Barry’s face was ashen, drawn. He lifted his right arm, blood oozing from fresh wounds, and pointed toward in the direction of the road, only there wasn’t a road. “We’re lost.”
Nick coughed and spat a dark mix of blood and mucus on the ground. “You aren’t lost…you’re trapped.”
When I finish the story, I plan on a final editing pass of Loathsome, Dark, and Deep in preparation for submissions early next year. Oh, and Daniel LeMoal, the author of one of my favorite stories from Best Horror of the Year Volume 1 ("Beach Head"), will have a piece in 2010's 52 Stitches line up. (hence the fan-boy squee yesterday)
Wednesday is good. Enjoy yours.