No Menagerie, This Apocalypse by Adam Francis Smith

cougar encounter by Yair-Leibovich on DeviantArt.com

He needed water. The cougar swung, clawing Aaron’s shoulder, spinning him. Aaron dived down an incline, gaining his feet only to face a bison that charged. Dodging to avoid the beast, he ran. Climbing a fence, he dropped to the other side. A pair of goats attacked, kicking. Battered, he forced his way into a barn. Feeling safe, he rested. Above, an owl screeched and launched itself from an ancient beam, talons raised. He ran again and was nearly trampled by a horse, but he rolled, righted himself and finally made it to the well. Now, where was that canteen?

The Last Men on Earth by Adam Francis Smith

ambush by tahra on DeviantArt.com

Three of us remain: he and she and I. I want him, so I lie in wait, crouched in shadow near the only fresh-water source for miles.

The sky is as gray as the land, with a wide ellipse of turbulent crimson, dotted with darker gray — always churning.

She comes, bucket in hand, and I leap from the darkness, slashing with my scythe. Gouts of blood float in seeming slow-motion as she falls to the ground — gray on red on gray again.

I’ve won, securing for myself the second-to-last man on earth by elimination of the last woman.

Victim Victorious by Adam Francis Smith

Drowning by KarolinaNoumenon on DeviantArt.com

Gin felt the lake close over her as she bathed. Recent attacks came to mind as a hand covered her mouth. She let herself drop, and planted a solid punch into a groin. Exhaling loudly her uncle bent and she chopped his throat, her hand hard as steel. He fell forward. Gin stomped his neck and forced him under water. She kept the pressure on until he ceased flailing, then hurriedly dressed and ran home. This might be the death of her and her family, her uncle having been a powerful lord, but what was done was done.

Virtuous Weapon by Adam Francis Smith

Monk by PointLineArea on DeviantArt.com

“I am bigger,” laughed Takamasa.
“True, but answer,” Masasada slashed, nicking Takamasa’s forearm, “how does one bring down Fuji-san?”
Takamasa winced and squinted as he considered the question. He thrust his sword forward, but it was knocked aside by Masasada’s thinner blade.
Masasada struck and drew blood. Before Takamasa could react, Masasada opened up another slit on Takamasa’s arm.
Masasada smiled. “One chop at a time. You see?” He slashed again and opened Takamasa’s shoulder. Blood sprayed and Takamasa dropped to his knees.
“Patience is a virtue,” whispered Takamasa, respectfully.
Masasada thrust down and inward. “Patience is a weapon.”

Leading by Example by Adam Francis Smith

Daimyo by ISOTXART on DeviantArt.com

Ashikaga was tasked with eradication of the pirate threat. The Daimyo looked upon his men, weak and afraid, wide-eyed in the face of pirate-rage. He knew he must set an example. He rushed into the melee, and slashed the flesh of a burly pirate, even before his Katana had fully cleared its scabbard. The ugly brute fell to the sand as Ashikaga’s second in command stomped on his throat. The men rallied. Hands, an arm, ears and bits of flesh littered the sand, and Ashikaga was filled with pride as his Elite proved themselves and showed honor to their Daimyo.

The Truth Hurts by Adam Francis Smith

High Movility Infantry by Shabazik on DeviantArt.com

“One way out,” she said. I know now that she meant death. I thought she had meant this gauntlet.

I leap into an alcove. Flashes and bullets. I dive, sliding to the next door. I stand, decide not to wait, push off the wall, run.

Finally, I’m huddled beneath the window. Ten feet more and then freedom.

I take a breath, hold it, skitter across the floor and a bullet slams into my thigh. A laser burns my neck. I drop and exhale. Another bullet hits my knee. A laser blast burns the truth into my gut; she was right.

Sword Flight by Adam Francis Smith

Space Oddity by Cikalong on DeviantArt.com

“Swords don’t breach hulls!”

“A gun kills at a hundred yards,” I argue.

“Name a shuttle that long.”

I feel stupid.

She runs a mutineer through.

At the airlock we suit up. She cycles the hatches.

The sword looks cartoonish in her glove.

Red lights flash and we’re out.

“Take my hand!” yells Veronica. I grab blindly and slice my glove open. I spin, venting gasses.

She clamps two hands on my wrist, stopping the purge.

“Your sword,” I say. It floats away.

“Your hand,” she replies. It’s frozen. Dead.

Maybe if we’re saved in time, both will be replaced.

Infest Station by Adam Francis Smith

Tentacles in Space by fightbeast on DeviantArt.com

Life support is down.
The corridor is dark and slick.
I raise my gun.
Artificial gravity quits as a tentacle latches onto my suit.
A Squeegee’s three-eyed mouth sticks to my faceplate.
I fire upward toward its brain. My arm is forced backward and there’s a clang and the cracking of bone.
The Squeegee floats, ripped to shreds by the bullet that now schrings as it ricochets.
Gravity’s back.  I’m slammed to the floor.
“Crap,” I mutter. My faceplate explodes and the air is pulled from my lungs.
Life support returns. I can take a breath and smell dead Squeegee.

My Rage My Own Demise by Adam Francis Smith

Her Fall by moroka323 on DeviantArt.com

From behind, I cut her a wide, red smile – so angry was I that she had dared call me rogue. She is the daughter of my Lord’s enemy. Her blood now paints my forearm and leg. She exhales her last through folds of flesh parted by my blade. Blood-flecked spittle sprays, and the sound echoes in my mind. I am dead once word of my failure reaches the King. He’ll have my head boiled and spiked outside his gate, a warning to others about self control. There’s no place to hide. With one swift slash, two lives have ended.

Common Enemies by Adam Francis Smith

KH. -Beaten by Soosh-Zhu on DeviantArt.com

Jarkal cracked his whip and the slaves moved forward. Ten miles more and he’d collect his pay.

A massive Jenda stepped out from behind a tree. “Slaves mine,” he gurgled.

Jarkal drew his sword and advanced. “Not today, Brute!”

The Jenda swung its club. Jarkal was caught off guard by the speed and violence of the assault and he crumpled. He watched from the ground as the slaves mobbed the beast and choked it to death with their chains.

“You saved me,” whispered Jarkal. “Why?”

The slaves laughed. “We saved ourselves,” spoke one.

Understanding came with the chains and death.