By Jeffrey Thomas
On a daily basis Is Doomsday. each Hour Is a persons deepest Armageddon. during this selection of 22 little Apocalypses one will stumble upon: - An Earth buried below unusual blue ash, and overrun with the blue-encrusted undead - The useless of a number of wars, returning on one Halloween evening - Puppet beings made up of human trash, residing and loving in a mystery state - A ghastly graveyard cherub that will not remain positioned -A vast model of ourselves, published from a parallel size and bent on our destruction Haunted factories, a haunted zoo, worlds either surreal and nightmarish, stalked by means of phantoms, murderers, and monsters...sprung from the wealthy mind's eye of Jeffrey Thomas, the acclaimed anuthor of PUNKTOWN, LETTERS FROM HADES, and VOICES FROM HADES. With brutal splendor and chilling Subtlety, Thomas pulls his reader into his darkish visions instantly from each commencing line.--Paul Di Filippo, in Asimov's. Jeffrey Thomas is a author to monitor. i simply cannot placed down his books as soon as I commence them. --Douglas Clegg, writer of THE PRIEST OF BLOOD
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When Hassan did not pick up, he next tried the team leader, Patty. Again, no answer. Seeing his concern, Tanaka had come beside him, followed by Albert. Albert had pointed outside, then, but the others had spotted it already. A pair of blue-clad legs, jutting out from behind a pallet of glass modules. Someone else had apparently passed out on the floor. They moved from line to line, trying each bay’s phone, and seeing what they could out each bay’s window. When they saw another operator lying sprawled on the glossy floor, and then the two cleaners slumped motionless in their chairs, that was when Josh decided to call the security desk instead.
Thick yellow ichor sprayed from several holes blasted into its chest, and it stumbled backwards without a cry or even a grunt. A third shot blew off its jaw and made the head tilt at a sudden angle as the projectile shattered the back of the thing’s neck, destroying what now passed for its upper spinal column. The thing toppled like a statue pushed off its base. Josh had run at the two hunched over Edward—who had stopped shrieking. He kicked one with all his strength in the face. It straightened up somewhat, turning its visage up to him, grimacing with those yellow teeth.
Jill with her homely face and homelier mind. Jill who asked people why they couldn’t see the statues like she could (and yet these people were impressed by that puny kitten of a sphinx that presided over the pyramids). Jill had been sixteen when her mother brought her here. Ten years ago, now. And it had been two years since last her still-beautiful mother had come. Though she hadn’t seen her father in many more years than that, she imagined he was still handsome, as well. A light, ghostly snow had begun to fall.