Unpossible by Daryl Gregory Read Free Book Online Page A

terrible roar. It’s a chase down to the sea’s edge and then they’re tumbling in the muck, wrapped up and rolling like bear cubs, choking and half-blinded in mud. Hands claw for the suit. They tug it back and forth, the cloth rasping as threads stretch and tear. Then the zipper snaps and they fall away from each other, splash down on their asses.
    They look at each other, too winded to get up.
    The man clutches the scrap of fur he’s regained. It’s not white anymore. "Why’d you do that?" he says.
    He’s not sure. He flicks mud from his hands, wipes a hand clean on the inside of his shirt, runs a knuckle across his mouth. "It was the only thing I could think of."
    The man looks at him. A smile works at the corners of his mud-spattered mouth. He makes a sound like a cough, and then he’s laughing, they’re both laughing. They sit in the mud, roaring.
    Eventually they help each other out of the muck. "We screwed it up," the man says. "How did we screw it up?"
    He’s been wondering that himself for a long time. "I don’t think we were supposed to keep them safe," he answers. He hands him the remnant of the suit. "This, the bed, the Wonder Bike—all that stuff. We weren’t supposed to hoard them."
    The man looks stricken. "Oh my God," the man says quietly. "Oh my God."
    They begin to trudge across the drained sea. They trade stories about their adventures. The man with the wolf suit takes out his wallet and shows him pictures. He has a granddaughter he’s never met, six years old, a real hellion by all accounts. "She lives three states away," he says.
    A dozen yards from the shore they see the trolley. The little car glides smoothly around the perimeter of the lake and stops in their path. It rolls a few feet forward, a few feet back. Ding ding!
    They approach it carefully and without speaking, as they would a deer at a watering hole. It trembles as they step up onto the gleaming sideboards. They sit on the polished wooden benches. It’s a shame their clothes are so filthy.
    The trolley doesn’t move.
    "Wait," he says, and the man in the wolf suit watches him dig into his pocket. The dime he found on the roadway is still there. The coin clinks into the tin fare box and the car jerks into motion. Soon they’re zipping across the plain toward the forest and the black ribbon of highway.
    "And yourself?" the man with the suit asks.
    "No grandchildren," he says. "No children. Not anymore."
    The man frowns and nods. "We’ll find someone for the bike," he says. "The world is full of children."

Damascus
    W hen Paula became conscious of her surroundings again, the first thing she sensed was his fingers entwined in hers.
    She was strapped to the ambulance backboard—each wrist cuffed in nylon, her chest held down by a wide band—to stop her from flailing and yanking out the IV. Only his presence kept her from screaming. He gazed down at her, dirty-blond hair hanging over blue eyes, pale cheeks shadowed by a few days’ stubble. His love for her radiated like cool air from a block of ice.
    When they reached the hospital he walked beside the gurney, his hand on her shoulder, as the paramedics wheeled her into the ER. Paula had never worked in the ER but she recognized a few of the faces as she passed. She took several deep breaths, her chest tight against the nylon strap, and calmly told the paramedics that she was fine, they could let her go now. They made reassuring noises and left the restraints in place. Untying her was the doctor’s call now.
    Eventually an RN came to ask her questions. A deeply tanned, heavy-set woman with frosted hair. Paula couldn’t remember her name, though they’d worked together for several years, back before the hospital had fired Paula. Now she was back as a patient.
    "And what happened tonight, Paula?" the nurse said, her tone cold. They hadn’t gotten along when they worked together; Paula had a temper in those days.
    "I guess I got a bit dizzy," she said.
    "Seizure," said one of