Official “Raygun Retro” Table of Contents

 

retro

Table of Contents for the Zombie Pirate Publishing anthology “Raygun Retro”

RAYGUN RETRO: A Science Fiction Anthology, edited by Adam Bennett and Sam M. Phillips over at Zombie Pirate Publishing, is only about two-and-a-half weeks from publication. It’s available for pre-order now for delivery to your kindle device May 1, 2020.

Above is the official table of contents for the book, and includes my short story “Buried in the Sands of Time.”

Here’s a preview. Remember, the idea behind the anthology is to create an “old school” SciFi tale, something reminiscent of the early tales of E.E. “Doc” Smith, Asimov, or Heinlein.

Chang circled behind, examining the back of the plastic column. “Several punctures along the base of the skull and down the spine. Might be biomechanical implants.”

“Those four could still be alive.” She trotted to the far side of the room with Sparks behind her. Terry paused to look at the robot, now standing frozen by the open doorway.

“Chang. Over here. They’re breathing.”

“It is you. But Pop Pop, how did you get to be so young?” Amanda caressed the black man’s cheek, feeling his stubble. His skin was warm, and at her touch, he jerked.

“I’ve got this one.” Sparks released the straps holding the young man on the table and was helping him up.

“Thanks, pal. Name’s Fleming.”

“We’ll take care of introductions later. Got to get you and your people out of here.”

“Young woman, who are you?” Moore’s eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, recognition crossed his features.

“Where’s Professor Tauber?” Chang was removing Lisa Horn’s straps.

“If he’s alright, Commander, help me with her. We’ve still got one more man.

“Right.” She looked down at Moore.

“I’m fine. Go help Dr. Horn.”

Moore staggered to his feet, even the low lighting seemed bright. He spotted the robot at the other end of the room. “B3, report.” When there was no reply, he shouted. “B3, report Directive 97 status.”

Instead of a reply, a horde of eight foot tall, green men, skin textured like veined leaves, with the eyes of insects, lumbered into the room from behind the robot, and from hidden passageways at each corner.

Amanda fumbled at her coat buttons trying to reach her laser, but was too late. Overwhelmed by hundreds of alien giants, seven helpless humans were picked up as easily as toddlers and carried away.

“B3!” Moore cried desperately. “Directive Dolos one hour. Directive Dolos.” He tried to keep the robot in sight as long as he could, but the machine remained deathly still.

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