WordPunk

Crawley leads to me to the far end. The tourists are lying huddled on a straw pallet in the draftiest section of the shed. The older of the two, a balding, middle-aged fellow running to fat, is cradling his younger, skinnier partner in his arms. Their feet are turning blue from the cold – some bastard’s nicked their coats and boots.

My first thought is that I don't remember dying. They tell me nobody does. It's like trying to catch the exact moment you fall asleep; when you wake, it's gone. You may remember feeling tired, you may even remember starting to fall asleep; you just don't remember the transition, the actual moment when you passed from one state to the other. And then they resurrect you.

Lydia kissed her son on the mouth and looked out over the rural countryside. The trees closest to the tracks were nothing more than flashes of colour to her, but beyond them she could see the rows of drying corn. The sun was starting to rise over the hills and the whole scene glowed orange in the hard light. Her son opened his eyes and sat up. “You’ve been gone a long time,” she told him. “I was just playing,” he said, reassuring her. “I wasn’t really dead.”

The model is privileged to work at the Albury-Wodonga Academy of Fine Arts and Neuroscience. Work permits are few and she needs to send half her ration to family up in the burning lands round Newcastle way. She has excellent references, but that doesn't count for much; the proof will be in her flesh, her stamina, her strength of will.

In Paul's right ear, Eddie asked: "Next: Do you have your access codes?" "I think so," Paul replied, moving into the front hall of the small townhouse he rented. Honestly, he had no idea where they were. Outside, the siren was getting closer. Three more notices scrolled up into his field of vision: * MINISTER OF NATIONAL DEFENSE EDDIE LAZENBY ARRIVING AT GOVERNMENT OPERATIONS CENTRE * PRIME MINISTER ANDREW RENAULT HAS BEEN ALERTED * LAND AND CELLULAR COMMUNICATIONS NETWORKS OVERLOADED; GOVERNMENT NETWORK REMAINS STABLE

by Ramsey Campbell

by James Morris

recorded in a secret location with an anonymous group or UrbExers.

by Scott Robinson

by Kev Clark

by Andrew Reid

by Kev Clark

by Aliette de Bodard

by Juliet E McKenna

by James Barclay