Year of publication: 2019
Sequence of publisher: Forward collection
Science fiction, Story
Read a fragment illustrations
Blake Crouch SUMMER FROST Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay To mould me man? Did I solicit thee From darkness to promote me? —John Milton, Paradise Lost ONE I watched her steal the Maserati twenty minutes ago in broad daylight from the Fairmont Hotel. Now, from three cars back, all I can see is the spill of her yellow hair over the convertible’s bucket seat and the reflection of her aviator sunglasses in the rearview. The light turns green. I accelerate with traffic through the intersection of Presidio Parkway and Marina Boulevard, past the Palace of Fine Arts, the rotunda dwindling away in the side mirror. We skirt the northern edge of the Presidio, pass through the tunnel and the tolls, and then I’m climbing the gradual incline toward the first orange tower of the bridge. There is no fog this morning, the bay sparkling under a sky so radiantly blue it doesn’t look real. With the...