The Flashback Trilogy

Chapter 3

FLASHBACK DAWN

THE FIELDS TINGED WITH RED

IN THE FORESTS OF THE NIGHT

THE RETURN

‘DOG’ IS A PALINDROME

ELEGY

THE DEVIL’S TRIANGLE

THE WINE DARK EARTH

THE BIG EMPTY

BURN

THE CONCRETE VELDT

URBAN DECAY

THE ANK WILLIAMS STORY

FLASHBACK DAWN (2017)

I | Naaygi­­­­­

As it never had before the Flashback, the supermarket slept, mostly. Although its exterior was covered with creeper vines and mossy growths, its interior remained remarkably unchanged—even its power continued to hum. Still, the long lights that hung suspended over its aisles had largely gone dead; and of those that remained live, many had begun to flicker and fail. No humans walked the once-polished floors of the Ozark Food and d**g Supercenter, nor did they crowd the expansive front lot where they had once competed—sometimes violently—for parking space. And yet, from the markings on the signboards and multitudes of packages to the music drifting like fog up and down the aisles, their presence remained.

It was a presence unremarked upon by the place’s new dominant species—compsognathus—who scavenged the shelves this night as they had any other, as oblivious to the music and the dead languages of their forbearers as they were the lights in the sky that had presaged the Flashback (or rather, for them, the flash-forward). And yet there was something that garnered their attention—a grinding hum, a sound outside of nature, outside the store, which drew inexorably closer as they raised their little heads and c****d moist, round eyes; as they fidgeted about like so many scaly, featherless chickens. And then the glass doors at the front of the store shattered inward and the face of a monster emerged, hard-edged and not of this world, utterly alien, its teeth meshed so tight as to resemble a grin, its eyes on fire so that they cut the dark like sickle-claws. And they scattered as it roared up the aisle and passed them by, even as a popping was heard, a booming, really, which coincided with the packages all around them exploding like volcanoes.

“Not the compies, not the compies,” snapped Charlotte from the backseat. “For Christ’s sake, save the ammo. Remember what we’re here for.”

Corbin ignored her, training his sites on one of the compsognathuses fleeing in the headlights. “We need the meat,” he said, simply, and squeezed off a round. The compsognathus exploded like a watermelon. Red reached across the cab and snatched the muzzle of the weapon, jerked it back through the window—even as the Jeep Wrangler skewed to the left and its fender grazed the shelves.

“She’s right, goddammit. Save the ammo. We don’t know what all is in here. All that thing is going to do is blow everything to pieces.”

Corbin levelled his gaze at him—as ruthless and serpentine as any dinosaur. “Don’t ever do that again, Red.” Then he caught movement out of the corner of his eye and whipped the g*n back out the window, and fired—not a single shot this time but an entire volley. Jars of tomato sauce exploded and dripped as they blew past.

Red glanced at Charlotte in the rearview mirror, who splayed her hands and widened her eyes as if to say, Well, do something! “Where to, boss? Quickly,” he merely said.

“Cans, we need cans—tuna, mackerel, anything with protein. Should be the next aisle over.”

He brought the Jeep to a screeching halt at the end of the aisle, reversed quickly, and whipped the hood around into the adjacent section. The signboard above them read: SOUP / CANNED VEGETABLES / CANNED PREPARED. Red geared down and proceeded slowly. “Okay, everyone, keep your eyes open.”

“There!” said Charlotte.

Red maneuvered them close to the shelf and put it into neutral, ratcheted the emergency brake. Corbin placed the semi-automatic rifle between his knees and shook his hand at Charlotte. She quickly handed him a basket and he began scooping cans of mackerel into it sloppily. “Come on, hurry, hurry,” said Red.

Corbin exchanged the basket for a new one and cleaned off the rest of the shelf. “Tuna’s on the bottom,” he said. “Come on! Back her up and I’ll cover.”

Red glanced in the mirror at Charlotte, who nodded affirmatively. He released the brake and backed up, ratcheted it back on.

They all scrambled out.

“You got this?” said Red to Charlotte. “May as well scour the entire aisle.” And to Corbin: “I’ll take this end.” He grabbed his rifle and jogged toward the nearest endcap.

Corbin eyed the far endcap dubiously, even fearfully. “You piece of s**t, Red.” Then he hurried down the aisle in a state of high alert, pointing his assault rifle this way and that.

Charlotte popped the hatch and grabbed a couple baskets, began filling them with tuna. A cry sounded from somewhere near the back of the store which Red recognized instantly. Charlotte and he exchanged glances. “You hear that, Corbin?” he shouted.

Corbin was but a tiny figure at the end of the aisle. “Yeah, asshole. I heard it. Let’s go.”

“What’s the matter, Supercop? Afraid of something that might fight you back? Give her a minute.”

Charlotte exchanged her baskets for empty ones and rushed down the aisle.

The call sounded again and yet another responded, this one from the front of the store. “Those are f*****g raptors, Michelangelo. She’s got about sixty seconds before I come down there and take that Jeep with or without you.”

“Where did they come from?” said Charlotte, piling cans into her baskets.

“Probably filed in after us,” said Red, or slipped through a back door we missed.”

“They can appear out of nowhere, asshole,” hollered Corbin. “I’ve seen one materialize right where a man was standing.” Another call echoed throughout the store and he aimed his rifle into the dark. “Want to know what happened?”