When It Rains

The facility was enormous—fifteen miles to a side according to the odometer—and, after circling the entire complex in an old battery-converted Jeep, Dustin resigned to the fact that there'd be no easy way in. High steel-and-concrete walls left no gaps in the perimeter. The various and spread out gates all looked the same: impregnable. He… Continue reading When It Rains

Meaningless Numbers

Hell is where your home used to be. Hell isn't death, but it is your anti-life. It's your neighbor's body in the street near the mailboxes where he used to let his dog defecate without cleaning it up. You used to loathe him for it. You'd smile and wave spitefully when you saw him in… Continue reading Meaningless Numbers