Denizens of Dump

Chapter one

Enough fell to keep a man in bacon for months. Tons of scrap, wrecked vehicles and bags of many less savoury items vomited from the doors of the spaceship. They fell in a hellish rain, screeching against one another in competition.

Kellin turned and ran, his brown jacket flying out behind him with its many pockets snagging on jagged spires of rusting metal. His mismatched boots crushed through the tangle of junk, fresh wound. . .

“Tommandros, put those clouds back where you found them,” his mother called from the doorway of their cottage. “Can’t you see I’ve got clothes on the line? How do suppose they’ll dry if you keep the fog rolling in like that?”

“She has a point, you know,” Gran’s voice said. But she wasn’t there. Not really. She was dead, lying blissfully unaware of the failure-of-a-summoner her grandson was in her absence. Still, she spoke to him from a shaded corner in the back of his mind, a warm place . . .