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First came the time-storm, which erased half the population. Then came the dinosaur apocalypse. Welcome to the world of the Flashback, a world in which man's cities have become overgrown jungles and extinct animals wander the ruins. 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 challenge you: for better or for worse. In short, it is a world where anything can and will happen. 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.
"Jesus. Just-Jesus," said Amelia, staring at the decomposing body. "How long do you think it's been here?"
I examined it where it was sprawled on the back porch, facing the ocean, its skin blackened and clinging to the bones-like it had been vacuum sealed-its wispy hair fluttering. "Hard to say. Few weeks. Maybe a month." I batted away the flies. "Long enough for the organs to liquify."
"How-how do you know?"
I studied the holes in its head, a smaller one which was about the size of a dime and a larger, more cavernous one-the exit wound. "Because, otherwise, there'd be brains all over." I stepped over it and picked up the gun, checked its chamber. "There's still bullets in it."
She stared at me tentatively as I closed the chamber and gripped the weapon in both hands-neither of us saying anything. At last I nodded to the back door-the screen of which banged back and forth in the wind-and tried to brace myself. "You ready?"
She shook her head.
"Let's go," I said.
And then she was holding the screen as I inched forward and gripped the knob-turning it slowly, carefully, easing the door open. Stepping into a room which was dark as pitch; which reeked of cat piss and despair.
"Jesus. Just-Jesus," said Amelia, staring at the decomposing body. "How long do you think it's been here?"
I examined it where it was sprawled on the back porch, facing the ocean, its skin blackened and clinging to the bones-like it had been vacuum sealed-its wispy hair fluttering. "Hard to say. Few weeks. Maybe a month." I batted away the flies. "Long enough for the organs to liquify."
"How-how do you know?"
I studied the holes in its head, a smaller one which was about the size of a dime and a larger, more cavernous one-the exit wound. "Because, otherwise, there'd be brains all over." I stepped over it and picked up the gun, checked its chamber. "There's still bullets in it."
She stared at me tentatively as I closed the chamber and gripped the weapon in both hands-neither of us saying anything. At last I nodded to the back door-the screen of which banged back and forth in the wind-and tried to brace myself. "You ready?"
She shook her head.
"Let's go," I said.
And then she was holding the screen as I inched forward and gripped the knob-turning it slowly, carefully, easing the door open. Stepping into a room which was dark as pitch; which reeked of cat piss and despair.
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