He has often wondered if something has gone wrong with his eyes. After images linger for seconds longer than necessary, and when he enters a room or turns his head he is briefly aware of having missed something, a wisp of movement, a vague transparency, an incoherent reminder of some loss or failure. […]
Of course Pop had a pistol. At the height of summer, in the old days, The Ferry House would pull in a hundred grand a night. At 3AM, smelling of fried clams and spilled Coke syrup, Pop would walk to the night deposit three blocks away from the waterfront with two large sacks of cash and change on his back, like he was leaving town in a hurry. […]
Sedge slithered. More snake than man, he was an eel on dry land slipping between ancient tree trunks slick with lichen and excess water from recent rainfall. He scattered his footsteps, sinewy legs clinging to his suit so the contours of muscle appeared through the glamour of nano-fabric... […]
The dive goes poorly from the start. Within an hour of cutting the engine, the radar can’t pick up either the Vice Shark’s signal, or Allysandra’s. And I need both, if any of us are gonna see land again. So, because Allysandra was wild enough to go searching after the Vice Shark, I gotta go searching after Allysandra. […]
Thanks to our patrons for supporting this issue: Kelly L, Bear Weiter, Jessica Guptill, Maria Haskins, Elise Tobler, Molly Tanzer, Andy Gipe, Thomas Ha, Lorna D Keach, John Wm. Thompson, Denman Netherland, Sean Padraic Birnie, Matt Hollingsworth, Wichael Tellez, Natasha Kirke, David Cohen, Troy, Alex Acks, Miriam Wolter, Julie Ireland
