Short Stories

I remember when I first noticed, of course. But I don't remember when I first should have noticed. And nothing will drive you crazy like going back over your memories from when you weren't paying attention, trying to parse the half-discarded fragments of imagery that are rolling around in your head. Did I see more splashes of red and feathers than usual along the shoulders of the road in the days and weeks beforehand? Or am I thinking of rats and squirrels, the normal churn of the urban ecosystem? Or am I shuffling things around in my mind, taking every vague impression of roadkill I encountered the past couple years and sliding it forward, so it seems like some ominous, foreshadowy week? ...

Sheryl was trying hard not to think about her watch. It was not something she could eschew. It was a vital tool, her unseverable tether to the surface, every bit as necessary as a diving bell. Nearly as anachronistic, too: a cheap old plastic quartz piece, connected to nothing. But what it gave in freedom it took back in attention, as persistent as the second hand diligently swinging around its orbit. ...

Dr. Schwann poked fitfully at his salad. He had ordered it out of obligation; he wasn't hungry, and he had wanted to get the smallest item on the menu. But against every indication—its appearance under "Appetizers," its relative price, and the upscale atmosphere of the restaurant in general—a massive cauldron of greens had been delivered before him, the kind of meal he imagined one might provide to a herbivorous dinosaur. ...

I don’t like the regular doctor, but Dr. Childress’s office is much nicer. It’s really big and has big windows and out front there is a bunch of toys to play with. They’re old kinds of toys and they’re kind of boring, but they’re still a lot better htan the regular doctors! They don’t have any toys at all. Just old magazines where someone else has done all the puzzles and games. ...

Gerard was guided into the room by Tabatha, the youngest sister. They had met at a speech he had given at the Royal Skeptics Society—a local group of about 30 regular members who, despite the name, had no real connection to the monarchy and who, he had noticed, took no great pains to verify the credentials of their speakers. Fortunately for all involved, Gerard had spoken eloquently and authoritatively about the subject at hand, to the delight of most of the attendees, and to the increasing concern of one in particular. That was Tabatha, leading him now through her family’s modest country estate. ...

Academy was, to the best of their awareness, one of a kind. Their awareness, as it were, was spotty and limited. It reached as far north as Lake Champlain, as far west as Pittsburgh, as far south as the rotting old monuments of Washington DC, and even then it was ragged and inconsistent, snaking out like the root system of some grand old tree. There were vast gaps. Their farthest jaunt had reached Burlington, but in a straight shot that had told them nothing of the surrounding area. Their expedition to New York City had never returned, and Scouts’ lives were too valuable to send repeatedly into known danger; so it remained a vast blind spot on their slowly expanding map, and to the Doctors, the most disappointing of any such uncharted areas. The libraries there could have been harvested for several lifetimes, they were sure, but they were instead left untouched, tragically, each day risking more lost Knowledge, pages upon pages sacrificed to leaky roofs and collapsing buildings. ...

March 19, 2029 The town council chambers were remarkably depressing. Last renovated in the late ’80s, they reflected the style of the time: civic austerity by way of a basement rec room. Faux-wood paneling lined the walls. Caleb’s folding chair rested on speckled Formica flooring, scuffed from years of restless shifting. More chairs leaned in a row against the wall, awaiting a public audience that would not come. Instead, only the barest quorum was present. Flanking Caleb were the four other council members who made a habit of attending. There was Ray Caldwell, owner of High Peak Resort and one-man Chamber of Commerce. Brice Whythe, who had made a reputation for herself as a state senator before settling into retirement and the comparatively paltry duties of local government. ...