Brian Keene's Blog, page 103

THE X-FILES: TRUST NO ONE – On Sale Now

We all want to believe. The truth is still out there. The X-Files have been reopened.

IDW Publishing and series creator Chris Carter have authorized new investigations into the weird, the strange, and the mysterious. New York Times Bestseller and multiple Bram Stoker Award-winner Jonathan Maberry brings together some of today’s top storytellers, including Brian Keene, Tim Lebbon, Kevin J. Anderson, Max Allan Collins, and many more for a series of all-new X-Files. Scully and Mulder continue their journey into darkness as they face aliens, monsters, shadow governments, and twisted conspiracies.

In stores now. CLICK HERE TO ORDER.

FAST ZOMBIES SUCK — Watch For Free!

FAST ZOMBIES SUCK, a short film based on my short story with the same title, is now available for free via YouTube. Enjoy!

FAST ZOMBIES SUCK

FAST ZOMBIES SUCK, a short film based on my short story with the same title, is now available for free via YouTube. Enjoy!

DEAR ROSE: An Open Letter to a Fan I Met This Weekend (with stuff for the rest of you, too)

Joe Ripple and I sending regards to our biggest fan.

So, like I said last week, I intend to start Blogging here regularly again, because Tumblr is a cesspool filled with nitwits on both sides of the political aisle, and I am too old for that shit.

Hi. I’m Brian Keene. Here’s this week’s Blog. I’ll be talking about the possible small heart attack I had on Saturday, and new book releases, and a regretfully cancelled upcoming appearance, and how the premiere of my new film, FAST ZOMBIES SUCK, went, and some other stuff.

But first, I’d like to talk to Rose.

The rest of you indulge me for a moment.

***

I met a lot of awesome readers and fans at this past weekend’s 2nd Annual Scares That Care Weekend, a charity horror convention which took place in Williamsburg, Virginia. (And yes, there will be a third one next year). There was Tom, who is my age, and shipping off to Afghanistan soon, leaving behind his loved ones, and doing it without complaint because that’s what he promised to do when he enlisted. There was Syko, whose name I spelled incorrectly when I signed his books. There was the young couple who I met in the bar on Thursday night (whose names I regretfully can’t remember) who were nervous and excited and absolutely wonderful, and laughed with delight when I called their family member (also a fan) and wished him a happy birthday. And the couple who drove down from New Jersey whose names I also can’t remember (the guy wore an Opeth shirt). And these folks were just the tip of the iceberg. So many great and wonderful people stopped by during the weekend, and I appreciate them all.

But it is you, Rose, who stayed in my head during the six-hour drive home last night, and who has remained in my thoughts ever since. I don’t know your last name, and I don’t know if you’re on social media, and I don’t know how else to reach you, so I’m resorting to this. I apologize in advance for using this method, but I’m pretty sure I’ll keep your identity secret despite this public letter.

When you came up to my table, I saw the nervousness in your stance and your body language, and heard it in your voice. When you told me you suffered from agoraphobia, I was absolutely blown away. I can only imagine what attending a convention is like for you, especially inside the dealer or celebrity rooms, where masses of people are pressed together like cattle in chutes, and the cacophony of raised voices seems to batter at you from all sides.

Except that, as I told you, I don’t have to imagine it, because I get pretty anxious in such situations myself. I’m able to flip my “ON” switch — to transform into the public Brian Keene, rather than my real self, and cope with it long enough for everyone to have a good time, but yeah… when it’s all over, I need to go somewhere quiet and sit by myself and be alone and not talk for a long while.

The fact that you braved all that, and came out to support the charity — a charity that is near and dear to my heart — means the world to me. You have my absolute respect and admiration, and I would really be delighted to send you some more signed books. Email me at briankeene@live.com so we can make that happen. And to weed out the pinheads who will say they are you just to get books, tell me the location of that quiet spot I pointed out to you — because that’s our secret, known only to us (and maybe also to author Kelli Owen and my podcast co-host Dave “Meteornotes” Thomas).

Seriously, Rose. You rock. You touched me, and your grace and determination are something I won’t forget (and that’s saying something, because my memory ain’t what it used to be. I’ve apparently met author Armand Rosamilia seven times, and each time has been the first).

Thank you for braving it all to support the charity. The world needs more people like you.

***

Mike Lombardo, myself, Matt Blazi, and Dave Thomas on stage at the premiere (photo by Lynne Hansen)

FAST ZOMBIES SUCK, a short indie film which I financed and served as Executive Producer on and was based on my short story of the same name, premiered in Williamsburg on Thursday night. We showed the movie, and then some of the folks involved with the production (Mike Lombardo, Matt Blazi, and Dave Thomas) came out on stage and we did a Q&A for about 45 minutes, followed by a general Q&A with myself for another 30. My favorite part of the evening was F. Paul Wilson getting the microphone and saying, “That didn’t suck nearly as bad as you said it would.”

The entire thing was recorded, and we’ll be airing the Q&A portion on next week’s episode of my podcast, THE HORROR SHOW WITH BRIAN KEENE.

***

Speaking of the podcast, Dave has created a Facebook page for it. He wants all of you to go ‘Like’ it.

***

And speaking of FAST ZOMBIES SUCK, we’ll be putting the film up on my YouTube Channel shortly. Everyone just needs a few days to decompress before we do it.

***

Speaking of having a few days to decompress, I may have had a small heart attack on Saturday afternoon, or I may have just staved one off in the nick of time. I’m not sure which. I was signing books and my arm started to tingle, and then go numb, and then a fist started squeezing my chest. These are symptoms I remember from my last one, so I excused myself from the table (and thanks to John Urbancik and Thomas F. Monteleone for keeping an eye on it for me), went upstairs, swallowed four baby aspirin, and rested for about an hour. I felt better afterward, but I am still tired, and my body is telling me to rest. At 47, I’ve learned to listen to my body. I’ve been doing too many appearances and too much traveling this summer, and it’s starting to take a toll. Later this month, we’ll be shooting the trailer for the film adaptation of THE CAGE. I can’t miss out on that, but I also need to do less, so something has to give.

Therefore, it is with my sincerest and deepest apologies that I regretfully inform you all I won’t be at the Lewisburg Literary Festival in two weeks. I was looking forward to it for many reasons, not the least of which is that I have a family reunion nearby the same weekend, and this would have been an opportunity to do both. But not having a heart attack is more important than either of those things, so instead, I’m going to take it easy for the rest of the summer.

Hopefully, you’ll all understand that. If not, then you probably suck.

***

A reminder that KING OF THE BASTARDS, a Howard-esque Conan pastiche I co-wrote with Steven Shrewsbury, is out now in paperback and e-book. You should snag one.

The book features Steven’s recurring characters Rogan and Javan matched up against my character Meeble. It also serves as a stand-alone novel. You don’t need to have read anything else to read and enjoy this one.

***

LIBRA NIGRUM SCIENTIA SECRETA by myself and J.F. Gonzalez, has shipped. Twitter and Facebook are full of readers posting pics of their copies. This was the last thing Jesus worked on before he died. Indeed, we were working on it the morning he went into the hospital. He never got to see the finished book, but I’m glad the rest of you did.

The book will never be reprinted, as it was designed as a collectible for collectors. If you missed out, I’m sure they’ll start turning up on eBay soon.

***

This week will be spent boxing up manuscript critiques and getting them to the post office, sorting through the next batch of Lifetime Subscriber books I just received from Deadite Press, going through the bazillion emails that came in while I was traveling for the past two weeks, responding to a ton of business voice mails, writing a new chapter for Patreon, reading the galleys for WHERE WE LIVE AND DIE (coming soon), and finishing a novel called THE COMPLEX which has gone sideways on me.

Thanks for being patient.

 

KING OF THE BASTARDS Now On Kindle, Nook, and Kobo

Paperback – Kindle – Nook – Kobo

Part sword and sorcery, part extreme horror, King of the Bastards is wild adventure across seas, beaches, and mountains full of horrifying monstrosities, dark magic, and demonic entities.

Rogan has been many things — a barbarian, a thief, a buccaneer, a rogue, a lover, a reaver, and a king. Now, this prehistoric bane of wizards and tyrants finds himself without a kingdom, lost in a terrifying new world, and fighting for his life against pirates, zombies, and the demonic entity known as Meeble. And even if he defeats his foes, Rogan must still find a way to return home, regain his throne, save his loved ones, and remind everyone why he’s the KING OF THE BASTARDS.

 

A Trip to Miskatonic, New Books, Movie Premieres, and More

Me with the manuscript for “At the Mountains of Madness”.

Last weekend, authors Paul Tremblay, James A. Moore, Charles Rutledge, Mary SanGiovanni, Nick Kaufmann, his wife Alexa, and my podcast co-host Dave Thomas, got to visit the John Hay Library at Brown University in Providence — which was the inspiration for H.P. Lovecraft’s Miskatonic University.

While there, we had the pleasure of viewing many of Lovecraft’s original manuscripts, letters, and commonplace books (notebooks in which a writer records ideas or fragments of stories). We even got to see a mosquito that Lovecraft had squished in a piece of paper, along with a bit of his blood. A particular treat for me were the handwritten first draft of “At the Mountains of Madness” and a draft of “The Colour Out of Space” — my two favorite works by HPL.

We also got to preview some items from an upcoming public exhibit the library will be hosting later this year. It includes fan letters and artwork a then 14-year old Robert Bloch sent to Lovecraft. It was such a treat to view these historic artifacts. The items we previewed are amazing, and I strongly urge you all to see the exhibit when it opens. I’ll post more info about it here when it does. (Note: We are not posting pictures of the Bloch items online, so please don’t ask).

(Photo copyright Charles Rutledge)

A very special thanks to Christopher Geissler, the Librarian for American and British Literary and Popular Culture Collections, for hosting us. Although the public can view scans of them online, it’s rare that anyone other than scholars and academics get to see these historical items and artifacts in person. We appreciate him giving us the experience, and allowing us to share it with you.

Below are a few pics — Lovecraft’s notes for “At the Mountains of Madness (including a sketch), a letter in which he has just learned about Robert E. Howard’s suicide, the handwritten first draft of “At the Mountains of Madness”, and the typed draft of “The Call of Cthulhu” (with handwritten corrections). Click the thumbnails to view them full size.

***

THE X-FILES: TRUST NO ONE is available now. I have a brand-new story in it. Click here to purchase.

***

LIBRA NIGRUM SCIENTIA SECRETA by myself and J.F. Gonzalez begins shipping today. Here are a few pics to hold you over until your copy arrives. Click the thumbnails to enlarge.

***

The Tom Piccirilli Tribute episode of my podcast is live. Click here and listen. And if you are attending the world premiere of my new short film, FAST ZOMBIES SUCK, this Thursday night, you can be part of the podcast’s live audience.

***

I’ve given up on Blogging via Tumblr, mostly because it’s a cesspool of far-Right and far-Left people who, as near as I can determine, are offended by pretty much everything the other group has to say. No room for nuanced discussion or middle-thinking there, at least as far as I can see.

Instead, I’ll start Blogging here again. Welcome back.

UPCOMING APPEARANCES

This weekend, July 16 through the 19th, I’m at NECON 35 in the Roger Williams Conference Center, Rhode Island.

Next weekend, July 23 through the 26th, I’m at the 2nd Annual Scares That Care Weekend in Williamsburg, Virginia. Thursday night is the world premiere of my new short film, FAST ZOMBIES SUCK, followed by a live Q&A. I’ll be joined on stage by some special guests, and we’ll be recording the Q&A for my podcast. Then, I’m signing books the rest of the weekend.

Next month, August 7th and 8th, I’m a guest at the Lewisburg Literary Festival in Lewisburg, WV. In addition to signing all weekend, I’m giving a talk and Q&A. I’m sure we’ll touch on the town being used as a setting in THE RISING, EARTHWORM GODS, and ENTOMBED.

And on September 26th, I’m a guest at the 2nd Annual Albatwitch Festival in Columbia, Pennsylvania. In addition to signing, I’ll be talking about the Levi Stoltzfus series, especially LAST OF THE ALBATWITCHES.

TOM PICCIRILLI R.I.P.

As you’ve no doubt heard, author Tim Piccirilli passed away earlier this morning, after a long and tenacious battle with cancer. He was one of my best friends for nearly twenty years. As I said on social media earlier, I always called him “Big Bro” and he always called me “Little Bro” because that’w what we were. I am too heartbroken to find and craft the proper words, but it occurred to me that I don’t have to. Tom wrote two pieces years ago that never fail to make me laugh. Indeed, there have been low points in my life when I re-read these pieces, and laughed all over again.

The first one is here, and every word of it is true. The second piece, inspired by the first, is here, and all of it is true, as well (until the point where we left the signing, at which point Pic turned it into a Hunter S. Thompson meets Butch and Sundance pastiche, because he knew that I would love that). As I have every time I’ve re-read them, I’m laughing again, even through tears.

Thanks for that, big bro. I fucking miss you already. Give Dick and Jesus and everybody else a hug from me.

THE RISING: DELIVERANCE Finally On NOOK!

The 4th book in THE RISING series — THE RISING: DELIVERANCE — is finally available on Nook.

It is also available in Paperback and for Kindle.

This prequel takes place before the events in the first novel, and shows how Reverend Thomas Martin survived the zombie apocalypse in the weeks before he met Jim. It’s my favorite in the series. I hope you enjoy it, as well.

Those wishing to see more of Ob and the Siqqusim should be reading THE SEVEN: THE LABYRINTH Book One web serial.

HOLE IN THE WORLD – Sneak Peek

Yesterday, on Twitter and Facebook, I promised to post excerpts from HOLE IN THE WORLD and RETURN TO THE LOST LEVEL (the forthcoming prequel and sequel to THE LOST LEVEL) if we reached a certain number of pre-orders on KING OF THE BASTARDS. Well, we didn’t quite reach the numbers, but to thank the folks who did pre-order, I’m posting an excerpt from HOLE IN THE WORLD anyway.

As I said, this is a prequel to THE LOST LEVEL, and details the adventures of a busload of people who arrive there some time before Aaron Pace. The second draft is 3/4 of the way finished, after which it will go off to pre-readers, and then Camelot Books (who are publishing the hardcover) and Apex (who will publish the paperback and digital versions after the hardcover).

**************

“Sit down on the grass,” Scott told Benn, “and let me take a look at your arm.”

“Are you a doctor?” Tod asked.

“No,” Scott said, “but I can clean and dress wounds, even stitch them if need be. I have treated a few of my own over the years.”

Tod persisted. “So, you’re like a CIA guy or something? Military?”

Scott shook his head. “Nothing like that, I’m afraid.”

“Stuntman?”

“No.”

Benn winced, clutching his arm. “You just get hurt a lot?”

Scott shrugged. “I can be accident prone. I also raise reptiles and amphibians, so I’ve been bit a time or two. I’ve stitched myself up before, and treated myself with antibiotics and supplies from the pet store. Good enough?”

Nodding, Benn sank to the ground. “Fuck yeah. At this point, anything will do.”

Scott and Tod knelt next to him.

“How about you,” Scott asked Tod. “You have any medical training?”

“I’m a football coach. I’ve seen a few broken bones. Lots of sprains. Never anything like this, though.” Tod turned to look at the other passengers and called, “Is anyone here a doctor?”

An older man with blood on his face stepped forward. “I’m not a doctor, but I taught high school biology, anatomy, and general wellness for thirty-two years. Maybe I can help?”

Scott shrugged. “Do you faint at the sight of blood?”

“Just his own,” said another man. This one had nasty abrasions on his palms and knees. “I’m Paul Goblirsch. My bleeding friend is H.”

“What’s the H stand for?” Scott asked.

“It doesn’t stand for anything,” H said. “It’s just H.”

“Back there,” Paul continued, “are Leigh, Mark, and Chris. And our new friend Geoff.”

Scott turned and saw a skinny guy, a stocky guy, a guy in a wheelchair, and a guy who looked like a bodybuilder. He nodded at them, then returned his attention to Benn’s wound. The metal stuck out of his forearm like a broken bone. Blood seeped around the edges. He knew there was going to be much more of it as soon as they removed the shard.

“Okay,” he said. “Benn, I want you to lie down. We’re going to elevate your arm. Tod, you’re going to hold his shoulder. Geoff, can you take his legs?”

Nodding, Tod and the bodybuilder moved into position.

“What are you going to do?” Benn asked, licking his lips.

“In a minute, I’m going to pull this metal out of your arm, and I don’t want you thrashing around. But first, we’ll need a tourniquet, some antiseptic, bandages, and probably something to help seal the wound. Can the rest of you start checking with the other passengers and see what we can come up with? We need clean cloth, alcohol, painkillers—stuff like that. Try not to get aspirin or Ibuprofen. They’ll just make his bleeding worse. Tylenol would be great. Superglue or something similar would be awesome.”

Leigh frowned. “Superglue? Isn’t that for, like, gluing broken toys and such together?”

“It’s for gluing flesh back together, too.” Scott positioned Benn’s arm by his side and checked the injured man’s pupils. “It was invented for use on the battlefield.”

Benn coughed, his jaw clenching with pain. “I don’t care if you guys use Elmer’s glue. Could we just do something?”

“Sorry,” Scott apologized. “You’re right. Get to it, guys. And try to hurry. Benn, you rest. As long as the metal stays where it is, you won’t bleed to death anytime soon. Mr. H, you stay here with me. I want to take a look at your head.”

“Okay,” H replied.

“H passed out a few minutes ago,” Paul said, “but he seems better now.”

“I am,” H insisted.

“I’d still like to take a look at you,” Scott said. “And Paul, your hands and knees are pretty scraped up. You want me to look at those, as well?”

“I’ll be okay. Just need some disinfectant.”

“That you do,” Scott confirmed. “Last thing you want are those to get infected. Okay, you help the others with their scavenger hunt. H, you stay here.”

Paul, Chris, Leigh, and Mark headed off. Scott noticed that Chris’s wheelchair was maneuvering with some slight difficulty on the terrain.

Benn moaned. Tod and Geoff tried to soothe him.

“You’re going to be okay,” Scott said. “We’ll have you fixed up in no time.”

“Maybe I should help my friends,” H suggested.

“No,” Scott insisted. “I want you to stay right here for now. Are you seeing double? Have a headache? Anything like that?”

“My head hurts, but I think that’s because I banged it when we crashed. Otherwise, no.”

“And the H really doesn’t stand for anything?”

“It really doesn’t. H is my name.”

“I believe you,” Scott admitted. “In truth, I just wanted to check your memory. Listen to your speech. Make sure you weren’t slurring your words.”

H grinned. “You’re pretty good at taking charge, Mr. Berke.”

“You can call me Scott. And thanks. To be honest, I’m sort of a loner, but I have to work with people all the time for my job.”

“It shows,” H replied. “You got these guys into action pretty quick.”

“Well,” Scott said, turning H’s head from side to side and examining his wound, “I guess somebody has to be in charge until help arrives.”

H looked up at the sun, shining bright overhead. “If help arrives.”

* * *

Greg, Dave, and Jamie stood near the bus, gawking at their surroundings. Paul Legerski stood away from them and alone, angrily trying to get his cell phone to work. His suitcase sat on the ground between his feet.

“How’s your ankle?” Greg asked Jamie.

“I can stand on it,” Jamie confirmed, “but I’m not going to be running sprints anytime soon. Looks like there’s some people hurt much worse than me over there.”

They glanced at where Jamie was pointing, and saw several passengers huddled over a bloody man. Then their attention returned to the landscape.

“I don’t understand,” Dave said. “I mean, how is this possible? It was night.”

“Not to mention the blizzard,” Greg agreed. “And now it’s sunny.”

“And hot.” Jamie unbuttoned his sleeves and rolling them up. “It must be eighty, maybe ninety degrees out here. It feels like back home in California.”

“Except we’re not in California,” Greg said. “And I don’t think we’re in Maryland, either.”

“Then where the hell are we?” Dave motioned at the trees. “I recognize most of those—pines, oaks, palm trees, but have you guys ever seen them growing together like this in the same place? And there are also trees I swear I’ve never seen before. And the wildlife! I saw a crow up in a limb when we first came out of the bus, but I also saw a butterfly that was neon green. It’s like home, but it isn’t. So where are we?”

“Did either of you actually see us crash?” Jamie asked.

Dave nodded. “Sure. I mean, we all saw it, right?”

“No,” Jamie said. “We all felt something happen, but we didn’t actually see a crash. Or, at least I didn’t.”

Dave shook his head. “The front of the bus is all smashed up. The driver got speared by the steering column. I’d say that indicates a crash. We crashed into a tree.”

“Did we?” Jamie motioned at the wreckage. “Or did the tree crash into us?”

“I saw some weird lights,” Dave volunteered. “Right before everything went to shit.”

“I did, too,” Jamie said. “I assumed they were from a plane taking off or landing. We were near the airport, after all.”

“Maybe we got transported somewhere else,” Greg suggested.

Dave chuckled. “What? You mean time travel? Another dimension? Little green men?”

“Maybe it sounds unbelievable,” Greg admitted, “but how else do you explain what’s happened? It makes sense to me.”

Dave turned to Jamie. “What do you think?”

Jamie shrugged. “I believe it is the height of arrogance to think that we are alone in the universe. I don’t know about little green men, but of course there are aliens. As for time travel, I absolutely love the concept, but I am totally clueless as to whether it is a possibility. I do believe in alternate worlds, as it simply makes sense for there to be multiple dimensions.”

“So, then, you believe that’s what’s happened to us?” Dave asked.

Jamie paused. “I don’t know. I believe that something strange has happened. Obviously. But we don’t have all the facts yet, and until we have all the data, the only thing I’m sure of is that we’re in trouble.”

Dave stared off into the forest. “Somebody will come. They have to.”

Greg and Jamie thought it sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

* * *

“Excuse me, sir?”

Paul Legerski stuffed his useless cell phone in his pocket and glanced up. Standing before him were three passengers from the bus. He recognized the first two—the guy in the wheelchair and his skinny friend with the Australian accent. They’d been sitting near him on the shuttle. The third passenger was one he didn’t recognize—a short man with black hair, black glasses, tattoos, and a strange hybrid accent that Paul thought might be Boston and… Ohio, maybe? The third passenger spoke again.

“Sorry to bother you, but I noticed you have your luggage already. We’ve got an injured guy over there. There’s a piece of metal sticking out of his arm. It’s pretty bad. We were wondering if you might have any Tylenol?”

“You’re going to treat him with Tylenol?

“Or liquor,” the Australian piped up. “Maybe you have a whiskey flask, eh? And we need bandages and such, or clean cloth that we can turn into bandages.”

“Anything at all would help,” the man in the wheelchair added.

“Sorry.” Legerski shrugged. “I can’t help you.”

The Australian frowned. “Mister…?”

“Legerski. Paul Legerski.”

“I’m Leigh. These are my mates Chris and Mark. Listen, you might not have noticed, but we’ve got a bit of a situation here.”

Legerski laughed. “That’s the understatement of the year! You think we’ve got a situation? Yeah, I’d say we’ve got a fucking situation.”

“I-I didn’t mean any o-offense,” Leigh stammered. “It’s just that—”

“Look,” Legerski interrupted, “I need to get in touch with my attorney, and I need to walk somewhere until I find a signal because I’m not getting anything here.”

Leigh blinked. “Your attorney?”

“Yeah, that’s right. I’m going to sue the airline, and everybody else connected with this epic cluster-fuck. We crashed, what, ten minutes ago? Where the hell are the emergency responders? They should be here by now, but I don’t even hear any fucking sirens. This is unacceptable. So, if you don’t mind—”

Mark stepped past Leigh and shoved Legerski backward a step.

“Actually, asshole, we do mind.”

Legerski shoved back, glowering down at him. “Listen, cocksucker…”

“No, you listen!” Mark grabbed him by the front of his Sharks jersey with both fists. “Now maybe you didn’t hear us before, but we’ve got an injured person over there. Do you have anything in your bag that might help us?”

“No. And you’ve got two seconds to let go of me.”

“Or what?”

“Both of you knock it the fuck off.”

Chris’s voice was soft, yet it held an undeniable edge. Legerski and Mark both paused, and glanced at him. Then they released each other.

“Come on,” Leigh said. “Let’s go ask somebody else.”

They turned away from him and began to walk away, but not before Chris ran over Legerski’s toe with his wheelchair.

“Ouch! Goddamn it, watch where you’re going.”

“Sorry.” Chris grinned.

Toe throbbing, Legerski watched them approach another group—a woman, a young girl, and a kid with long hair and a beard. Before they could reach the other group, they were approached by a fourth man. Paul overheard them call this newcomer Paul, as well.

Two Pauls, he thought. That won’t do. This place isn’t big enough for two Pauls.

Grinning, he stared at the middle of Mark’s back.

Right there, he thought. Right there is where I’ll stick the knife. You wanted to know what I’d do if you didn’t let go of me? Well, you’ll find out. You’re going to be number thirty-eight, fuckwad. At first, I thought it might be that other guy from the bus, but now you’ll have the honor. I’ll wait until they get us out of here, and settled in at the hotel, and then I’ll fucking find you and make you bleed. You, and then you’re little faggot buddy from down under, and then that crippled fuck in the wheelchair. And anybody else who wants to fuck with me.

Legerski knew that killing someone—let alone three people—this far from home was risky. If they found some type of evidence that matched up with his victims on the West Coast, and they began searching passenger manifests and travel records, they might discover a clue to his identity. But on the one hand, Maryland was so far away from the locations of his thirty-seven previous victims (the ones that had been discovered, at least) that authorities might not connect the two at all.

He turned his head to the sky, squinting against the sun’s glare. Legerski had to admit, this didn’t much look like Maryland. And where the hell had all the snow gone? All the white had been replaced with green.

No matter. White. Green.

Soon, he’d turn it red.

He stalked off toward the trees, holding his phone out in front of him, searching for a signal.

* * *

“Hmmm…”

Jesse stared at the forest surrounding them. His expression was concerned.

“What’s wrong?” Colinda asked, trying to get her cell phone to work.

“The forest,” Jesse said. “There were birds singing before. Now, there’s nothing. It’s gone quiet.”

“Maybe the birds are scared of us?”

“Maybe.” Jesse nodded, his expression still pensive. “Or maybe they’re afraid of something else.”

“Like what?”

Jesse shrugged. He opened his mouth to respond, but then just shrugged again.

* * *

“Folks” Paul Goblirsch moved to the center of the crash site and held up his hands, signaling everyone. “If I could have your attention for a minute? Please?”

“Good job,” Mark whispered. “Way to take charge, Paul.”

Paul glanced over his shoulder at Mark, Leigh, and Chris, and couldn’t help but grin. Despite the bizarre situation, he was glad his friends were with him. Realizing that the other passengers were all staring at him, he turned his attention back to the crowd.

“Thank you,” he said, speaking loudly so that everyone would hear. “My name is Paul Goblirsch. As you probably noticed, we’re all in a bit of a situation here. Now, I know everybody is scared. I’m scared, too. I don’t think any of us are sure what happened…or where we are.”

“Our phones aren’t working,” said a woman. “Did the driver radio for help?”

“I’m sorry, mam. I didn’t get your name?”

“Colinda.”

“Well, Colinda…” Paul took a deep breath. “The driver is dead.”

The crowd murmured. A few people gasped.

“I’m sure help is coming,” he said, raising his voice again. “Someone is sure to notice that we’re missing. But it might take a while. I think we can all agree that we might not be where they expect to find us, right?”

Some of the passengers nodded. Paul noticed their expressions ranging from bewilderment to terror. They mirrored his own feelings. He thought about his wife, Janet, and their two daughters. Even if the authorities weren’t aware that they had crashed, Janet would hit the panic button when she didn’t hear from him.

“All we have to do is sit tight,” Paul said. “I’m sure most of you have people waiting at home. They’ll be worried about us. Someone will come. But in the meantime, we’ve got a few injured people over there. One of them is fairly serious. Is there anybody else here who needs medical assistance?”

He waited for a show of hands. When there was none, he continued.

“Okay. Mr. Berke over there knows first aid. He’s going to help the injured. But we need your assistance with that. We need medical supplies. We’re looking for…”

Paul’s voice trailed off as he realized nobody was listening to him any longer. All of their attention was focused on the tree line behind him. He turned slowly, and looked. A few of the treetops shook violently, but there was no wind. There was no sound, either, except for the rustling branches and leaves. Then, they stopped trembling. Seconds later, some treetops closer to the clearing began to tremble. Whatever was disturbing them was coming closer.

* * *

Erin wasn’t paying attention to the grown-ups. She sat in her mother’s lap. Mr. Bob was sitting next to them on the grass. She liked Mr. Bob. He was funny and kind, and did neat magic tricks. But right now, Mr. Bob and her Mommy were both listening to the man with the bloody knees and hands. Erin didn’t want to look at the bloody man, because he reminded her of her own scraped knee.

Instead, she focused on a tiny butterfly with a wingspan of only a few inches. It was orange and red and pink in color, and it quickly flitted between the flowers growing in the clearing, alighting on a different plant every few seconds. Erin thought it was one of the prettiest things she’d ever seen, and its movements delighted her. She continued to watch the butterfly as it flew closer to the forest, hovering right at the edge of the tree line. As a result, she was the first one in the group to actually see the dinosaur as it pushed through the trees and emerged into the clearing.

Then, all of the adults started screaming.

* * *

Benn stared over Tod, Geoff, and Scott’s shoulders, mouth gaping in mid-moan. He forgot his pain, forgot his fears that he was dying, and forgot the nauseating feeling of his own blood leaking from his body. Instead, his thoughts were consumed with the impossible thing looming over them. Benn was so paralyzed with fear that he couldn’t even scream. H, seated nearby, did it for him.

Benn was fairly certain that the creature that erupted from the forest was an allosaurus. It stood about sixteen feet high, and he guessed it was probably thirty feet long, from its massive head to its long, heavily muscled tail. A pair of horns sat above and in front of its eyes, and small ridges ran from its nose up to the base of the horns. It tottered over them on large hind legs.

The dinosaur’s head swiveled from left to right, perched oddly atop its tiny neck, as it surveyed them. Then, it opened its mouth, revealing dozens of knife-sized, sharp teeth, and made a sound—not a roar, as Benn expected, but more of a rumbling hiss.

Screaming and shouting, the passengers abandoned the crash site and fled in all directions toward the surrounding foliage.

“Help me with him.” Scott jumped to his feet and grabbed Benn’s uninjured arm.

“Oh fuck,” Benn wheezed as the allosaurus focused its attention on them.

Tod and Geoff moved quickly. Tod grabbed Benn’s other arm. Benn bit down a scream as pain coursed through the limb. Geoff took hold of his legs. Next to them, H stumbled to his feet, seeming disoriented.

Shock, Benn thought. He’s in shock. If that blow to the head didn’t do it, then this sure did.

“I’m sorry, Benn,” Scott said. “This is going to hurt. Pick him up, guys.”

Grunting, the allosaurus lumbered toward them.

“Hurry,” Scott urged, his voice thick with barely controlled panic.

They lifted Benn off the ground, and he shrieked. The pain was so intense that his vision blacked out for a second. When he could see again, he realized that they were carrying him across the clearing, casting terrified glances back at their pursuer. With another throaty hiss, the dinosaur plodded after them, deceptively fast despite its enormous bulk. With three quick strides it closed the distance between itself and its prey, ignoring the bewildered H and bearing down directly atop them. Its small, three-fingered forearms thrashed with excitement, the curved and pointed claws clacking together with a loud clicking sound. Then it darted forward, head lowered, mouth wide. Drool dripped from its maw.