Fantasy Magazine, Issue 82 (August 2022) by Adamant Press

Author:Adamant Press [Adamant Press]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Adamant Press
Published: 2022-07-31T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 1

Sarah

The voice of reason tells me to turn back.

Shut your smug mouth, I think as I plunge through brambles and branches, sucking air that’s nearly as dense as the jungle itself.

The thorns are the worst. A million little daggers tearing at my skin. T-shirt and shorts weren’t a wise choice. Then again, neither was carving a path through the brush in the middle of the night. Two stupid decisions, but the night’s still young. I’m sure I’ll get to three.

I’d wanted to avoid our modest community’s well-lit streets. But if I’m spotted now, looking like I tussled with an ocelot, I won’t exactly come across as an ordinary twenty-something girl out for a midnight run.

I burst through the underbrush into the cool, drizzling rain of the cobblestone beach. It feels like being born. I scan the shore for silhouettes, but the night is utterly still. Just the sloshing waves, the gentle click-clack of the rocks tumbling, and the occasional nocturnal call from the jungle. Normally I find this melody soothing. Tonight it’s static.

I break into an awkward jog along the beach, muddy sneakers sliding on slick rocks. When I reach the spot where the cobbles meet the broad paving stones of Main Street, I crouch behind a cluster of bushes and peer up the road, which cuts a nearly straight line to the jungle gate a quarter mile to the north. Halfway there, lights twinkle in Center Square Park. I expected to see at least a handful of drunks staggering home after a late night at Vibes, but the only movement is a stray dog pattering across the grass.

It’s odd, seeing our town so quiet. In just a few hours, the thoroughfare will be crawling with people heading to work. Scientists and their research assistants will stroll toward the big lab just north of the Square, where they’ll sit on cushy stools all day, PICC lines hooked to their arms as they experiment with herbal extracts, trying to cure the Great Fatigue. The manual laborers will drift east of Main, toward grueling twelve-hour shifts in the meat processing plant, sewage treatment facility, and cluster of factories that churn out our clothing and other necessities. And hidden among the flow of bodies will be Caldwell’s town supervisors, keeping mostly to themselves, but eyeing the crowd for anyone committing an infraction.

I almost wish there was someone around tonight. It’d give me an excuse to give up this ridiculousness.

I look toward my target—the squat, windowless building with a dumpster pushed against the back wall. Dr. Caldwell’s private laboratory.

With my heart thudding in my ears, I dash across the street, climb onto the bin, then jump hard and grab the edge of the flat roof, my wet sneakers comically scrambling for purchase as I pull myself up and over. I roll onto my back, and bits of gravel join the debris already stuck to my clammy skin.

I take a few deep breaths, trying to calm my nerves. Not easy with an ominous glass eyeball glaring down at me.

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