Andy Ahart
Stories (4/0)
Potts Town
Billy counted in his head fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty. The carriage began to move, right on queue. They could have done better, he thought. Billy knew the routine well. It was his design. Nobody in, nobody out until the blue letter event terminated. He mulled over the potential for a conflict once inside. He knew that eradication of all non-loyal personnel was a statistical impossibility in such a large organization. He simply hoped that at least ninety-eight percent of the elite guard that surrounded the carriage was on his side.
By Andy Ahart3 years ago in Fiction
Resin, Second Chance
Early morning dew clung to the grass of a goat field. The herd had been moved away to provide an open space to work in. Jake and Peter were at the edge of the badlands about two miles south of Vacilia. A cool mid-spring breeze blew across Peter’s face as he concentrated on the melon sized rock that sat on the grass twenty feet away.
By Andy Ahart3 years ago in Fiction
Resin, Second Chance
After midnight a low pulsing sound woke Owen from a deep sleep. From his second-story window he could see over many of the other buildings inside the city walls. He stood still and listened intently for a long moment. It was the same sound he heard in the square the day before. Something was different now. He could feel the sound. It was not a man-made, he was sure about that. It called to him. He needed to go back to it.
By Andy Ahart3 years ago in Fiction