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Stígðu inn í heim af óteljandi sögum

Hlustaðu og lestu

Wayne Kyle Spitzer

The final Flashback begins ... It's all led to this.

 

All the characters and situations of the Flashback/Dinosaur Apocalypse come together in a final trilogy of tales that will close out and define the saga. Join Ank and Williams, the crew of Gargantua, the kids from Thunder Road, and so many others as they heed the call to adventure one last time and face the very architects of the Flashback!

Welcome to the world of the Flashback, a world in which man's cities have become overgrown jungles and extinct animals wander the ruins. You can survive here, if you're lucky, and if you're not in the wrong place at the wrong time--which is everywhere, all the time. But what you'll never do is remain the same, for this is a world whose very purpose is to challenge you, a world where anything can and will happen. So take a deep dive into these loosely connected tales of the Dinosaur Apocalypse (each of which can be read individually or as a part of the greater saga): tales of wonder and terror, death and survival, blood and beauty. Do it today, before the apocalypse comes.

Hobb's End Books

Flashback/The Dinosaur Apocalypse: The Final Trilogy of Stories

This Savage and Beautiful Night: Flashback: The Final Trilogy of Stories | Part One

The final Flashback begins ... It's all led to this.

All the characters and situations of the Flashback/Dinosaur Apocalypse come together in a final trilogy of tales that will close out and define the saga. Join Ank and Williams, the crew of Gargantua, the kids from Thunder Road, and so many others as they heed the call to adventure one last time and face the very architects of the Flashback!

From For a Devil Has Fallen from the Sky:

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still wat—”

Do you really think that He could be so forgiving and so mild; so compassionate, so humane? The Son of the God who drowned the world and bested the Nazis by about 190 million dead? The Son of the God who created flesh knowing its very existence was contingent on suffering? No; your mistake is in assuming you were ever redeemable—even before you murdered Calvin and burned him alive on the White House lawn. Your mistake is in fearing for your soul when the only thing I’m interested in is what you can do for me, what only Calvin’s killer can, for that was an act of nihilism which pleased us, and which brought you to our attention. Yea, we thought, here is a rising star! I care not about your soul. I care that you restart the Burn and destroy them, the humans, who deserve to be destroyed. I care that you go to Montana and encircle their encampment and cut them off, so that we can kill them from the skies. Do these things for me and I shall restore your daughter’s health.

And then Leif looked down and realized he’d taken one of the parrots from the cage and had been preparing to wring its neck; to offer it up to Szambelan. Then he realized the full extent to which he had been influenced—hypnotized—and still he could not resist, could not decline, but only mumbled, “But how will I do it? I am just a youth, just a teen. I haven’t that kind of power.”

I will give you the power. Power even to control the winds, make a storm of hail … The power to do as I ask and save your daughter. Nor will you be alone, for our forces are gathering even as we speak; gathering in legions and columns and herds of beasts; gathering like a storm, the likes of which the world has never seen.

At which Leif found himself gazing west at the tempestuous clouds—even as a white, hairy arm settled on his shoulders—feeling as though he’d been reborn (yet again); feeling as though he might soar—when the baby cried from inside the Presidential Suite and Marigold called out to him, anxiously, urgently, breaking the bond between them like a vase. Severing the cord between them like a knife.

“Refuse,” he said, shaken, and exhaled. “I refuse your offer.”

And when he looked again the shadow on the tiles was that of a tree, not a monster, and the darkening sky was flickering and electric. After which he put the black and red parrot back into its confines and went in—but not before the hail started falling like stones on the tiles and on the tables, on the umbrellas and chairs, and on the metal roof of the birdcage, which rattled and chimed.

For a Devil Has Fallen from the Sky: Flashback: The Final Trilogy of Stories | Part Two

The final Flashback begins ... It's all led to this.

All the characters and situations of the Flashback/Dinosaur Apocalypse come together in a final trilogy of tales that will close out and define the saga. Join Ank and Williams, the crew of Gargantua, the kids from Thunder Road, and so many others as they heed the call to adventure one last time and face the very architects of the Flashback!

From The War-torn Hills of Earth:

The gold fog rolled and so did the water, foaming and frothing, revealing first the photonics mast and communications antennas, then The Sarpedon’s black, sea-slicked sail and forward fins, then its great, dark, parabolic bow—which breached the surface at an angle, like the plesiosaurs and ichthyosaurs and mosasaurs swimming alongside—until, still steaming forward, the ship was fully surfaced and its aft fins visible; at which three people—two men and a small woman with a bob haircut—appeared in the sail.

“Jesus,” gasped Puckett, the engineering chief, as he looked at the beasts, which filled the water for as far as the eye could see (which nonetheless wasn’t very far, due to the fog). “If I hadn’t seen it myself, I wouldn’t have believed it. The sonar doesn’t lie.”

Captain O’Neil was more circumspect. “But why, goddammit. That’s what I want to know. I’ve certainly never seen them migrate en masse like this—like Hammerhead sharks. What’s the reason?”

Both of them had to shout over the crash and commotion of the waves.

Pang signed excitedly at them as the wind chopped her hair.

“What’s she saying?”

Puckett, who’d been working with her, paraphrased: “She’s saying, ‘What if they were called too—only in a different way?’” He watched as she continued to sign. “‘Or—considering the dream used sound and imagery instead of words—the exact same way?’”

O’Neil looked at the marine animals as they leapt and dove and swam powerfully alongside. Aye, but for a different reason, he thought.

“Ho!” cried Chief Puckett suddenly. “The Santa Monica Pier!”

O’Neil peered into the fog and saw the tiny silhouette of a Ferris wheel emerging from the gloom, then unhooked his mic. “Half ahead, revolutions 500—and mind the beasties.” He looked at Pang. “Yes, I’m going to send a team ashore. And no, you’re not—”

And that’s when it happened: that’s when the pterodactyl flapped down like an oyster-white threshing machine and snatched her up by the shoulders—began rising. That’s when O’Neil drew his sidearm—even as Puckett grabbed her by the ankle—but couldn’t get a shot in through the pounding wings and Pang’s own flailing—until there was the briefest of openings, andhedid fire.

Until he got lucky, and the bird fell and so did Pang—still being gripped by her ankle—so that she was flipped upside down and slammed against the sail—which her head hit like a rock. So that she was knocked unconscious even as Puckett and O’Neil held tightly and ultimately dragged her back into the conning tower.

After which, drearily—for they were unable to wake her or get any sort of reaction at all—there was nothing to do but take her to the infirmary and monitor her.

Nothing to do, frankly, but pray.