Interzone 251 by edited by Andy Cox Page A

bottom and swung my arm in a long sideways arc, spraying the heavy ashes out ahead of me. There was a quick little hiss as the particles landed on the pavement and the weeds in the field beyond, and then there was nothing, no sound at all. My legs folded up and I sat down hard on the pavement, hunched in on myself. I stayed like that for a long time, my eyes closed, feeling tears run down my cheeks and drip off the end of my nose.
    Eventually I was aware of Domino beside me, its body against my leg and its forefoot closing around one of my fingers. “I’m sorry, Neil,” it said. “I’m so very sorry.”
    I closed my hand around its mechanical paw. “Yeah, so am I, Domino.” I sniffled noisily and started to get to my feet, then sat back down. “I guess we should head back to Ariel,” I said, not moving.
    Domino pulled its paw out of my hand and walked over to a low retaining wall near where I was sitting and climbed up onto it. It looked out in the direction that I’d thrown Lucia’s ashes. “There ought to be some meaning,” it said.
    “What?”
    “Meaning, Neil. There ought to be some meaning, some…sense. If Lucia is just…dead…then…then…”
    “Domino?” I got up and took a step toward it. “Domino, I think you need to stop this. Come on, let’s get away from here.”
    The little robot stayed where it was, but turned its head toward me. The lens of its left eye caught the setting sun and glittered red. “Neil, I really feel that…that I should be able to understand…I feel that there must be some meaning…to…”
    “Domino?” I said again, taking a step toward it. Then I shouted its name; once, twice. I waited, my voice echoing back at me off the walls of the empty buildings. I shouted again, screaming this time, my fists clenched, putting everything I had into it.
    But it was no good. There was nothing there. I was alone.

    ***

    In addition to Karl’s previous appearance in
Interzone
(‘The Remembered’ in issue #242), his work has appeared in
Asimov’s
,
Fantasy & Science Fiction
,
Analog
,
The Year’s Best Science Fiction
, and elsewhere. He lives in a suburb of Boston, Massachusetts with his wife, a dog, two cats, and sundry chickens and fish. A website is maintained at  www.karlbunker.com .

OLD BONES
GREG KURZAWA
    illustrated by Jim Burns

    A sudden knocking at the door of his garret shocked Simon out of his chair by the portal window. The chair – older even than Simon – tipped backwards and banged against the warped gray floorboards, cracking two of its brittle slats. That sound, so loud in the empty room, and so soon following the first shock, caused Simon to flinch. The knocking had come without warning – no creak of stair from the landing, no veiled whispers or stifled coughs. Simon had been watching the desolate street beneath his little window all day. From time to time he’d seen mummers moving through the perpetual smog, wrapped tight in drab cloaks, but nothing friendly – never anything friendly. But now here was light – probably from a lantern – showing in the gaps around the frame of his door. What kind of fool ventured out with such light?
    Staring at the door, Simon licked dry lips and tried to remember the last time he’d seen another person. How many years? He’d seen countless mummers, but they only
looked
like people.
    The knocking came again, gentler this time, as though sensitive to the upset it had already caused.
    Simon dared wonder if rescue had come at last.
    “Hello,” called a voice from the landing. It was an unremarkable voice – a voice that might have belonged to any kind of person. He’d heard mummers speak with such voices. Such voices were not to be trusted.
    It said, “I saw your light.”
    Quickly, Simon reached back to snuff the offending flame. It was his habit to leave a candle burning in the window at all times. It helped him find his way back. One candle only. Anything more was sure to attract unwanted attention from