Ray clicked the button inside his garage, the motor hanging from the ceiling turned on, whined. The metal door slowly climbed up the track and opened. "Rain comin'," Ray said to himself as he shuffled a few steps in his driveway. "It's good, we need the rain," he said to no one. A chubby man in a blue t-shirt, khaki cargo-shorts, and white shoes walked down the street. He looked over and saw Ray. "Hey, Ray," the man said, stopping his stride. "Oh hey, Tom," Ray said. "Feels like rain's...

Paul pulled hard once, abruptly. The lawnmower didn't start. He pulled it again, not as hard, not as abrupt. Nothing. He pulled that shit twice in a row, and then a third pull failed halfway through. He let go of the small handle, walked away to take a few breaths. "Come on you fuckin'," he said to the lawnmower, his hands on his hips as he walked small circles in the yard. He primed that shit five, six, seven, lost count times. Pew pew pew pew pew pew. He pulled the cord as hard as he could,...

"Did you turn on the West Sector floods?" Daniel remained squatted, but stopped connecting the wires he was working on momentarily. His eyes widened as the realization that he hadn't turned on the flood lights—hadn't heard that loud "KACHOONG" noise when you flip over that comically oversized switch—hadn't turned on the West Sector flood lights as he was wrapping everything up down at that part of camp. This, obviously, was a very bad thing. Certain death awaited Daniel, undoubtedly. This...