55 Short Stories by Konrath Ja (Aka J Kilborn)

Author:Konrath, Ja (Aka J Kilborn) [Ja, Konrath,]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-03-25T19:13:54+00:00

But all three of us knew that a wormhole rescue has never been attempted. It's suicide to go near those things.

I eat, and drink, and try to regain my strength.

I'll need it.

Voice Module 195594 Record Mode:

I got them while they slept.

Ellis, with a large rock to the head.

The rock made a mess. I smothered Marta. Not bloody, but it took a while.

One month rations for three people equals three months rations for one person.

I'm sorry I had to kill them. I truly am.

I'm not a monster.

Voice Module 195595

Record Mode:

Is this thing still working? Play Mode:

Is this thing still working? Record Mode:

It's been ... how long has it been since I used this? Many months. Perhaps years.

I stopped shaving, and my beard reaches my chest.

Where did I leave off? I think it was with Marta and that guy, I forget his name. The one I killed with the rock.

It was for their synth rations. I paced myself, ate small portions, but still finished them too quickly. I knew what was next. I knew it from the beginning.

When the rations were finally gone, I ate the people I'd murdered.

Humans, it turns out, are the best meat. Better than dog people. Better than alien lizards.

They sustained me for a while, but then they were gone too.

I began to starve again.

Days, maybe weeks, passed, and I began to whither away. Though I knew hunger well, it didn't make the pain any easier.

At night, I watched the skies. Watched them with a yearning. Hoping for another ship to crash on this planet.

And one did.

Astronomical luck?

Hardly.

Only one survivor this time. Angela something. She explained.

The ore-filled trailer from my ship, the Darion, didn't become lost in space. It's in orbit around Wormhole GG54, daring salvage ships to try and take it.

Many ships have tried. None have succeeded. They get pulled into the wormhole and pushed out here. It's a giant, baited trap.

According to Angela, five ships have already been lost.

There's a good chance they're somewhere on this planet.

I asked Angela how large her crew was.

She told me there were seven. All dead.

When I killed her, that made eight.

Eight.

Mmmmm.

But that's not enough. It's never enough. I always run out.

I need to find those other ships. And I think I can. The Organic Brain on Angela's ship is still functioning, and it created a partial topographical map of the planet.

The map pinpoints the other crash sites. Some, only a few kilometers away.

I need to move fast. There may be survivors.

The longer I wait, the thinner they get.

*

*

A Matter of Taste.

Another flash fiction piece for Small Bites. I'm a huge fan of zombie movies, especially the Italian gut munchers. It's pretty obvious with this piece.

Finish your brains, Phillip.

Phillip pushed the jellied hunk away, using his stump.

I don't want any more.

Mom squinted in his general direction; her eyes had long since dried up and fallen out.

Don't you like brains? All little zombie boys need to eat brains. You want to become rotten and putrefied like Dad, right?

Arrgghhhhh, said Dad. He didn't have a bottom jaw, so pronunciation wasn't one of his strengths.

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