Author Archives: Erin M. Klitzke

            The skin on the back of his neck prickled and Thom shuddered, lifting his head and looking around slowly.  The mist that had burned off earlier that morning was back again, but he didn’t think that’s what was giving … Continue reading →

            Carolyn’s head came up as they sat near the well, watching for Leah’s return.  She canted her head to one side, nose wrinkling.  “Did you hear that?”             “Hear what?”  J.T. mumbled, looking up from the surface of the … Continue reading →

            “Damn her,” Rory mumbled under his breath as he tramped down into the fringes of the ravine down one of the paths sheltered by the rubble of some of the dormitories.  What the hell is she panicking about?  So … Continue reading →

            Thom folded the letter back up again, into thirds and then in half once, in half again, and tucked it back into his pocket.  It was becoming a familiar ritual; he’d read his cousin’s letter seven times over the … Continue reading →

August 15  Dear Thom,              I hope you can forgive me.  I know what I decided to do was sudden, impulsive, and completely unlike me, but I swear to it, it was something I had to do.  Do you understand?  … Continue reading →

            Thom came back to our cubby after dinner that evening bare-chested with damp hair, face ruddy with sunburn.  He smiled faintly at me as I looked up copying over a list of books we’d salvaged from the library, and … Continue reading →

            “That’s what I’m afraid of, y’know?”  He swallowed hard, fingers fidgety, flexing and unflexing, curling and uncurling around each other.  “That somehow, I’ll stop being in control of myself.  I see what having those visions does to you and … Continue reading →

            “She’s the one that suddenly dropped everything before the asteroid…”  My voice trailed away and I stared at him, mind struggling to process the implications of what I was about to say.  She dropped everything and drove to god … Continue reading →

            He met me near the ward-lines about ten minutes later, shrugging into his battered leather jacket, the one without the spikes that he’d only started wearing late last winter.             “It’s not that chilly,” I said quietly, watching him … Continue reading →

            “Edges are starting to firm up nice,” J.T. said, his quiet voice carried on the breeze as I approached.  “There’s going to be a scar, but not as bad as it could’ve been.  Been keeping the antibac on it?” … Continue reading →