The Concrete Veldt (ePub)

From The Concrete Veldt:



I finished my rows and took out my Bick; followed his gaze.



"Looks pretty quiet," I said.



"Yeah." He readied his lighter. "But we can fix that."



And we started flicking; lighting up the rows with grim precision, setting off a hail of sparks and hisses, retreating into the grass as first one then another then another piffed and launched-screaming into the air; whistling toward the target, exploding like grenades on its roof and in the bushes. Turning the suburban street into a warzone.



Laughing and carrying on as the carnage unfolded and at last subsided; the smoke drifting, the embers settling. Patting ourselves on our scrawny backs for another mission accomplished; even as shots rang out and something whizzed past-a blunt thing, a humorless thing. Something which struck a granite tombstone deeper in the cemetery and punched a dollar-sized crater in it.



And then we were scrambling: crawling as fast as we could-double-timing it toward the car as still more shots rang out and echoed along the streets; as bullets pocked the mausoleum and cut the air like knives. Until we reached the Charger and leapt to our feet, throwing open the doors-even as raptors gathered and encircled the car-at which I lit a string of M-80s and threw them into the group; and the fireworks exploded like dynamite, reverberated like shotgun blasts. At which the animals scattered in perfect unison and we peeled from the lot-en route to the Nunnery, I suppose. En route to Alexa.



En route to the last shag of our lives.