watched, alarmed as the hawk faltered in
flight, and then wheeled back returning to the campsite in the Arizona desert.
Margaret opened her eyes and blinked rapidly. Holding her wing, no, her hand in
front of her face, she immediately patted her body, reassuringly human, as the
pupils of her eyes seemed to enlarge, taking over the normal emerald hue.
Sitting up suddenly, Margaret said, stricken, "Oh
my God--Las Vegas!"
Las Vegas, Nevada
The desert night was illuminated by the
sparkling lights of Las Vegas under a full moon. In a casino on the main strip
downtown, Oliver Trundell and his wife Beatrice, on vacation from Tulsa,
Oklahoma, were eating breakfast at the restaurant that stayed open all night.
They talked excitedly of increasing their winnings at the roulette wheel once
their hunger was satiated. Just as Oliver opened his mouth for another bite of
pancakes dripping in melted butter and maple syrup, a clattering sound caused
him to glance out the plate glass window next to his booth. A baseball-sized
piece of hail crashed through the glass and lodged itself in the middle of
Oliver's forehead. Beatrice had time to scream before a spear of window glass
pierced her throat as efficiently as an assassin's knife.
Tom Hanover panted heavily in the king-sized bed
as he thrust himself into the highly-paid prostitute beneath his 286-pound
body. The podiatrist convention was over and Tom was taking advantage of his
last night in town to live dangerously. He'd paid extra not to have to wear a
condom. He heard the woman's moans and gasps with delight. He really was that
good, he thought to himself admiringly. Then he heard the sound of glass
breaking and wind howling, before his body was pummeled to a pulp by hail.
The radar screen beeped in the meteorology
office at the local Las Vegas TV station. Randall Quinn glanced casually at the
screen, and then leapt to his feet. He'd never seen anything like it before.
One minute the screen was clear, the next it was covered in the bright red that
signified the strongest storms. As he was calling out to the morning news
producer, the offices went dark and the computer died, along with Randall
Quinn, who was smashed flat by the weight of the collapsing building.
The coyotes in the desert surrounding Las Vegas
were joined by birds, snakes, roaches, rats and other assorted creatures that
had fled the city minutes before the storm began. They watched in silence as
hail and wind beat the city into a pyramidal mound of rubble and ice.
Fort Walton Beach, Florida
Lisanne Locklin did not want to get out of bed.
Her short black hair was sticking out from under the covers like a spiky plant.
She closed her eyes as she pulled the cotton sheets more firmly over her head.
Yes, she needed to get up and go the bathroom and yes, she didn't really like
the taste of her morning mouth, but it was so dark and comfortable in her
cocoon of eggplant--dark purple, really--sheets that nothing could get her out of
bed. Well, okay, maybe the need for coffee could, if she thought about it for
very long, nothing like the first cup of French Roast with a splash of cream,
but no, she wouldn't think of it just yet. The pressure of paws walking along
her back brought her awake again. Lisanne groaned. The cat would never let her
sleep in. Merlin was a large black cat with gold eyes that seemed to glow in
the dark. Lisanne and Merlin had been together for eight months, during which
Merlin had forced her out of bed every morning before seven. Lisanne was not
happy with this development as she'd always been a night person. However, she
loved the big black cat and was slowly becoming resigned to facing the day at
times she considered ungodly.
Throwing the sheets off so that they covered
Merlin, Lisanne slid out of bed, saying, "Just once I'd like to sleep till two,
you hear that you big lug? Why do I put up with you?"
The response was a growl from under the tangled
sheets.
Lisanne laughed and managed to walk into
flight, and then wheeled back returning to the campsite in the Arizona desert.
Margaret opened her eyes and blinked rapidly. Holding her wing, no, her hand in
front of her face, she immediately patted her body, reassuringly human, as the
pupils of her eyes seemed to enlarge, taking over the normal emerald hue.
Sitting up suddenly, Margaret said, stricken, "Oh
my God--Las Vegas!"
Las Vegas, Nevada
The desert night was illuminated by the
sparkling lights of Las Vegas under a full moon. In a casino on the main strip
downtown, Oliver Trundell and his wife Beatrice, on vacation from Tulsa,
Oklahoma, were eating breakfast at the restaurant that stayed open all night.
They talked excitedly of increasing their winnings at the roulette wheel once
their hunger was satiated. Just as Oliver opened his mouth for another bite of
pancakes dripping in melted butter and maple syrup, a clattering sound caused
him to glance out the plate glass window next to his booth. A baseball-sized
piece of hail crashed through the glass and lodged itself in the middle of
Oliver's forehead. Beatrice had time to scream before a spear of window glass
pierced her throat as efficiently as an assassin's knife.
Tom Hanover panted heavily in the king-sized bed
as he thrust himself into the highly-paid prostitute beneath his 286-pound
body. The podiatrist convention was over and Tom was taking advantage of his
last night in town to live dangerously. He'd paid extra not to have to wear a
condom. He heard the woman's moans and gasps with delight. He really was that
good, he thought to himself admiringly. Then he heard the sound of glass
breaking and wind howling, before his body was pummeled to a pulp by hail.
The radar screen beeped in the meteorology
office at the local Las Vegas TV station. Randall Quinn glanced casually at the
screen, and then leapt to his feet. He'd never seen anything like it before.
One minute the screen was clear, the next it was covered in the bright red that
signified the strongest storms. As he was calling out to the morning news
producer, the offices went dark and the computer died, along with Randall
Quinn, who was smashed flat by the weight of the collapsing building.
The coyotes in the desert surrounding Las Vegas
were joined by birds, snakes, roaches, rats and other assorted creatures that
had fled the city minutes before the storm began. They watched in silence as
hail and wind beat the city into a pyramidal mound of rubble and ice.
Fort Walton Beach, Florida
Lisanne Locklin did not want to get out of bed.
Her short black hair was sticking out from under the covers like a spiky plant.
She closed her eyes as she pulled the cotton sheets more firmly over her head.
Yes, she needed to get up and go the bathroom and yes, she didn't really like
the taste of her morning mouth, but it was so dark and comfortable in her
cocoon of eggplant--dark purple, really--sheets that nothing could get her out of
bed. Well, okay, maybe the need for coffee could, if she thought about it for
very long, nothing like the first cup of French Roast with a splash of cream,
but no, she wouldn't think of it just yet. The pressure of paws walking along
her back brought her awake again. Lisanne groaned. The cat would never let her
sleep in. Merlin was a large black cat with gold eyes that seemed to glow in
the dark. Lisanne and Merlin had been together for eight months, during which
Merlin had forced her out of bed every morning before seven. Lisanne was not
happy with this development as she'd always been a night person. However, she
loved the big black cat and was slowly becoming resigned to facing the day at
times she considered ungodly.
Throwing the sheets off so that they covered
Merlin, Lisanne slid out of bed, saying, "Just once I'd like to sleep till two,
you hear that you big lug? Why do I put up with you?"
The response was a growl from under the tangled
sheets.
Lisanne laughed and managed to walk into
Similar Books
