“As I suspected, Gling, the human aliens are paranoid and aggressive. He ‘killed’ the dummy in order to escape.”
Gling gargled. “But this one had a weapon. We must test others.”
Kling shrugged.
They watched as Herbert Cralston flung the hospital doors open and sank to his knees in despair.
Herbert peered very cautiously around the corner. The hallway was empty.
No, wait. One of the inhuman creatures was lounging in a chair just beside the exit with its back turned.
It was all or nothing.
Herbert crept up behind the creature—
raised the steel letter opener—
and struck.
Freedom.
Herbert slid his shirt on over the bandages covering his sides. The wounds were painful, but not crippling.
Picking up the steel letter opener, he realized he didn’t really care how he had come to be here. All he cared about was getting out.
Unfortunately, he still had no socks.
“Consider us philanthropists,” gargled one of the inhuman faces.
Herbert looked woozily around the room. His tattered clothes were draped over a chair. The steel letter opener was lying on the floor.
“May I get dressed?” he asked. “Privately?”
“Certainly. Your wounds are healing well, but be gentle.”
They left.
Herbert Cralston blinked heavily. Light poured into his eyes the moment they opened, forcing him to shut them again.
He groaned.
“He is awake,” said a gargling voice.
“Very good,” responded another voice. “Dim the lights.”
Gratefully, Herbert eased his eyes open.
The faces he saw were definitely not human.
PIs’ apartments are worthless, but this was mine.
The thug inside had broken my seal on the door. The tape was like my services: cheap but effective. I felt less fear than the tape, though.
I relieved my holster of its lopsidedness.
The doorknob was cold. Soon, he would be.
Charlie Dunn is a college student studying abroad in Japan. He also wrote Full Count.
When they finally landed, they knew their plane would never fly again.
They gathered driftwood and heaped it into teepee-like piles. “These are not for cooking or warmth,” the captain said. “They are beacons.”
He hoarded the matches for weeks and used the last of them to signal the rescuers.
“All in.”
Timothy Thicke shivered as Evan Edgelow put all of his poker chips in the middle of the table. Thicke knew what the other onlookers didn’t: Edgelow was putting more than just his money on the line.
“I fold,” pronounced Edgelow’s opponent in disgust.
Thicke and Edgelow smiled, relieved.
He peered over the edge of the bridge.
“Are you sure it won’t snap?”
“It’ll be fine,” she assured him. “Hundreds of people bungie jump here every year.”
“Safely?”
“Stop worrying and jump!”
“Fine.” He jumped.
Her cellphone rang. “What happened!? He’s still alive!”
“Sorry, boss. I couldn’t do it.”
When he had finished digging, he lined the pit with plastic and ran a hose into it. He watched proudly as his makeshift swimming pool filled up.
He had always dreamed of being a lifeguard. All he needed now were some babes to save.
He put up signs and waited.