Published: Necrology Shorts, May, 2012

Go check out this week’s Necrology Shorts and you’ll see a short story by little ol’ me!

Necrology Shorts

My piece: CREEPERS, is a tale of just how wrong it can go when low-tech horrors meets high-tech warriors.  When you’re patrolling the jungle at night…creepers are the last thing you want to run into.

Excerpt:

… The marines marched single file through the jungle in silence. The LT was strict about chatter. His rule was simple: if you’re running your fucking mouth, you ain’t going to hear the shit coming to get you from behind the trees. Border patrol wasn’t a game along the NK line. Those crafty little shits would try to sneak anything they could across the DMZ. And not everything they tried to get across was human. They had–things. Things that didn’t show up on any IR scan, or heartbeat fourier-transform detector.

“LT? What’s that?” Garcia stopped at a rise in the trail and pointed up at the night sky. A black silhouette floated over the far side of the valley blotting out the stars as it headed towards Hell’s Tower.

“Hell’s Tower, this is Bravo One. Tell me you see that,” LT tried to keep the panic out of his voice.

“RADAR contact,” The radio erupted in LT’s ear. “Shit! Shit! They got in under us. It’s a glider.” He could hear the flurry of activity in the control room as weapons officers shouted commands to target the bogey.

“Roger that, Hell’s Tower. Confirmed. It’s silent.”

The long black wings of the glider floated above LT’s position. Along the path of its crossing, dark figures tumbled out of the back of the glider, falling awkwardly for the brief second it took black parachutes to deploy. A bright streak of light from the valley rim lit up the night sky and slammed into the glider. The dark aerial invader exploded in a burning ball of plasma and wood fragments, sending more of the dark figures skittering into the canopy.

“Take cover!” LT threw up an arm to shield himself from the raining debris. Someone screamed, LT wasn’t sure who, maybe it was him.

“Bravo One, did they deploy? LT, I need visual confirmation,” Shana’ voice trembled over the radio. The black chutes were all around them, almost to the ground now. The missile was too late.

“Affirmative, Hell’s Tower. They’re all over us.” LT grabbed Private Garcia and shoved him up the trail. “Goddammit, you stupid son of a bitch! RUN! RUN!” …

A huge thank you to editor, John Ferguson, for accepting my little tale and putting together a kick ass website.  There is a ton of great fiction here for the reading and you can get it all by subscribing on the kindle.

Look for more of my horror and macabre fun heading your way this summer! 

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