The Half That You See by Rebecca Rowland (the two towers ebook .TXT) 📗

It’s warped, the door’s warped, I’m gonna have to shove it open.”

Virginia’s mouth continued to remain open in her silent scream.

The door flew open and bright light blinded Virginia.

“Oh, dear God,” the man said. “I need help! Get down here!”

Virginia launched herself, growling, at the light.

The man began screaming as she clawed at his face. She tried to bite two fingers off that he accidentally shoved into her mouth. She yanked his hand away from her mouth, shoved his head to the side and bit down into the thick flesh of his shoulder and neck.

The man screamed and shouted that she was biting him. She gnawed for a moment and saw more light at the top of the stairs.

The top of the stairs.

The way out.

She slammed the bleeding man’s head against stone until he lifted his hands to protect his head and she crawled over him. She partly howled and ran/crawled up the stairs toward the light shining down into her face

“Oh, shit! Oh, shit!” The man at the top of the stairs turned and ran back up the way he came.

“What’s happening?” a third man’s voice shouted.

“Somebody’s coming out! Holy shit! Get out of the way! Get the fuck out of the way!”

Virginia increased her pace while smelling fresh, cool, night air.

She burst out of the top of the stairs and through the hidden overgrowth concealing the staircase.

“Goddamn!” a man yelled. “Grab her! Get her!”

Virginia screamed, barking at the wolves around her.

She ran toward a gap between two of them. The wolves closed that gap and she ran for another.

“Get her! Boyd! Get her! She’s coming toward you!”

“Shit! She’s crazy!”

The wolves circled her. She spat at them, grabbing tufts of dirt, grass, and loose rock, and  throwing them at their slowly closing circle.

A huge one came running from the direction of more lights.

“I’ve got her! I’ve got her! Let me get her!”

She ducked under the man's outstretched arms, but his fingers caught in her hair. She ripped the snagged hair out of her scalp and ran.

“Goddamnit, boys!” another voice shouted. “Grab her before she gets away!”

“I’ve got her!”

She avoided his grasp.

The wolf pack charged after her, circling her again.

Pain shot through her chest and left arm.

She tried to shrug it off.

She had to get away.

The pain toppled her to the ground.

The largest wolf grabbed her legs and shoved her onto her back.

The pain in her chest was blinding her, but she bit and punched at the wolf on top of her.

“Virginia! Virginia, baby!” the wolf shouted, “It’s Darren, baby! It’s Darren!”

Virginia gasped, clutching her shoulder and arm while feebly kicking with her feet.

“Virginia, baby, it’s me!” Darren shouted. “We found you! We found you! It’s going to be okay.”

She couldn’t catch her breath. The pain was killing her.

She screamed a weak scream, a primordial howl.

“Shit! She’s having a heart attack!” a man behind Darren said, “Cindy! Get Cindy! Tell her we need the crash kit! Move!”

A man was shouting her name.

A man was shouting her name.

A man was shouting her name.

A man was pushing her down.

A man was crushing her chest.

A man was shoving her chest.

The wolves made their song.

The moon shown down through the bright shaft above her.

Where was Darren? Where was Dad? Mom?

A man shouted her name.

A man crushed her chest.

The wolves sang.

Turn a Blind Eye

Kelly Griffiths

One ant may be tolerated, two, three.

But they tell their scores of friends with that scent trail thing they do, and you’ve got manifest destiny on your hands.

Some idiot left a half-eaten baloney sandwich on the counter. Fair Pharm’s senior pharmacist was not doing the Mexican Stomping Dance but was disposing of apocalyptic numbers of ants. Sam slammed the fleshy part of his palm down, then wiped the writhing bits into the trash can and pounded some more, repeating the process until only a few stragglers remained. These he pressed with his thumb. They stuck, so he could push-push-push…push-push-push…and then flick the lot of them into the trash.

As he did so, he cursed his newest assistant. The twenty-something tree-hugger’s idea of professional consisted of sweeping his unruly, effeminate locks into a man-bun. There was no doubt it was Ice who left the sandwich. For over twenty years, Sam had been putting up with the brainlessness of his assistants and customers. Pharmacy customers were stupid. Even stupider than Ice, which was saying something.

How can you get a college degree and not foresee the consequences of leaving an unwrapped baloney sandwich on the counter overnight?

Did he need to post a sign? Please Do Not Leave Unwrapped Food on the Counter.

Sam’s favorite moron-proofing sign came from the Caribbean, where things were obviously a little more loosey-goosey. Please Do Not Indiscriminately Relieve Yourself in This Area. That was rich. Sam had a picture taken of himself in front of it while he made as if to unzip his fly.

Sam understood why Styrofoam cups had warnings. It was for morons like Ice. Just because one ordered a hot coffee didn’t mean a warning wasn’t in order. His customers needed warnings. Warning: gravity in effect. Don’t step off bridge. Warning: don’t cross an interstate at dusk wearing grey. Warning: the oral contraceptive should be taken orally.

That actually happened. One of his customers came to him pregnant and pissed as hell. She shook the contraceptives in his face and demanded a refund. After ranging around in her purse, she brandished a white stick and waved that too, nearly smacked him with it. It had two lines and smelled faintly of urine.

Sam tried to reason with her. “No method of birth control is a hundred percent effective, but if you’re taking them at the same time every day—”

She interrupted. “—and it scratches when we have sex. It doesn’t even dissolve right.”

Sam was not good at keeping a straight face.

He was pretty sure she brought the lawsuit against Fair Pharm on the basis of his thigh-slapping, snorty laughter. Pregnancy had little to do with it. But she found a lawyer and sued for pharmacist negligence: inadequate patient instruction