The Book of Apex: Volume 1 of Apex Magazine (42 page)

Jackson is in the tunnel now,
waiting for his chance to run. I wish that I were with him. I wish that I had
kissed Rose, just one more time. I wish so many things.

I can hear the Corvidae outside
now, a murder of thugs and runaways, hungry for a fight. They’re almost in.
It’s time. I think about Jackson, about his stories. Outside the Corvidae
gather, jangling the windows and kicking the door. Four-and-twenty skinny boys,
their flesh twisted by drugs and designer mutagens, black claws ready to rend
and tear until I’m nothing but blood and parts. I can hear something hissing,
see sparks underneath the doorjamb. I hold my breath, waiting for the
inevitable. My heart tick-tocks, measuring out the silence. I repeat the same
phrase like a mantra, reminding myself why I’m staying:
Downside isn’t a
place where fairytales happen
. I hope I’m wrong. I know I’m right.

The front door slides sideways,
hinges and locks worn down by the careful application of a blow torch. The
first of the Corvidae comes in, a smaller bird with a nervous tick, his caw
humming in the back of his throat. “Tick-Tock,” Rook3 croons, calling through
the open doorway. “We coming to get you Tick-Tock.” The smaller bird hasn’t
noticed me lurking in the darkness; the clockwork arm steady, the poker raised
and ready to strike.

I can buy some time. They’re
going to need it. Jackson isn’t fast, and he certainly can’t fight, and the
gurney will slow him down even if they don’t spot him the moment he breaks
cover. Downside is not a place where fairytales happen, but maybe just this
once we can sneak one by.

The Corvidae scout takes a few
steps into the room, hunched over and eager. He sniffs the air, cocks his head
to one side. He can hear my heart ticking, low and ominous in the darkness.

“Go,” I whisper, “Please
Jackson, get away,” and I swing the poker down. It bites into the feathered
scalp of Rook3’s scout, sends him sprawling to the floor in a pile of blood and
skewed limbs. My heart beats steadily, no adrenaline can speed it up. Steadily
like a clock, dependable and slow. Jackson isn’t fast, but he’s always been
faster than me. I can hear Rook3’s keening, the murder of black figures joining
his angry scream. They surge, a dark cloud of anger. I think I can hear my
pulse, roaring in my ears. I raise the poker. I wait for them. This is not a
place for chivalry, but I can pretend I’m a champion. I can stand against the
tide, for a few moments at least. I can buy time for Jackson and Rose. I can.
She is not a princess, but she deserves this chance. My kiss did not wake her,
but she can still be saved. She deserves this. She does. I hope I’m right.

My pulse rattles in my ears as
they swarm in, swarm over me, clawing, slashing; Tick-tock.Tick-tock.
Tick-tock. Tick-

Hideki and the Gnomes

Mark Lee Pearson

There were twelve moons in the
night sky: one from this dimension, the others reflections of the eleven
dimensions. One switched off like a computer monitor. On the blank screen,
Hideki watched the Space Shuttle,
Confronter
, hurtling to Earth, out of
control.

There were eleven moons in the
night sky: one from this universe, the others from ten parallel universes. One
turned off like a television, digital blocks deconstructing a digital world.
There was a high pitched screeching. Hideki ran into the garden to witness a
Boeing 747 crash into the garden next door. According to the
Ten O’clock News
, planes were falling out of
the sky worldwide, for no apparent reason.

There were ten moons in the
night sky: one orbiting this world, the others orbiting nine parallel worlds.
One faded slowly into the black analog tube. Hideki stood by the fishpond and
called up to his mother’s bedroom window. She was in bed watching the
Ten O’clock News
. The screen showed a picture
of a man in a shopping center, reeling on the ground, holding his throat in
pain as if he’d swallowed his entire set of false teeth.

There were nine moons in the
night sky: one from this time, the others from other times. One cut the radio
signals, killing the static and the background radiation. Hideki ran into the
house and up the stairs to his mother’s room. He yelled at her, “We have to go,
now! There are only eight moons left.” She didn’t see the significance, so he
dragged her out of bed.

There were eight moons in the
night sky: one made of rock, the seven others made from each of the sins. One
expired like a lighthouse in a blackout. Magnetic fields moved, and migrating
birds lost their way. Hideki dragged his mother, kicking and screaming, down
the stairs. He bound her from head to toe with a twenty meter LAN wire.

There were seven moons in the
night sky: one made of rock, and six made of cheese. One was swallowed up by
the dark night sky. Birds hit the windows. Hideki pulled down the shutters and
then went through his father’s desk, looking for the gun.

There were six moons in the
sky: one for each of the bullets Hideki loaded into the gun chambers.

There were five moons in the
sky: four signifying death, and one signifying nothing. Hideki’s mother lay
sprawled on the tatami with a hole in her head.

There were four moons in the
sky: one real, and the others symbolizing the Holy Trinity. Hideki stuffed his
mother’s body into the refrigerator, nailed the door closed and then cleaned
the tatami mat.

There were three moons in the
sky: one true, one false, one neither true nor false. Hideki pulled the plug,
sending asteroids hurtling toward Earth. He led the gnomes at the garden pond
to a revolution.

There were two moons in the
sky: one for reason, one for folly. Hideki had the switch now. He had to make a
choice for his people. Men and women ran for cover as mushrooms pushed their
way up through the lawns, signaling dawn.

There was one moon in the sky;
Hideki and the gnomes worshipped it, but they were unsure whether it was the
right one.

Don't miss the other volumes in
The Book of Apex
series!

The Book of Apex: Volume 2 of Apex Magazine
edited by Jason Sizemore
The Book of Apex: Volume 3 of Apex Magazine
edited by Catherynne M. Valente

Biographies

James
Walton Langolf
is
a full time mother and part time college student from Mesa, Arizona. She
believes that crazy from the heat is a valid defense for just about anything.

Previously published in
Surreal Magazine
and the erotic anthology
Love
at First Sting
, her literary influences include Tom Piccirilli, Joe
Lansdale, Ken Bruen and many, many more.

Katherine
Sparrow
is
a social worker and social science fiction writer who lives in Santa Cruz.
She’s been published in
Apex Digest
,
Escape Pod
, Nightshade
Press, and a few others. She attended the Clarion West Workshop in 2005, and is
currently working on a young adult novel about mental illness and superpowers.
When not writing she can be found taking urban hikes and dreaming about
apocalyptic punk rock bands.

Andrew
C. Porter
was born in
Kentucky but now calls Nashville home. He has written one novel which is
currently unpublished. His work often explores the emergent forms of awareness
brought about by new technologies, although he has an abiding love of H.P.
Lovecraft. “In the Seams” is a story borne of the latter’s influence. You can
contact Andrew at [email protected].

George
Mann
is
the author of
The
Affinity Bridge
,
The Osiris Ritual
and
Ghosts of Manhattan
, as well as numerous
short stories, novellas and an original
Doctor Who
audiobook. He has
edited a number of anthologies including
The Solaris Book of New Science
Fiction
,
The Solaris Book of New Fantasy
and a retrospective
collection of Sexton Blake stories,
Sexton Blake, Detective
. He lives
near Grantham, UK, with his wife, son and daughter.

Mary
Robinette Kowal
is
the 2008 recipient of the Campbell Award for Best New Writer. Her short fiction
has appeared in
Strange
Horizons
,
Cosmos
and
Asimov’s
. Mary, a professional puppeteer and voice actor, lives
in NYC with her husband Rob and eight manual typewriters.

She has performed for LazyTown
(CBS), the Center for Puppetry Arts, Jim Henson Pictures and founded Other Hand
Productions. Her design work has garnered two UNIMA-USA Citations of
Excellence, the highest award an American puppeteer can achieve.

Steven
Francis Murphy
is
a reluctant resident of Kansas City, Missouri. A veteran of Operation Desert
Storm, he took advantage of his Army College Fund to pay most of his way
through a Bachelor of Arts in History. He topped that endeavor by going into
debt for his Master of Arts in European History with a specialization in Gender
Studies at the University of Missouri-Kansas City. These days he is freed from
his cage in an undisclosed location for the purpose of teaching history; and
ever so often, he gets to write science fiction. The nominal compensation is
fifty-five gallon drums of black tea.

Nathan
Rosen
is
the founder and editor of MicroHorror.com. He lives in a crumbling old
Victorian in Baltimore with his wife Jenesta Matthews and three spoiled cats. A
mild-mannered paralegal by day, by night he can be found singing and carousing
with Pirates for Sail as the dread pirate Black Dog Nate.

Lavie
Tidhar
is the author of the Apex Publications’ book
HebrewPunk
, a collection of dark fantasy stories centered
around three mystical Jewish characters.

Lavie grew up on a kibbutz in
Israel, lived in Israel and South Africa, traveled widely in Africa and Asia,
and lived in London for a number of years. Currently, he is living on the
island nation of Vanuatu where he spends the days farming and the nights
writing.

In 2003, Lavie won the
Clarke-Bradbury Prize (awarded by the European Space Agency). He has edited the
Michael
Marshall Smith: The Annotated Bibliography
(PS Publishing, 2004) and the anthology
A Dick
and Jane Primer for Adults
(The British Fantasy Society, 2006), and is the
author of the novella
An Occupation of Angels
(Pendragon Press, 2005).
His stories have appeared in
Apex Digest
,
Sci Fiction
,
Chizine
,
Clarkesworld
,
Postscripts
,
Nemonymous
,
Infinity Plus
,
Aeon
,
Book of Dark Wisdom
,
Fortean Bureau
, and many
others.

Visit him on the web at
www.lavietidhar.co.uk.

Jason
Heller
has
been writing sporadically since his epic poem about alligators appeared in
Humpty Dumpty’s Magazine
when he was eight. His words
and comics have popped up in dozens of zines and alt-weeklies over the years,
and he’s currently the Denver editor of
The Onion A.V. Club
. He also
plays in a punk band called The Fire Drills; they do the worst Cheap Trick
cover you’ve ever heard. “Behold: Skowt!” is his first published short story,
but more stuff is forthcoming in
Kaleidotrope
and
Expanded Horizons
.
He’s also launching a punk-skewed SF zine titled
New Dawn Fades
.

Find him at
www.puzzledpanther.blogspot.com

William
T. Vandemark
can
be found wandering the back roads of America in a pickup powered by vegetable
oil. He chases storms, photographs weather vanes, and buries mason jars. A lock
of Houdini’s hair, a fragment of Poe’s headstone, and a pair of Jackson
Pollock’s shoe strings were recently laid to rest one foot below grade at a
crossroads in Indiana.

When not wandering, William T.
Vandemark hangs out in Maine, in Texas, or in Oregon, depending on season and
inclination. His permanent e-residence can be found at www.williamtvandemark.com.

“A Splash of Color” was written
at Odyssey, The Fantasy Writing Workshop, directed by the amazing Jeanne Cavelos
and was Vandermark’s first sale!

Geoffrey
W. Cole
graduated from Simon Fraser University’s Writers Studio in 2007, and since then
his work has appeared in
The
Ubyssey
, where
he won the annual science fiction rant,
emerge 2007
, and is forthcoming
in
Clarkesworld Magazine
. Geoff has degrees in biology and engineering,
and lives with his wonderful fiancé in Vancouver, British Columbia.