72 Hours to Animal and Other Tales of the Flashback by Wayne Kyle Spitzer

Author:Wayne Kyle Spitzer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Wayne Spitzer, Spokane authors, dinosaurs, dinosaur fiction, dinosaur books, dark, adult dinosaur fiction, prepper, preppers, terror, survivalist, survivalists, survivalism, apocalypse, strong female character, female empowerment, sex, blood, bloody, violent, mature, helicopters, death, series, helicopter, twisted, wry, ironic, nuanced
Publisher: Hobb's End Press
Published: 2025-02-19T00:00:00+00:00

BURN

Because the windows were bulletproof, it all had to come out through the main entrance, and that included the grand piano in the Entrance Hall—which we wheeled recklessly against the doorframe before upending it with a huff and shoving it down the stairs, where it sounded briefly, chaotically, as it impacted each step. By then I was leaning on one side of the door while Fiona leaned on the other, looking on: at our friends as they started busting up the instrument below with bats and feet and sledgehammers, but also at the overgrown North Lawn of the White House and its spitting, crackling bonfire; at the tricked out Hondas and Toyotas as they continued pouring onto the field and bringing more—more beer kegs and more gasoline, more children of the Flashback, more us.

“Look at it, big sister,” I said, finding her already staring at me in the flickering semi-dark, “It’s like poetry, I swear.”

“Green Room,” she answered calmly, seeming almost to smolder. “And stop calling me that.”

My eyes flicked up and down her body—something they’d been doing a lot of lately—but I don’t think she noticed. Of course she was right; a lot had changed since our first burn—not the least of which was my voice—and calling her that no longer seemed appropriate. She, too, had changed—becoming less like a big sister (or even a mother) and more like an equal, even if, at 19, she still had a good 4 years on me.

“Okay, babe,” I said, winking at her. I kicked the pedestal and candelabra next to me over with a resounding crash. “So let’s do it.”

And we went to work, Fiona pulling down the pictures and the red and green curtains while I took my bat to the china cabinet—smashing the glass as though it were a thin layer of ice, sending shards of it flying, bludgeoning the green plates and gold leafed vases like piñatas, like the shattered skulls of imagined enemies, until 243 years of history lay a glistening wreck at my feet—just so much broken detritus to be burned with the rest; just so much dust and memory to be erased and finally forgotten. At which I looked at Fiona and she looked back, smiling, her teeth large and slightly crooked, carnivorous—because it was a pleasure to burn, an ecstasy to burn.

By the time we rejoined the party, the bonfire was licking at the boughs of the maple trees and the staging had been erected for Calvin’s speech—staging he was already ascending, gripping the rungs with one hand while holding a rolled up document—or documents—in the other, the firelight reflecting off his glasses.

“So what’s he going to talk about?” I asked Fiona, heaving one of the two chairs I’d brought onto the fire—its red upholstery going up like dry paper, creating plumes of black smoke.

“How should I know? He’s barely said two words to me since North Carolina.” She pitched the framed pictures she was carrying—one of a dude she’d called Jimmy Carter—onto the roaring heap.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.