Art by 123RF.com |
by Gregory Fallis
“I’m worried about Sophie.”
“You’re her mom. You’re supposed to worry about her. She’s what, six years old?”
Porter, alone at a table in the Cup & Bean Coffee Shop, stopped reading his book. He looked out the window; it was still raining softly.
“She’s feeding ants.”
“What do you mean, feeding ants?”
Porter risked a quick glance. Two women about his age, late twenties, casually dressed. Probably came straight from the fitness center down the street. That time of day, the clientele ran mostly to young mothers and students from the community college. READ MORE
by Eric Rutter
That looks like a person, Abby thought.
She studied the shape in the distance, or tried to, squinting against the brightness of the desert sand. She had to raise one hand to block the glare, holding it just below the wide brim of her straw hat. Even then the shape was hard to make out: small, dark and spindly. Its movements might have been an effect of the heat haze shimmering between it and her. But some nameless intuition told her they weren’t.
She glanced around her at the others tending the crops, to see if anyone else had noticed the figure. Part of her half expected to see someone was missing from the group and from that deduce who was out there. But that was a silly idea. Only nine other Travelers had come into the garden with her about an hour ago. There were more than sixty of them living on the compound, all told. READ MORE