hard, and just kept clocking-until it yelped and beat a retreat."Okay, " I said, "go, go, go!" And he took the lighter. And then I could only return to the Talon and snatch it up off the floor, noting its fading color, its waning strength, before swinging it around my head and barking, "There's never going to be a better time. How much more?""Just about, " said Jesse, and continued: "Just-okay! Okay, I'm clear!"I looked at Quint, who was still lighting. "All right, forget it, let 'em go ."He moved the lighter from one fuse to the next. "Hold on, " he said, "just hold on ."At which we could only watch, rocking on our feet, hopping up and down, until he lit the last fuse and jumped down from the bucket. And then we were hustling-double-timing it, as they say-up the stairs and out of the diner, where not a single predator could be seen. Then we were scrambling for our bikes; our pinto horses of plastic and steel; which gleamed like salvation even as the long-fused rockets began to explode and the Nano-As, active but in hiding, began to whimper and howl. That's when I knew it; when I could feel it in my bones. That we'd passed our first test; survived our baptism by fire. That's when I knew that our journey would be complete-as we sat on our bikes with our spears canted at our backs (like the bows of Indian braves, I fancied) and, having returned the Talon to its canister, watched the last of the fireworks as they burst and boomed above. Watched, brooding, as they turned the sky first white then green then blue, and finally, a deep, lingering red, after which, taking a cue from our fellow animals, we began to howl ourselves.

Thunder Road: Every Journey Has A Beginning ... - Thunder Road, #1

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

The final Flashback begins ... It's all led to this. All the characters and situations of the Flashback/Dinosaur Apocalypse come together in a final trilogy of tales that will close out and define the saga. Join Ank and Williams, the crew of Gargantua, the kids from Thunder Road, and so many others as they heed the call to adventure one last time and face the very architects of the Flashback!From The War-torn Hills of Earth:The gold fog rolled and so did the water, foaming and frothing, revealing first the photonics mast and communications antennas, then The Sarpedon's black, sea-slicked sail and forward fins, then its great, dark, parabolic bow-which breached the surface at an angle, like the plesiosaurs and ichthyosaurs and mosasaurs swimming alongside-until, still steaming forward, the ship was fully surfaced and its aft fins visible; at which three people-two men and a small woman with a bob haircut-appeared in the sail."Jesus, " gasped Puckett, the engineering chief, as he looked at the beasts, which filled the water for as far as the eye could see (which nonetheless wasn't very far, due to the fog). "If I hadn't seen it myself, I wouldn't have believed it. The sonar doesn't lie."Captain O'Neil was more circumspect. "But why, goddammit. That's what I want to know. I've certainly never seen them migrate en masse like this-like Hammerhead sharks. What's the reason?"Both of them had to shout over the crash and commotion of the waves. Pang signed excitedly at them as the wind chopped her hair."What's she saying?"Puckett, who'd been working with her, paraphrased: "She's saying, 'What if they were called too-only in a different way?'" He watched as she continued to sign. "'Or-considering the dream used sound and imagery instead of words-the exact same way?'"O'Neil looked at the marine animals as they leapt and dove and swam powerfully alongside. Aye, but for a different reason, he thought."Ho!" cried Chief Puckett suddenly. "The Santa Monica Pier!"O'Neil peered into the fog and saw the tiny silhouette of a Ferris wheel emerging from the gloom, then unhooked his mic. "Half ahead, revolutions 500-and mind the beasties." He looked at Pang. "Yes, I'm going to send a team ashore. And no, you're not-"And that's when it happened: that's when the pterodactyl flapped down like an oyster-white threshing machine and snatched her up by the shoulders-began rising. That's when O'Neil drew his sidearm-even as Puckett grabbed her by the ankle-but couldn't get a shot in through the pounding wings and Pang's own flailing-until there was the briefest of openings, and he did fire. Until he got lucky, and the bird fell and so did Pang-still being gripped by her ankle-so that she was flipped upside down and slammed against the sail-which her head hit like a rock. So that she was knocked unconscious even as Puckett and O'Neil held tightly and ultimately dragged her back into the conning tower. After which, drearily-for they were unable to wake her or get any sort of reaction at all-there was nothing to do but take her to the infirmary and monitor her. Nothing to do, frankly, but pray.

The War-Torn Hills of Earth | Flashback: The Final Trilogy of Stories | Part Three - Flashback/The Dinosaur Apocalypse: The Final Trilogy of Stories, #3

He went into the kitchen and poured her a glass of water. "How long has it been since you've eaten?""I'm not hungry, " she said. She seated herself slowly, tentatively. "Two, maybe three days. Ever since Sister Samain wrested control of the coven from the Council. Thank you ." She took the glass from Jeremiah, still looking at the paintings. "They're all done by the same hand, aren't they?"He took off his wide-brimmed hat and studied them. "The same eye. Sometimes Jasper's hand shakes uncontrollably and I have to steady it with my own. Other times I am his hand, and he tells me what to do." He laughed a little. "He says that I am an artist, just as he. But even I know it's the eye that sees, not the hands."She continued staring at them. "No, I don't think that's true. These pictures have lines of grace . look, see how the fingers are elongated, and tend to curve up or down depending on the position of the body. They dance upon the canvas . surely you can see that. I think you paint them together, Jeremiah."He swung the strap of the respirator over his head and set it on a mantle. "I'm just his hands." He moved to leave the room again."Just? But hands are for feeling, " she said. He paused at the entrance to the hall. "And they're for killing, too." Then he disappeared into the dark. And she thought, It's the heart that kills, Jeremiah. The hard one by slaying others . and the soft by slaying itself. Then she pushed it from her mind.

Dark Horses: The Magazine of Weird Fiction No. 26 | March 2024 - Dark Horses Magazine, #26

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