Galaxy's Edge Magazine: Issue 10: September 2014 by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Asimovs, Analog, Clarkesworld, strange horizons, Lightspeed, Darker Matter, Locus, Speculative Fiction
Publisher: Galaxy's Edge
Published: 2014-08-26T00:00:00+00:00

Copyright © 2011 by Tobias S. Buckell

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Ian Whates is a British writer and editor, with 5 novels and a number of anthologies to his credit. He is currently a Director of both SFWA (Science Fiction Writers of America) and BSFA (British Science Fiction Association).

WOURISM

by Ian Whates

“The storms were the worst thing. The power outages and food shortages, the ignominy of standing in queues for basics, even bread and water—we coped with all of that. This was war, after all. The constant fear of explosion and the almost incessant gunfire, the destruction of buildings and the roads—they were terrible, horrific, but it’s amazing what you can learn to live with when you have to. The weather turning against us, though, that was the final straw. None of us had ever seen rain like it: relentless, pummelling the city as if God Herself had forsaken us and joined in the bombardment; and as for the lightning …”

The woman’s narrative was abruptly punctuated by a loud peal of thunder and the pervading gloom shattered in a dazzle of electric discharge. Somebody, possibly Gretchen, exclaimed in surprise and even I started a little. This well-staged drama heralded the surround-sound arrival of steady rain and a rolling series of thunderous rumblings, though the latter were far more subdued than that first spectacular clap.

The woman continued speaking. The image of her narrow face still dominated the room, but now behind it and through it a distant cityscape began to emerge, illuminated by vivid lightning strikes and the ruddy stain of smoldering fires.

“This was the closest our collective spirit came to breaking,” the woman said. “Even the deaths seemed so much worse in the relentless storms. Disposing of bodies became a logistical nightmare as well as an emotional one. Somebody claimed that the freak weather was a sign of severe damage to the ionosphere, that in a struggle somewhere high above us doomsday weapons were being deployed, unleashing fearsome energies that had unbalanced the atmosphere of the entire planet. Such things meant nothing to us. What did we care about the planet or even the next district over? Our whole world had narrowed down to a handful of streets and the struggle to survive for just one more day.”

The woman’s face faded. Perspective tilted and we swooped down toward the besieged city and then into it, stopping only once we had reached street level. The sound of rainfall intensified and it was joined by the chatter of small-arms fire and the clatter of running footsteps. The 3D effect was far more immediate and more convincing now that we were this close. There was even a faint smell of smoke and of dampness, and a billow of heat from a fire at our backs. Only the absence of any actual rain hampered the suspension of disbelief. Long shadows moved across the walls of shattered buildings to our left: people running. A man screamed, and one of the shadows convulsed in mid-stride, threw up its arms and collapsed.

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