Wet

“Keep them closed!”

“I am.”

Daniel felt the weight of various forces. Gravity pulled down on him attempting to knock him over every rock and root protruding from the dirt path. His heavy framed backpack tugged him backward, threatening to topple him. The force he didn't seem to mind was the gentle guidance of Caitlin's soft hand leading him onward. Sunlight, filtered through the branches of an endless forest, danced across his closed eyelids.

“You're not taking me out in the middle of nowhere to kill me, are you?”

Caitlin laughed.

“Relax. This place is magical.”

Daniel could feel the smile in her voice and it brought one to his lips as well. He had been anticipating this camping trip ever since Caitlin asked him three weeks ago. This was his chance to get to know her better. She squeezed his hand and led him deeper into the forest.

“Hang on.”

Caitlin was tightening the straps around his chest.

“Can I open my eyes now?”

“Almost. Hold still.”

Daniel did as he was told. The sun was everywhere now - they had left the safety of the treeline. He could hear the unmistakable sound of crashing water beneath him. Before he had time to consider these new sensations, Caitlin's hands were on his shoulders, turning his back to the sound.

“Do you trust me?”

“Well let's see, you drag me through...”

His thought was cut off as she pressed her lips against his. The kiss broke as he was sent reeling over the cliff behind him, guided by her gentle hands. He heard her voice from far above.

“You can open your eyes now!”

But they were already wide. It took them a moment to adjust and before he could make sense of his surroundings he found himself underwater struggling for breath. He opened his eyes and nearly choked as he opened his mouth in awe. Through the haze he realized that he was not in the pool below him but suspended in a sphere of water floating above the surface. He held his breath and watched Caitlin leap from the cliff and land in a second bubble. Both bubbles drifted toward the graveled shore below, and deposited them gently on the banks.

“I should be mad at you, but I can't stop thinking about what happened.”

“Don't bother, you'll have plenty reason to be mad at me later.”

He looked up at her and saw a momentary sadness in her eyes. And then it vanished.

“Kidding,” she smiled, “Oh, you won't need that.”

He had been pulling things out of his backpack. Sleeping bag, tent, change of clothes, but it was the water purifier towards which she gestured.

“Why not?”

“I'll show you.”

Caitlin began running her hand through the water. They were standing at the base of an enormous pool which funneled downstream into a steady river. He looked up at an impossibly tall waterfall. Giant redwoods towered over them and a breed of mountain sorrel dotted the sandy shoal. Just upstream, emerged a creature unlike any he had ever seen. Soon another emerged, followed by three more.

At first glance they looked like koalas, though in place of the oversized ears were large translucent eyes. Under their arctic blue otter-like fur were flaps that could only be gills. The creatures approached Caitlin on their awkwardly shaped webbed paws, which would have looked comical if it weren't for the serrated claws extending from them. She leaned down unflinchingly and scratched the chin of one of the creatures.

“What are they?”

“These are the little guys that just saved our lives.”

“How?”

“Watch.”

She tilted her head toward the river. One of the creatures scampered toward the shore. It began to roll the water like a child making a snowball and surprisingly, it retained its shape. Daniel followed the ball of water with his eyes as it wafted toward his face.

“Is it safe?”

The girl nodded. He leaned forward and sipped the water from the air.

“Cannonball!”

Daniel connected with a floating bubble three times his size, bursting it upon impact. Water erupted in every direction and rained down on the lake below. He fell, arms flailing, into the cool refreshing water.

“This is amazing! I can't believe you found this place.”

He splashed water at Caitlin only to have it redirected at his own face by a passing creature. Overhead the creatures swam and leapt between floating orbs of water doing flips and twists along the way. Caitlin smiled then submerged and Daniel followed. He opened his eyes and saw one of the blue creatures expunging the water around his head. Suddenly he could breathe! It was like having a personal air bubble. Caitlin swam off and Daniel swam straight down to explore.

When he reached the bottom of the pool he was surprised to see a few bones. He followed the floor and nearly lost his breath when he saw a human skull. He continued swimming and found the entire bottom of the lake was covered in bones. This wasn't just a lake, it was a mass graveyard. Panic kicked in and he swam as fast as he could toward the surface but found the current working against him. Suddenly the bubble of safe air around his head vanished. Through the water he could make out the blurry shape of Caitlin swimming towards him.

“I'm sorry.”

Daniel couldn't hear her words but the movement of her lips was unmistakable. She placed a hand against his cheek but he could not feel her warmth through the chill of the deep. She held her hand there a moment longer before pulling away. He watched her swim to the surface and struggled to do the same as a swarm of the blue creatures surrounded him. The fur on their otherwise innocuous muzzles peeled back to reveal rows of ghastly fangs. Inhaling one last time, his lungs began to fill with water as darkness swallowed him.

---

Wet was written by Daniel Weinell and illustrated by Maribel Navarro.

The Wandering Poet

A field of white blanketed the farmlands of the small village in the Northern Honshū region. The morning sunlight reflected brightly off of the snow illuminating the pink petals of the plum trees. The flowers were frozen, the dew from the night before crystallizing in the cold. Mount Fuji towered in the distance, its glorious peak a shining white beacon on the horizon.

Inside a small estate gathered many of the villagers. It was customary in their tribe to rise with the sun. Though this practice did have a practical origin, there was little farming to be done under the circumstances. Eijii sat next to his neighbor Hiroku. Eijii was a small man and Hiroku towered above him in comparison. Eijii had a wife and one son who both remained at home. His wife assisted him on the farm normally as would his son when he came of age. Hiroku on the other hand was a widower, his wife had been killed during an attack by the Japanese army.

Many of the Emishi wished to remain independent of the Japanese, but the Emperor pushed for assimilation. Those that rebelled were known as the iteki. Eijii and Hiroku were fighters as well as farmers and they would do anything they could to defend their land and culture from the Japanese. But today was not about fighting, today was about relaxing. At least it should have been.

The men and women in the estate were drinking tea quietly to avoid the cold. Morning seemed to be coming earlier and earlier. The door opened letting in a blast of snow reflected sunlight. Eijii blocked the light with his hand as he tried to see who had just entered. The door swung shut revealing a heavily clothed man. He wore a straw hat and carried a sheathed sword over his shoulder with a satchel hanging from its end. Eijii watched as the man stumbled toward the counter and sat down at a stool. Eijii was wary of the stranger but did not have his weapon at hand. The iteki practiced a form of hit and run archery on horseback and neither Eijii nor Hiroku were very good with a sword. Hiroku leaned over and whispered in Eijii’s ear.

“Have you ever seen him before?”

His voice was deep and gravelly and it broke Eijii’s concentration. He was trying to listen in on the stranger.

“Quiet.”

Eijii couldn’t quite make out what the man was saying but he could tell from his demeanor that he was drunk. He watched as the stranger emptied his satchel on the counter and began to speak to the woman behind it. The woman looked confusedly at the man, clearly not understanding his dialect. The Emishi spoke differently than the Japanese, but Eijii had learned enough to know how to translate. It came in handy when the Japanese attacked. The man wanted sake. Eijii watched as he lifted a canteen and turned it over showing that it was empty. The woman behind the counter finally understood and left to retrieve a bottle.

Eijii relaxed his shoulders and slumped onto his stool. He was wary of the Japanese but this man was clearly just a vagabond, he wore no marking of the Japanese army. The fact the he carried a sword could simply mean the man wanted to protect himself. These were dangerous times to be traveling.

“Calm down, Hiroku. He’s nobody.”

Hiroku shrugged and gladly went back to his tea. The morning sun grew across the sky slowly melting the snow. The petals of the plum trees began to thaw and drip. Dew fell to the earth with a quiet splash. As the morning went on, the stranger became at first belligerent, speaking in rhyme to anyone who would listen. He seemed to consider himself a poet. His “art” was lost on Eijii, and served to annoy more than anything. The Emishi did not have time for art and luxury. They were a simple people who wanted only to live in peace. The poet stumbled over to Eijii and Hiroku attempting to entice them into participating. Eijii shoved the man lightly and spoke to him in Japanese.

“Do not embarrass your people more than they already have. Go sit down.”

Later the poet quieted down and sat slumped in a corner. Eijii sat up from the bar and tapped Hiroku on the shoulder. Hiroku finished up his tea and stood as well. It was time to return to their homes and be productive. As the two of them walked toward the door it suddenly burst open towards them. Two men stepped inside bringing with them the chill of the morning. They were Japanese soldiers in full uniform, swords at their sides. Eijii panicked but stepped backward grabbing Hiroku to do the same. The soldiers looked around the room and then spoke to the woman behind the counter.

“Where is your grain stored?” spoke one soldier in Japanese.

Eijii knew the woman, Mari, did not speak Japanese. He was hesitant to respond for her as he did not want to irk the soldiers more than they already seemed to be. And if they took from their grain stores it could mean the village wouldn’t survive the winter. The soldier walked calmly toward Mari and then slammed his armored fist down on the counter.

“You will speak when spoken to by an officer!”

Mari spoke to the man in the Emishi dialect explaining that she could not understand him. The officer, of course, only became more angry and reached up a hand to strike the woman. Eiiji could wait no longer.

“I can take you there,” he spoke in Japanese.

The guard turned toward Eijii and looked quizzically at him.

“Was I addressing you, filth?”

With a pain in his stomach Eijii responded in a way as to avoid the guard's wrath, though what he really wanted to do was drive the man out of their lands, whatever way possible.

“Forgiveness. She doesn’t speak Japanese.”

Though Hiroku did not speak Japanese either, he knew better than to ask Eijii for a translation in the middle of the conflict. He could tell from the body language that the guards were looking for trouble. He stood behind Eijii and tried to look as menacing as possible. Hiroku was a big man and he could defend himself if needed, but not against two armed soldiers. Mari backed quietly away from the counter and towards the back room. She was smart, Eijii did not want any unnecessary injuries to befall anyone from the village. The guard walked over to Eijii and leaned in close to him.

“Show me.”

“If I take you there will you leave my people alone?”

Without hesitation, the soldier swung his fist and hit Eijii in the chin. Eijii stumbled back into Hiroku’s arms, dizzy from the blow. Through the ringing in his ears, Eijii heard a familiar, yet disconcerting, Japanese voice coming from the corner of the room.

“Why don’t you leave these people alone?”

Eijii could barely see through the flashes in his eyes, but he could make out the blurry figure of the poet standing opposite the soldiers. The officer examined this new threat.

“You are not a native, you’re Japanese,” said the soldier.

The poet took a few steps forward with his sheathed katana in hand.

“And you are representing the Emperor. How do your actions reflect on our people? Hmm?”

The officer had heard enough. He grabbed his sword and unsheathed it gracefully. The other soldier watched carefully before taking any action. Hiroku took this opportunity to back away a few paces and helped Eijii into a seat. The poet charged forward, though he kept his  sword sheathed. The soldier waited to strike but as soon as the poet was within range he turned suddenly and ran towards the unready soldier. The officer swung his sword and missed as the poet dodged. He continued his sprint and carried his motion into the sword. He thrusted and hit the second soldier square in the face with the hilt of his sword. The soldier recoiled as the poet used his own motion against him and flung the soldier through the door and out into the snow.

The officer was enraged at this and ran out the door after the poet. Hiroku ran over to the door excitedly as Eijii got up and hobbled after him. The soldier lay on the ground, clutching his face, blood running down his hands. The Poet stood in the middle of the snowy field in front of them his sword finally unsheathed. In one hand he held the sheath and in the other the sword. The wind whipped through the leaves of the plum trees causing a few petals to shake loose. The winter chilled air carried the petals across the ground as if they were running to the poet’s aid.

The officer stood opposite the poet, steam rising from his head. Perhaps in his rage, blood had rushed to the officer’s face, heating it. The chill outside reacted to the heat of his face and caused the steam. He yelled to the poet.

“You are the disgraceful one! Hiding out with these people! What are you running from?”

The poet stood calmly in the snow.

“I run from nothing, only towards.”

And with that, the poet charged forward. The officer was at first taken aback but quickly found his footing. He readied himself for a potential trick and allowed himself a glance at his surroundings. A foolish mistake, thought Eijii, a warrior never takes his eyes off of his opponent. The poet was upon him. The officer swung his sword but the poet nimbly dodged it. With a flourish rarely seen outside of a calligraphy pen, the poet sliced the officer. His blood splattered the snow like ink to a page. The officer choked as he fell to his knees and landed face down in the snow. The poet breathed heavily but finished the motion of his technique by swishing the remaining blood off of his sword and onto the snow. The drops dotted the snow around his feet as he sheathed his sword.

“That was amazing!” Hiroku whispered to excitedly to Eijii.

Eijii watched as the second soldier stood quickly, looking at the poet. With less than a thought, the soldier ran from the estate and leaped onto his horse. With a whip of the reins, the soldier was gone. The poet approached Eijii and and Hiroku. He leaned over to pick up his satchel and fished around in it. He grabbed Eijii’s hand and placed some coins in his palm. The poet closed Eijii’s fingers around them and spoke in the Emishi dialect.

“For the sake.”

The poet nodded towards the counter behind them. Eijii bowed to him in thanks. The poet tied his satchel back onto his katana and flung it over his shoulder. Eijii watched the man walk over the the other horse, the one that had belonged to the officer. He saddled up and galloped off. Hiroku turned back toward the estate and laughed.

“That was amazing!”

Eijii nodded but he was not focused on Hiroku. He was staring at the dead Japanese officer in the snow. The way he had fallen, the way the blood formed intricate shapes around him, Eijii now understood the poet’s art.

---

The Wandering Poet was written by Daniel Weinell and illustrated by Maribel Navarro.

Branden Edwards

My name is Branden. Branden Edwards. I am six feet tall and have blonde hair. My car is registered in Oregon. I frequent a local pub to savor the taste of a dark ale. I work in an independently owned coffee shop. These are only a few details about me. These are the things anyone could notice upon running into me. But it would take more than a glance to absorb my storied past and really, truly, grasp who Branden Edwards is. Let me tell you a story.

When I first moved to Oregon, it wasn’t to run away from something, it was to run toward something. If you’ve ever met one of my friends from back home and got to talking about me, they might tell you I was just fed up with people. They might mention that I went through a tough breakup. I had experienced my share of hardship but nothing I couldn’t handle. I put on a tough front but that’s only because I’m a tough guy. I have feelings sure, who doesn’t? And I like to revel in all emotions. Love, rage, tiredness, if you can call that last one an emotion. I’m off track. My point is, I left for adventure. California’s a big place and if you’re willing to travel far enough you can find a national park, no problem. But Oregon, Oregon is one big forest, one big adventure.

I couldn’t really get there on my own. I had the help of friends and family. Moved all my shit up north and settled in with my new room mate, Big Mickey. Big Mickey didn’t have one of those ironic nick names. He was a actually a huge guy. But that didn’t stop him from living life to the fullest. Nothing stopped Big Mickey.

It was three weeks since we’d arrived at our new place and the timing could not have been more perfect. It was smack dab in the middle of fall and the leaves were amazing. Bright red and yellows filled every inch of the horizon. Big Mickey and I stood on top of Skinner’s Butte looking out at the vast forest that is Oregon. Droplets of water collected on my rain slicker as the fog rolled in. This was our first time on top of the Butte but I knew I’d want to come back here.

I had Mickey drop me off along the Willamette River because I felt like walking some more and Mickey just wanted to head home. I told him thanks for the ride, slapped the hood of the car, and he drove off. There was a trail next to the river that made it the perfect hiking spot. I remember the sound of the water rushing over rocks as I walked. I remember the sound of the wind whipping through the crisp Autumn leaves. I remember the sound of screaming.

I couldn’t tell what it was at first, it was faint. I picked up my pace so I could get closer to the sound. When I neared it became clear that someone was screaming so I took off at a run. The river was obscured by foliage at this junction so I had to do some hopping. I bounded off a trunk here and a boulder there and finally landed with a soft splash at the banks of the river. It was then that I saw the source of the cries. A small child clung to a rock in the center of the river.

Without hesitating I whipped my shirt off and dove in. I remember how the icy water sent a chill through my veins to my very core. I am an experienced swimmer but the cold would have challenged even an Olympian. After I powered for a few seconds towards where I had seen the child last, I paused to check my heading. The child was gone! I treaded water, shivering while I scanned the river for any sign of the kid. After a few head turns I saw a beanie poke through the surface. I kicked off and worked my muscles as hard as I could. The beanie receded and I dove down after it. I couldn’t keep my eyes open so I felt around wildly. And then I made contact. I clenched my hands around a jacket and swam for the surface.

We breached and I flipped the kid over so her head was above water. When I was younger I had been in Junior Lifeguards and the training never really left me. Finally I felt the mushy shore beneath my feet and dragged the little girl out of the water. Her eyes were closed. She wasn’t breathing. I quickly attempted CPR careful not to damage a rib as I pressed down on her chest. I placed my cheek against mouth to check for breath but there was none. Just an unusual coldness.

The next moment I will never forget. I heard a voice behind me. A young girl thanking me. I was startled and my heart began pounding. I whipped my head around and saw the girl I had just pulled from the river. Only she was a pale blue color and semi transparent. I scrambled backward until my back pressed against a tree trunk. In my confusion I could not make sense of where her body had gone, but it was no longer on the shore. The spirit held out her hand and smiled. No one saved me the first time, she said, but I’m okay now. I felt a sudden calmness melt through my body and I grabbed the girls hand. Her “touch” filled me with warmth and my shivering stopped. I was too dumbfounded to come up with anything reasonable to say so I stayed quiet. The little girl wrapped her arms around me and though I couldn’t feel her hug in the traditional sense, I was filled with happiness.

I  barely remember walking home along the river. The trip was a blur. I opened the door and was greeted by Mickey who was mounted in front of the Xbox. He said hey but I just drifted upstairs and into my bedroom. I remember collapsing on my bed while my kitty hissed at me. I tried to grab her and she bit me. Her behavior was unusual but she should know better. I grabbed her and bit her back. She calmed down after that.

I woke up the next morning and it was business as usual. I went to work, did my thing and life went on. To this day the whole thing feels like a haze, but I can remember her face clearly. That’s how I know it really happened. Well anyway, thanks for listening. I have more stories where that came from but it’ll have to wait for another time. Time to get back to work.

---

Brandon Edwards was written by Daniel Weinell and illustrated by Maribel Navarro.

Kitten

It is 5:36pm on a Sunday. The sun is beginning its path down past the horizon line and it is casting long shadows across the city. There is an eeriness on the air and an audible moaning sound on the wind. Aaren is sitting on the edge of a rooftop, his head resting on the hilt of a shotgun. Exhaustion threatens to let his head drop but determination keeps it up. His clothing is tattered and blood drenched. His muscles cry out for rest but he can not. He can hear a shuffling sound on the streets below. He knows what that means but is too wary to be overly concerned. Zombies are walking the streets of his once pleasant city.

Aaren looks down at his legs, dangling over the edge of the roof. One shoe is missing and he doesn’t even remember where or when he lost it. He can hear the crunch of glass below him and he knows what that means. They are done feeding on the corpse of the only woman he ever loved. He had been too late to prevent her death.

As soon as he had realized what was happening, when the outbreak had begun, he only had one thought in his mind. He had to get to Joss. He starts picturing her face. Her perfect nose and her bangs covering her eyes. But he stops himself. He thinks about the grass he is staring at instead because he already feels the tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. He knows that he can’t afford to express everything pent up in his chest because if he does then they will know where he is and they will come for him too. Though he starts to think that it might not be so bad. He has no ties to this world now and death, apart from the panic that thought brings, would free him from this nightmare. If he wasn’t so scared of dying that would be an option. If he wasn’t equally afraid of being eaten alive or worse, becoming one of them then it would be an option.

Looking down, Aaren sees the clutch of undead slowly exit the building, clamoring over the window frame and out towards the street. He doesn’t want to go into the house. He doesn’t want to see her remains. The sun finally sets beneath the cityscape and the clouds above him light up. Aaren stands up and walks across the roof to the back of the house. He leans over the roof and looks down. He lowers his shotgun down and lets it fall onto the lawn. Then he lowers himself down and drops. Gun in hand, Aaren enters the house despite his predilections to the contrary.

The smell of death is overwhelming and Aaren pulls his shirt over his nose for fear of throwing up. He never imagined that the smells would be so atrocious. He had always imagined the sights would be gory and the sounds would be frightening but it was the smells that threw him off. He leans his head around the corner and sees her feet and immediately retreats. He doesn’t want to see her like this. He wants to remember her as he loved her. Aaren backs into the wall behind him and slumps to the ground.

Josselyn’s house was always so tidy. Aaren can hardly tell that there was even a scuffle here. The table is still standing with candles on top. Aaren takes a deep breath. And in the quiet between breaths and over his own heartbeat he hears a scratching coming from Joss’s room. Panic grips his already tight chest. Aaren quickly stands up and grabs his shotgun. He creeps down the hall, his brain screaming to run. Pictures of him and Joss line the walls but all Aaren can stare at is the door. As he gets closer he listens. The scratching comes again and then a small chirp and a wave of relief washes over him. He flings the shotgun over his shoulder and throws open the door.

Just as he suspected he sees a frightened kitten staring up at him. She seems to show signs of recognition and brushes up against Aaren. He sighs and picks her up and cradles her. Aaren was not a pet person and objected to the purchase of Mrs. Kisses. He had this fear that somehow the responsibility would end up falling on him. And though there was no way he could have accounted for a zombie apocalypse he can’t help acknowledge the irony. But right now, this kitten is all he has left of her.

Aaren embraces Mrs. Kisses and imagines Joss and then the sadness he has been holding back is unleashed. Aaren starts bawling and holding the kitten tightly. Mrs. Kisses squirms and jumps to the floor and dashes out of the room. Aaren slams his hand against the wall and moans but no words come out. He lets it all come out and when he thinks there’s no more he vomits as well and feels a little better.

Now, slightly more mentally composed Aaren goes after the kitten. At least he can protect one life other than his own. He goes back into the living room and sees the kitten batting at the Joss’s motionless feet. He has but a moment to pity himself and the kitten until he notices Joss’s leg twitch The kitten backs away. Oh god no, Aaren thinks, they didn’t finish her. He grips his shotgun and backs away. He whispers to the kitten because he can’t work up his voice. “Come on Mrs. Kisses, come on.” The kitten is unaware and playing coy and Aaren is frustrated and wants to be anywhere but here as soon as possible. “Come on!”

Joss begins to stand up, her legs scrape against the carpet. Oh no, oh no. Panic grips Aaren. He didn’t want to see her dead and he certainly doesn’t want to see her undead. He makes a grab for the kitten who dashes away playfully and then its too late. Joss’s beautiful face is marred and pale. Her skin is torn and her eyes are partially rolled back. But she stands up and looks toward Aaren. In his panic he can’t separate Joss from this monster that has taken her place. Aaren stumbles backward and bumps into the couch. Joss leaps toward him and Aaren can’t shoot her because the part of him that loves her overrides the rational part screaming that its not her anymore. He manages to roll off the couch as Joss pounces. Aaren sees Mrs. Kisses standing across the room looking frightened by the commotion. In that Moment, Aaren convinces himself that Joss is gone, but that if any of her still exists, it's in the love she had for that kitten and not buried somewhere in this undead shell. So as Joss leaps towards him, Aaren pulls the trigger and puts her to rest once more.

* * *

Aaren is standing atop another roof. Days have passed and he is filled with a renewed vigor. He has a backpack full of supplies and he is ready to travel until he, well he’s not sure what he’s looking for but whatever it is, he knows he’s not going to find it here. He looks up at the kitten on his shoulder and reaches to scratch under her chin. He’s going to protect this kitten at all costs. No more mistakes. Aaren shoulders his shotgun and begins his journey.

---

Kitten was written by Daniel Weinell and illustrated by Maribel Navarro.