Wednesday, March 19, 2025

       Night falls over the dunes of the Chihuahuan Desert, the southern New Mexico sky glitters with every star putting on its best show.  Living memory of the nuclear tests in the Carlsbad Cavern system was fading but not the unforeseen consequences. 

       A worn bottle with a cracked lid that barely protrudes from the white gypsum sands rests deceptively tranquil in the darkness.  Green glowing ichor oozes from the spout to pool at the base of a nearby cactus. It almost seems to shiver from the chill of the air before flowing into a prairie dog den.  Small sounds of panic, coming from underground, are quickly absorbed by the dry air and all is quiet once again. 

     It will not stay that way.

Wednesday, March 26, AM

         Kit Augustine, aspiring world class surfer and star (only) server at the Cactus Cafe, pulls into a pump at Whites City Fuel.  It’s unclear whether the tank of the beat up Yamaha YZ250 is emptier than its owner’s wallet. The engine sputters out before he can turn the key. 

        “I guess I could push the bike to work.” The cafe sits just across the Carlsbad Cavern Highway. “This is what I get for making major life decisions when I’m high.”

         Photos of perfect white sand dunes and the name Sunset Reef had made him book a one way bus ticket to what he thought would be some sick waves. “How did I not see “Sunset Reef -CAMPGROUND-?!”

         Now he is stuck in a town of 14 people, serving tourists green chili enchiladas. There was not a wave to be found unless you counted the ripples that preceded a 10 year old coming down the waterslide at the Cavern Inn.  

         “Dumbass, dumbass, DUMBASS!” He kicks the concrete berm that circles the gas pump and winces. “Luna was right to leave your sorry butt in Tampa.” Electronics repair technician wasn’t his preferred job title, and the Gulf coast isn’t exactly known for tasty surf but it was a hell of a lot better than being a hash slinger in a sand hole tourist trap. 

          “God, NO! Now my Chucks are scuffed.”

         Mid rant, a larger than normal prairie dog scrambles frantically out of the scrub bordering the gas station.  Skidding to a stop between the two Marathon pumps, It stands on its hind legs, and sniffs the air. 

         “Woah! You’re a big sand rat, ain’t you?” chuckles Kit. “What’s up with the gnarly white nose, little guy?”  Sure enough, the sun reflecting off the titanium dioxide splotch that covers most of the animal’s face between its eyes, is striking. 

         Kit hunches down into a squat to get a better look, still keeping a reasonably safe distance.  The desert mammal cares nothing for physics however and launches itself easily into the space between Kit’s knees and sinks its teeth into the flesh of his inner thigh.

         “AAAAA, son of a bitch! Not cool!” Kit yells and instinctively drops a fist onto the poor rodent’s head.  The stunned animal found itself grabbed by the neck and hurled back into the arid hell it came from. “Dude! This day is just so bogus!”

         Not surprisingly, pushing a dirt bike across a blazing hot 2-lane highway with a nasty prairie dog bite in his crotch does not give a chill vibe to our unlucky ex-surfer.  Wait until he gets to a mirror and sees the blindingly white ooze now coating his nose.

Wednesday, March 26, PM

         Of course, the lunch crowd at the Cactus would be unexpectedly chaotic.  Menudo plates, enchiladas, and dirty dishes run together in a guacamole colored haze. The boxer brief region stops complaining suspiciously quickly and that makes a world of difference.

         “Swagger brings the tips, righteous dude!” Kit reminds himself.  “42 is seasoned veteran age. A little dog bite ain’t nothin’ to slow a warrior down.”

         He does notice a few strange looks from the folks he serves but just chalks it up to the totally rad soul patch he’s rocking.  “I ain’t no grom. People can recognize an epic dude when they see one.” Holding in the baby beer belly softening his shredded physique barely slows him down.

         A chill trough in the waves of customers finally hits in between lunch and dinner sets. Earbuds in, mixtape loaded, Walkman clipped to belt. Kit heads to the employee bathroom on the other side of the kitchen. 

          A portly, middle-aged Mexican woman cutting avocados for the evening batch of guac looks up shyly as he passes. Drinking in his flannel shirt with the arms cut off, the Jamaican board shorts showing off a pair of tanned and toned calves,  her eyes scream “Bodacious!” She doesn’t even mind the balding patch on the crown of his head. It almost makes him look like a radical, surfer priest. She puts down the knife and starts to say hello. Or hola. Or, whatever…

          “Can’t hear you, Maria. Gwen Stefani is singing through me to you,” he tapped the right earbud and smiled with mock regret, “Don’t Speak! La de da de da.” 

           He picks up his pace and dives into the bathroom, his escape only slightly marred by the cord to the Walkman on his waist catching on the doorknob and ripping the earbuds out of his ears.

         “That woman’s totally buggin’ if she thinks I’m gonna hang with her.” He mutters as he closes the door. His reflection stops him cold. 

          “Duuuuude!” He raises one finger to poke the milky mass on his nose, but it scoots around to the opposite side from the probing digit. 

        An oily voice squirms into his brain, “Don’t touch me, dweeb!”

His eyes lose focus for a second and he feels the sensation of tiny fingers rummaging through his brain.  They pull out a certain happy memory from a not too distant time.

         “Your delusional ass belongs to me now,” The voice gloats. “My first order as your new overlord. Call that babe from the kitchen in here. She is, what is your term?  “Da bomb”?

        Kit tries shaking his head to clear it, but it’s no use. His hand moves of its own will and opens the door. “Maria! Babe! Come check out this hella big cockroach,” he hears himself say. 

          The music in his ears has changed to “Short Skirt, Long Jacket”. As Maria bustles over the short distance, Kit thinks, “No, no, no,” but can’t move his lips to protest.  As soon as Maria is in arms reach, his hand again moves on its own to pull her toward him. Her eyes widen in shock when he leans in and plants a deep soul kiss on her lips, their noses rubbing. 

           Kit pulls away, afraid to see the effects of his actions. Maria’s face flickers like a VHS tape with bad tracking. Another face starts to emerge between the scan lines. A cuter, thinner, younger woman with hazel eyes and a button nose covered in chalky paste.

         “L…L…Luna? Is that you? This is so excellent! I was just thinking about you this morning.” His eyes cross a bit, head shakes, white canvas high tops scuffle backwards. “No, wait. You can’t be here. What…?”

         Her hand brushes his cheek and when she speaks, Maria’s Mexican accent is hardly noticeable. “Don’t sweat the details, home skillet. I’m back with you now.  Ready to totally conquer the world, dude?”

Friday, March 28, AM

         Cars line up to the dormant pumps at Whites City Fuel.  The small attendant shack is dark and quiet, the only light comes from the lonely Pepsi machine in front.  A square “Out for Lunch” sign sways in the light morning breeze. The locals note all this and don’t linger.  It happens a lot in a tiny community.  The larger town of Carlsbad is less than 20 minutes away in an emergency.  The station will reopen when it reopens.

         The out of towners hang around shrugging their shoulders at each other and asking if anyone knows anything. Nobody does. Almost like clockwork, as soon as one gives up and leaves another takes their place in the line.  No one sees the family of white nosed prairie dogs watching quietly from behind the steel shipping container parked at the edge of the gas station’s lot.

Friday, March 28, PM 

 Dear Diary,

        Thanks to an overly talkative hiker, my rodent minions have overheard news of a groundbreaking experiment into climate change being conducted at a local military installation. These little ones indeed have their uses, but I need the others if my plans are to succeed. That is a problem.  

  I have spent the better part of two days wrestling these useless humans’ silly grey matter. They are not yet ready to serve as minions. It doesn’t matter, my plans must move forward.

The one called Kit is at least skilled with electronics. Maria’s obsession with avocados, however, is maddening. Her people eat fish as well don’t they? I must find a way to modify her behavior. That greasy, green fruit has almost no vitamin D! Perhaps my army of prairie dogs will be more useful in this regard. 

          Matt refuses to submit.  Ever since he burst into this dark, dank tin can on wheels that Kit calls his lair, he has been nothing but trouble.  Fortunately, a small squad of prairie dog soldiers and a clumsy skillet swing from the dufus surfer subdued him.  If I can’t break him, he will have to be eliminated.

          Night time approaches. I can afford to relax my control while they sleep to conserve resources. There will be much to do in the morning. As my clueless thrall would say, “It will be EXCELLENT!” HAHAHA!

Saturday, March 29, Pre-dawn

           Kit wakes up with an insane amount of pressure on his bladder. “Wow, when doc told me my prostate was gonna be a problem, I didn’t expect it this soon. Brah, I’m still a young healthy dude.”

          He carefully extracts himself from the gently snoring body next to him.  On the way to the bathroom, he thinks quietly out loud,  “What a wack dream, though. Bit by a prairie dog, Luna shows up again, then…old Matt breaks into my camper and attacks me!”

          He can’t help but chuckle, “Thank God that crazy army of prairie dogs showed up to distract him until I could find a weapon. So BOGUS!”

          A few off-tune bars of Teen Spirit  dribble out of his mouth as he urinates…stops…a bit more…wait…wait…done. He zips up and checks himself out in the mirror, “Righteous as always, my dude!”  The thick layer of sunscreen on his nose doesn’t even register consciously anymore. –Freaky, right?–

 

          “Man, first I have to pee like a racehorse, then I get wicked thirsty! What a pain!” Opening the tiny RV fridge casts a dim glow on the sofa against the curved front wall of the camper.  Lying in a forced fetal position on the couch, Matt Sargent is staring a death beam into Kit and straining to loosen the cords tying his hands and feet together. Fortunately for Kit, he can’t talk because of the Sublime concert t-shirt stuffed in his mouth.

          “BRRRRAAAAHHH! I thought you were a dream!”  Kit is attempting to get three brain cells to shake hands on this revelation.  Matt struggles more, grunting something almost intelligible and kicking the side wall of the trailer. 

          “Bro, I can’t understand you. Sounds like you are saying ‘We will rock you!” Kit closes the fridge. “Stop kicking my wall, dude!”

          Another voice, one he has heard at work every day for the last year calls, from the not too distant bed.

“Mattyew, qué estás haciendo aquí?”

“Maria!” Kit’s eyes try to escape his skull in surprise.  Gulping rapidly, he manages to choke out, “What happened to Luna? Brah!  Who did I sleep with?”

The moment is frozen in time for a split eternity. A single sunbeam shoots over the horizon and into the cramped space with the three staring incredulously at each other. The light falls on Kit’s arm and immediately, Maria’s face goes staticky.   Luna’s features return with a smile.

From everywhere and nowhere a deep growl breaks the silence,  “REUNION’S OVER,MY MINIONS, TIME TO WORK!” –Who knew sunscreen could bellow like that?–

Saturday, March 29, PM

 

          There’s a definite unease hanging over the group gathered in the Cactus, this afternoon. In a village of 14 people, when 3 of them go missing, it’s a big deal.

        Memo Capo, postmaster and mayor-in-spirit, stands by the cash register. The other 10 people are sitting in booths. 

          Charlie White, as host, starts the meeting. “Ah, hm. Thank you all for coming, I think we are all concerned. Gas station’s been closed since lunch on Thursday. That’s also the last time anyone saw Matt. My two people, Kit and Maria disappeared the day before. Mr. Capo is our only government official, I think we should look to him for some idea of what’s going on here.”

           Charlie turns to sit down so he doesn’t see the shocked panic on Memo’s face. The public servant opens his mouth as if to protest but never gets the chance. Zeke James jumps up first. 

          “I’m still waiting on my package from Amazon! They told me it shipped last week. Where is it, Memo!” 

          The question steadies the postmaster. This he knows how to handle. “Now, Zeke. You know Amazon delivers most packages on its own trucks these days. You’ll have to take it up with them,” He sternly explains before calling on Derek Johnson. Mr. Johnson tips his perfectly rolled Stetson in thanks.

“We still haven’t received a single response to the invitations to our BBQ next weekend.” Derek looks around the room. “I know we just moved here from Houston but we really want to fit in.  Mr. Capo assures me that he delivered all the cards.” Memo nods confidently. 

          Derek tries to make eye contact with each person in the room but they look away uncomfortably. “Now, I KNOW it doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that my wife, Angie and I are the only black people in town.”

         Suddenly everyone was looking him in the eye, trying to convince them of their sincerity. Denials flew fast and furious from all sides,

          “No…no…pfft. I’d be happy to come!”

 

         “Some of my best friends in Tucson are black! I’ll be there.”

 

          “Lord, no! I didn’t even notice y’all are black. What time was it starting,   again? My dog ate the invitation.” 

 

          “People, people!” Charlie stands up again, open palmed hands in the air. “Let’s not get sidetracked! Our friends and coworkers are missing. Has nobody seen anything useful or unusual that might give us a clue?”

          Danny Jones has been quietly sitting in the corner booth hunched over the table. It’s the same posture everyone is used to seeing him take at one of the picnic tables in front of the empty storefront next to the Post Office. 

          “I seen somethin,” he says, quietly. No one pays him any attention. He straightens the V-neck of his X Files T-shirt and tries again, louder, “Said…I seen something!”

          “Yes, Danny, we’re sure you did,” Sarah Fortune pipes up for the first time. “Did the “something” rhyme with HigherBall?”

         Charlie looks meaningfully at Memo, but the man won’t meet his eyes, so he clears his throat and says, “Let’s try to keep things civil, Sarah. Everyone gets a chance to speak.”

         “Shut up, Charlie,” she retorts. “Is giving everyone a chance your answer to everything?”

         “Laugh all you want, but I seen somethin. A whole daggum town of prairie dogs, must have been near a hunnerd, all laid out side by side on the hillside, west of town.”

         Danny makes the sign of a cross over his chest, ‘I swear to God! Every one of them had a shiny white blotch on they’s nose and stretched out on they’s back, like they was sun bathing. Honest to God! Just like that. They even rolled over at the same time to tan they’s backsides.”

          There was a stunned silence for three heartbeats until Postmaster Capo cleared his throat, “Right. Anybody ELSE see anything?”

Saturday. March 29, Midnight

Dear Diary,

Keeping minions in line is so exhausting.  The prairie dogs are not a problem even though I now control nearly 200. Their small minds are so pliable, and cute! Hehehe. One of them called me Goo-daddy yesterday. I’m sure that’s what, “chee chrrr chee chee” means.  I now consider them all my adopted furry children. Thanks to them I have been able to harvest enough vitamin D to tighten my grip on the damn humans. 

            I wish all the poxes in hell on this overgrown monkey, Kit. His prostate can burn in the lower levels of Dante’s inferno as well. Instead of lying dormant for the night like a good human should, he is now waking up two to three times a night to urinate. Resources I could be using in the effort to dominate the mechanic are being frittered away maintaining the illusion on Maria and keeping him a “chill dude.” If I didn’t need his opposable thumbs and electronics knowledge to build the rocket remote rocket remote control, I would walk him out into the desert at noontime and leave him there.

Maria is still mostly useless.  Kit is out of avocados and she mainly just sits there looking at Matt with her big, sad, pitiful eyes.  Grrr, why do I bother?  I’ll tell you why…

White Sands Missile Range is too far away to send even a couple of the dogs.  If I can complete the assimilation of Matt or at least secure his cooperation through Maria,  I will be able to piggyback on the three of them to hijack the solar mirror mission.  I MUST!  With a constant supply of sunlight at my disposal, NO goal will be unachievable.  I will be king…no!…god of the Chihuahuan Desert.  Eternal day!  Eternal glory!  Eternal POWER! BWAHAHAHA! Now, time to drain a couple more prairie dogs of their excess vitamins before Kit wakes up again to pee. This is becoming a pathetically typical villain monologue anyway.

Sunday, March 30, AM-ish

           Danny Jones is on a mission. There is no other reason for him to be awake at the crack of 11 on a Sunday morning. He changes into a mostly clean pair of brown corduroy pants. A plain black shirt that reads “The Truth is down here” with an arrow pointing toward his belt completes the outfit.

          “‘Meh Meh Mehmeh, higherball’,” he mocks. “Screw you, Sarah Fortune.” He pauses for a moment to savor the mental image that creates…and then continues, “I’ll save this town by myself if I have to.” 

          A long pull on the bottle of DEFINITELY NOT FIREBALL quiets the pounding hangover in his head. He sets it down next to a dog-eared copy of I Know What I Saw. Shovel in hand and resolve strengthened he sneaks out of the vacant shop next to the Post Office and heads into the desert. 

          He passes scattered knots of tourists on the hiking trail but they all give him a wide berth. It’s pretty universally understood that an alcohol fueled wild man with a cowlick and a shovel are not to be messed with. 

          Halfway down the Old Guano Road trail, he cuts off to the right, looking for the spot where he’d seen the town of prairie dogs doing their impersonation of gas station hotdogs. Sure enough, the south facing side of the first hill was covered in furry sun worshippers. Here and there, he could see the entrances to their dens.

          He would have to be quick if he hoped to make a dent in their numbers before they could scurry away underground. 

          “Ok, Danny boy. Time to show those Mother Fuddruckers who knows what they are talking about.” His grip tightens on the shovel. The liquid courage sings through his veins. The sun blasts down. A foul wind blows through his shorts. The moment finally comes. A hundred long, wiry desert doggos roll in unison. Their vulnerable backsides are facing him now.

          “Deep breaths, Danimal Prime, deep breaths…Go!”

          He charges, brandishing the shovel over his head like a sandy, sodden  William Wallace. (Yes, I know the sodden part is superfluous. I’m trying to pad my word count here. Roll with it, please.)  As one, 100 white noses orient on him. An unspoken command launches them at Danny in an undulating carpet of teeth and tails. Shovel swinging wildly, jaw clenched, high pitched battle cry ringing out though the thin, parched air… Daniel Jones takes as many of the fuzzy missiles down as he can but, ultimately, he is but one man. 

        The hirsute hive mind is victorious, the loser’s bloodied corpse lies pickling in the heat. The broken bodies of maybe 20 tiny but valiant soldiers ring him like a grisly crop circle. The only human witness, a single man in suit and tie, stubs out a cigarette and walks away. He won’t be saying anything to anybody.

          The battlefield falls silent again, but somewhere a would-be tyrant is wailing for its fallen children.

Sunday, March 30, early afternoon

          “Luna, babe, I need you to stay focused. I can’t build the most rad rocket remote control in history if you are harshing my mellow.” Kit put down the soldering iron that he had carried with him ever since graduating from Southern Technical College-Tampa.  “What is so interesting about that bearded dinosaur, anyways? He can’t hurt you, tied up like that.” 

          “Sorry, Kit! He just looks so miserable. If he promises to behave?” Luna steps over to Matt’s side and lays a hand on his forehead. “He’s burning up! Has he had anything to eat or drink since Thursday?”

          The white patch on Kit’s nose …bristles… slightly.

          “He can have something when he agrees to join us,” Kit growls. “Why do you care?”

          Luna shrugs, “I don’t know, Mattyew has always been good to me, that’s all.”

          “Mattyew? Always been good to you?” Kit’s eyes narrow. “Babe, are you tripping? You just got here three days ago.”

          “I…you…he…” Her nose patch stays dormant but her eyes shift from side to side. “He hasn’t looked mean at me or tried to yell at me through the gag that whole time.” She strokes Kit’s shoulder soothingly as she speaks. 

Her touch works its magic, and Kit’s focus shifts back to their captive.  His head sways side to side as if scanning for danger, glaciated nose sniffs twice. “If I untie you, give you some water. You promise to behave?”

            Matt nods weakly but eagerly.

            “What if you kiss him, like you did me?” Luna suggests innocently, “then we could completely trust him.”

            “Eww, grody! I’m not gonna french his nasty mouth,” Kit grimaces. Even his soul patch looks grossed out. “You do it!” 

            That is all the encouragement she needs. Luna steps back to Matt’s side and kisses him, probably a little more tenderly than necessary. As their lips touch and Matt’s eyes widen, a tiny clot of white separates from the sunscreen on her face and crawls to his. When she pulls away, a triumphant glob of white has settled above his nostrils. 

“Hey! What was that? You enjoyed that didn’t you?” The accusation flies out of Kit’s mouth.

          The three pasty nasal strips start a subtle little dance. Luna waves Kit over to her and puts her arms around the two men’s shoulders. “It’s no big, babe!  We just one happy family now. Let’s finish that remote and then figure out how to get it on that rocket.”

Sunday, March 30, late afternoon

         “I swear, if that door chime rings one more time, I’m gonna lose it.” Charlie thinks, wringing a red and white, bone-dry cleaning cloth.  

         It’s bone-dry because he hasn’t needed to clean a single table today.  Every single tourist that walks through the swinging glass door wants green chili enchiladas with Maria’s special guac. Every single one gets up and leaves when Charlie has to tell them that there is no guac. Would they like to try a burger or a Cobb salad? No, they would not. Chime, chime, goodbye.

          “I need Kit and Maria back.” He slaps the towel against his leg. “This better not be another God-forsaken love triangle gone wrong.  Third time in four years, for crying out loud.  Last census count the town had 20 people, next one’s gonna be down to 11. It’s always my guac chef too. Maybe I should just switch to Italian food. Sheesh!”

-Ring- -Ring-

         Charlie spins around to face the door so fast that Memo takes a step back and raises his open hands. “Woah! Don’t shoot,” he says.

         Charlie relaxes and waves him inside. “It’s a wash cloth, not a gun, Memo.”

         “A guy can’t be too careful,” the postmaster quips. “You’re American and I’m named after a Mafia boss.  Stranger things have happened.”

         “Be serious, man. I am in full-on crisis mode here. I can’t run my restaurant like this.  Matt is a good guy, too.  It’s not like them to just go AWOL. I want to go check out Danny’s story and I need backup. I’m recruiting you. Give me a sec to close the store.” Charlie starts flipping chairs onto tabletops.

         Memo watches from the doorway, frowning.  “Wouldn’t it make more sense to just go down the road and check on Kit’s camper?  Maybe the three of them got to drinking and realized there’s more to life than gas stations and guacamole.”

         “The prairie dog town is closer,” Charlie says with a voice of finality. “Besides, if there is something wonky going on here, I don’t want it at my back. I’d rather eliminate demonic prairie dog infestation as a possibility before I go barging into people’s private lives.”

         For the second time, Memo throws his hands up in the air. “Ok, fine. I’ll go with you. But those tropes about mailmen ‘going postal’ are sooo 1996.  If there is shooting, you’re on your own.”

          Charlie turns off the lights and locks the door before following Memo across the highway. They swing by the back door of the old souvenir shop to see if Danny is around. There is no sign that he has been there all day. Charlie looks at Memo and raises one eyebrow. Memo rolls his eyes and continues walking to the trailhead. The sun starts to sink low and the temperatures drop.

           “As long as I’ve lived here, you would think I would remember to bring a jacket.” Charlie rubs his arms briskly together and jealously eyes the other man’s standard issue USPS uniform, complete with its long sleeve windbreaker. “It’s Sunday, do you ever take that thing off?”

          “Nope, the ladies love a man in uniform.”

          Charlie’s reply to that, which would have strained their friendship, is mercifully cut off as they come around a curve in the trail and find Miss Sarah Fortune kneeling over the carcass of a prairie dog. 

         She stood up as the two men approached, “Thank God you are here, Memo! There’s a trail of these little guys leading into the hills, but I didn’t dare follow it alone.” She waves off into the scrub with one hand and rubs her forehead with the other. After a pause, she says,  “Hello, Charlie.”

         Memo elbows Charlie in the ribs, “See? Told ya.” Charlie has to bite his tongue for the second time in 30 seconds.

“Sarah,” Charlie nods curtly and looks away. “She still walks this trail in the evenings?” A bat flutters overhead. It might be the most important thing he could possibly look at right now. Three years ago, he had quit his evening hikes, hoping to forget walking with her. He sighs internally, thinking,  “I guess we’ll always have Old Guano, won’t we?” 

          His bittersweet train of thought is interrupted by Memo’s awkward attempt at flirting, “Lucky for the lovely lady, a brave government agent and his trusty sidekick are here to escort her to the bottom of this mystery!”

          “Quit wasting time, you two. We’re losing light,” Charlie grumbles. “Sad day when the ‘sidekick’ has to lead the way.”

           The three of them walk off the trail, following the path marked by the furry, broken bodies. As they got closer to the hillside, the buzzing of flies became clearly audible . 

           “What is that smell?” Sarah puts her hand to her nose. “Smells like Mad Dog 20/20, BO, and death!”

          The trio stepped through a final screen of sage into the clear area at the base of a rocky hill.  And there it was… Danny’s body, just as it had fallen, the bloody shovel lays across his chest. Bite marks cover his neck and chest under the shredded shirt. The arrow below the inappropriate slogan now points into the desert.  They stare wordlessly, Sarah with her jaw open, the two men trying to hide their shock.

         “Why is his nose all white?” Sarah asks, desperate to fixate on anything besides the rest of the gore streaked cadaver.

         “This just got serious.” Charlie turns back toward the trail, face pale. “We need to call the sheriff.”

         “Who died and made you the boss, Charlie White?” Sarah gripes. “There is no time for that! Someone else could die before the police even get started on an investigation! Memo, back me up, here.”

          “While I absolutely agree with you in principle, Sarah, we are in over our heads here.  Proper procedures must be followed here.” He looks sick to his stomach. “Besides I would very much like a chance to change my pants before we do anything else.”

Monday, March 31, just after midnight

 Dear Diary,

           Finally, my triumph nears! The goal is in sight.

           Before I can celebrate, however, I must honor the valiant warriors that gave all. These brave souls have earned their true names. Chi Chi, Taco, Belle, Chip O’tle the Irish wolfhound, and your fearless leader, Don Pablo, you will be sorely missed.  Your surviving compatriots Moe, Qdoba, and Fuzzy will carry on the fight in your memory.

          Even though their cowardly assassin paid with his life, I wasn’t able to glean any useful information from his pitiful mind before he expired. It infuriates me that I must continue to rely on his filthy kin for the last stages of the cause.   Even worse, I am beginning to doubt the reliability of my human slaves. If the old gas jockey starts to rebel, I will not hesitate to use his affection for the avocado woman to ensure his loyalty. That could get messy, since the Luna illusion is already keeping Kit compliant.  At least, Matt and Maria worked well together to secure the final components for the transmitter and remote unit. These trailer dwelling trash sure do hoard some interesting items. Kit should be able to assemble them first thing tomorrow.

          Only the goal matters, now. I must remain vigilant and not allow our losses to distract from the vision. The missile launch is tomorrow night.  By Wednesday that beautiful, silvery mirror will be beaming glorious, eternal sunlight on my new kingdom.

All hail the master plan! Forward to victory!

Monday, March 31, just before dawn 

         The nightly siren song of an overactive bladder begins anew. Its lullaby works in reverse to pull Kit out of a dreamless sleep.

         He rolls over and puts his arms around Luna. He whispers, “Maybe it’s the 2 liters of ice tea talking, but it’s so great to have you back. I feel like I’m riding the tastiest wave, 24/7!”

           Luna whispers back, “Kit, you idiot. Gracias a Dios, you are finally awake!”

           Kit loved hearing his name on Luna’s lips, even when she called him an idiot, but this time he could tell something was off. “Babe, I must be buggin’. Did you just call me, Keet?”

           “I’m not Luna! Soy yo, Maria. Just listen. We don’t have much time. Its control is weaker at night.”

          “Who? What? Where’s Luna? Did we…you know?” His sleepy-eyed pillow talk is unraveling faster than a dollar store sweater.

         “Oye! Yo ni sé porque te hallé chulo. This is important! Just listen!” Maria hisses. “Do you remember the device you are working on?”

         “Uh, yeah, duh.  It’s some kind of gnarly remote control.” Kit says, irritated now. “I really have to go drain the lizard, can you get to the point?”

          “There’s a creature in our heads, trying to take over a missile launch at White Sands tomorrow. That’s what you are making,” she speaks slowly. She knows she has an accent. “I don’t know what it is for. I have been trying to listen to the creature’s thoughts but there is just so much giggling whenever those malditos perritos are around. We have to find a way to stop it!”

         “If I don’t get to the porcelain throne, right now, there’s something else you won’t like that I won’t be able to stop.” Kit gets up and hobbles to the small bathroom behind the sliding door in the hallway. He fights with the door for a second when the top slides faster than the bottom and jams.

         “Little late for modesty now, dude. Better just let it rip,” he mutters, unbuttons the fly of his vintage G-force pajamas, and…nothing. “Are you for REAL, right now?’ 

         Fifteen minutes, an embarrassing dance, and a whole lot of shaking later, he washes his hands and starts to return to bed. The sun is already rising and its rays filtering through the tacky flower print curtains trigger his skin cells into vitamin D production.  Before he makes it back to Maria, his mind is already fighting through a zinc oxide cloud.

         He just has time for one last thought before he succumbs. “Radio controlled missiles can’t be that different from Florida cable boxes, right?” 

         And then Maria is again hidden behind the illusion of Luna’s face. She looks disappointed. There is something not entirely inviting in her sigh as she waves him back to her side.

         “Let’s get a bit more rest, boo. I think we are going to need it.”

Monday, March 31, PM

          Prairie dog platoon alpha reaches its destination first. Carlsbad is much closer than White Sands. Even so of the 20 that left Sunset Reef that morning, only 5 arrive alive.

A pack of coyotes, a rattlesnake, and various highway crossings take their toll. 

          Platoon leader Qdoba leads the group parallel to the highway, keeping them out of sight in the drainage ditch. The path is strewn with litter blown out of passing cars.

          

          As they near the airport, Fuzzy takes point behind a mega size 7-Eleven cup. The other four fan out behind him. 

          They watch quietly as a red Jeep Wrangler pulls up. Five sets of five clawed feet tense, ready to launch into action. Three doors open, a mother and her two daughters step out and run to hug an older woman just leaving the terminal.

          Fuzzy’s paw makes a downward motion. — family, too many — 

          The Jeep pulls away and is replaced by a Honda Pilot. The troop crouches again, waiting for Fuzzy’s signal. — Uber! — Three fist pumps and they break cover.

          Tiny moves to the front as they scamper to the sidewalk. Qdoba and Fuzzy detach the bifold sign from his back. With well rehearsed agility, the five stack up, each one on the shoulders of the last. Qdoba climbs up last with the sign in her paws:  “5 stars for 5 stars!” it proclaims.

          The driver’s door flies open. A thirty something in cargo shorts and a Taylor Swift T-shirt jumps out. He tries to open the rear passenger door, straighten an unruly mop of auburn curls, and brush off Cheetos dust at the same time. He never sees the attack coming. 

          Qdoba launches herself at his face. The four claws on each paw dig bloody furrows into his plump cheeks. Teeth bite into his septum.  A pale blob of sunblock transfers from furry muzzle to freckled snout.

          Fiery pain finally triggers action. Uber ginger guy pulls a .38 special from the waistband at the small of his back. The other hand rips Qdoba from his lacerated nose and throws her at the others.

          BLAM! BLAM! BLAM-BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! (It took two shots to put Tiny down.) 

          He stands, looking down at his victims, and smiles a pained smile. In his brain, he hears,snarled, the last words his independent mind will ever hear.

          “You will pay for those senseless murders when you have outlived your usefulness!”

Monday, March 31, 11pm

          “Kit! Matt! Wake up!” Maria glances at the ridiculous hula girl alarm clock Kit keeps by the bed. “Three hours of full dark should be enough,” she thinks.

          “Brah, is it high tide already?” Kit almost falls off the bed, “gotta pee, brr rat back.”

          Maria sighs and joins Matt in the tiny ‘living room’ up front. 

          “Are you ok?” Matt asks when she sits next to him. “Is this safe? Can’t it read our thoughts?”

          “It’s weak at night. Plus, it’s controlling two groups of its soldiers right now. One of them is really far away. We should be ok.” Maria pats the back of his hand. “All of this ends tomorrow. I can hear it talking to itself sometimes. We need to do some work tonight, while it’s distracted. Can you hold up a little longer?”

          “How have you been resisting control?” Matt’s eyes scan hers, “or are you?”

          “It hasn’t asked me to do anything terrible yet, I mostly play along and it leaves me alone.” She shrugs, “you know how the muchachos always say ‘it’s impossible to know what a woman is thinking?’” 

           She taps her temple, “Works on evil Overlords too.”

          “The way you’ve been all over Kit, is that you or the blob?” Matt blurts out, regretting it immediately. 

          Maria releases his hand and sits back. “If you must know, a little of both. El es un tonto, but he’s not a bad guy.” 

          Kit slides out of the bathroom and she waves him to join them.”Buuut… I really think we have bigger things to worry about right now,” she says.

“I don’t know about you two, but I’m getting really tired of being danced around like a Barbie doll,” Kit says.  His demeanor finally showing his years.  “I never wanted to be in a freaking desert anyway, and now this! Also, while I’m venting, Maria I never wanted to be like this with you.  No offense, you’ve been a real trooper and surprisingly supportive but I want…” he hangs his head and sighs, “Let me put it this way, I never want to see another avocado as long as I live.”

Her eyes harden but again she says, “Bigger issues! Remember, bobo?”  She stands and walks to the door. “Sarah was supposed to drop something I think will help.  I hope she’s as reliable as your bladder. I’ll be right back.” The door rattles in its rusted frame when she slams it behind her.

Kit looks over at Matt, jaw open, “Dude!  What’s up with her?”

Matt’s giving a knowing, side-eye smirk. “Nothing, I’m sure.  Like she said, bigger issues…dude.”

They don’t have to wait long. The door opens…gently this time. Maria steps into the light with a plastic Whites City Gift Shop bag and a note. Her hands tremble noticeably as she reads.

 

—I could only find one can. The clerk said the storeroom looks like rats or something went crazy. All the other cans were bitten open. I hope it’s enough. Sorry, Sarah— 

 

Maria pulls out the single can, marked as 100 SPF, and shakes her head. “It will have to do,” she mutters. She looks at the two men and holds out the sunscreen. “This is going to keep one of us, but only one of us, thinking clearly tomorrow. We need to figure out who,” she announces. Turning to Kit, she asks, “Didn’t that Playstation, the one Matt and I stole, have a second controller?”

Kit nods, “Yeah, why?”

“Do you think you can make a second remote control unit just like the first one,” she asks. When he nods confidently, she modifies the question. “Before dawn?” 

He looks less confident but croaks, “If it’ll get us out of this mess, I will totally try.”

Tuesday, April 1, 8 AM

Dear Diary,

          The Day is finally here! There have been so many sacrifices. So many have given everything.  The bits and pieces of myself that have perished with each and every one of my martyred children have left me weakened but resolute!  I must NOT allow their sacrifices to have been in vain. The rocket launches just after sundown tonight, I must stockpile my reserves to be ready. When eternal dawn arrives tonight, it will have been worth it.  My fallen progeny will have bought a joyous future for their own spawn!

          The selfless victory of Qdoba and her team have secured transportation for the all important control units and their human…baggage. The woman thinks I do not know about the second remote they have built.  The sad attempt at circumventing my brilliant plan is laughable. I will let them carry out the charade. The look on their faces when they realize they have failed will be delicious.

          Moe’s team has also suffered terrible losses. I may have underestimated the distance to the missile base. That is on me.  Forgive me, little ones, in whatever cozy, earthy afterlife you end up in.  May your eternal den be lined with peace. But rest assured that your mission was a success!  Human soldiers with automatic weapons and canine henchmen were no match for your burrowing artistry!  When the control units arrive on the backs of their human…porters, they will find easy access through the section of fence you undermined. Well done! 

          All is in place. My next entry, dear diary, will be an epic of glorious victory! 

Tuesday, April 1, 10 AM

White Sands Missile Range, Mission Control

 

         A green camoed Army lieutenant salutes her commander.  “Sir, all systems show green.  Project Sunfire is go for launch.”

         “And the target zone?” Brigadier General George C. Turner returns her salute casually, looking at the mission board.

         “Collector farm panels all functioning within specs and tracking synchronized.”  She sits back down.  Report given, she breaks with official protocol. “Weird business last night, right?”

         The general waves distractedly, “Desert rats got a bee in their bonnet.  Happens. Sun spots or some such nonsense. The guards got some target practice and the K-9s ran off a bit of steam. No big deal.  Let’s just keep an extra eye open on the perimeter. Some of the human kooks are less than happy with this new tech.”

         “Yes, sir! Passing the order to the guard shacks now. Proceed with T-minus 11 hours?”

         “Affirmative. Let’s get this bird into the sky.”

Tuesday, April 1, Noon

         Bleary eyed from lack of sleep and uptight from trying to pretend that he’s been a loyal minion, Kit packs the second jerry-rigged Playstation controller into a fanny pack and clips it around his waist. It sits uncomfortably low on his hips, it’s not really designed to carry that kind of weight. I’ll just imagine it’s a can of Old Milwaukee. That’s believable, right?

        It doesn’t help that a bit of the overspray from the Hawaiian Tropic that Maria doused him with before dawn went in his left eye. “Is anyone else seeing these gnarly rainbows everywhere?” slips out before he catches himself.

         Matt looks right at him with a creepy thousand yard glare. Maria, a little behind him, lets her eyes go wide and shakes her head in warning.

         She clears her throat, “I, um, feel that our ride to the launch site is getting close.  He should be here in 10 minutes in a black Honda Pilot.”

         Kit nods knowingly a bit too eagerly, “Yes! A black Honda Pilot. I am SO ready to do this!”

         Matt looks at the two of them and just shakes his head. “I’m almost going to miss this whole comedy of errors.” 

          

          The Uber driver arrives 15 minutes late.

          Matt opens the rear door for Maria and pushes Kit toward the front door. 

          The driver grins at Kit. The auburn mop, white nose, and freshly scabbed face make him look like a demonic clown. 

          “Hurry up, get in!” He grates, “I still need to get those five stars the chipmunks promised me.” 

          Kit throws him a nervous smile as he unbuckles a Taylor Swift commemorative Barbie doll from the passenger seat. 

          “Brah, where do I put this?” 

          “Bruh, the name’s not ‘brah’, it’s Sammy,” The Uber ginger hisses. 

Kit squints. Brah? Bruh? When did vowels get so aggressive?

“Just give her to me!” Sammy snaps.  The doll disappears into the space between his pasty thighs. 

          He cranks the wheel and steps on the gas pedal. Kit has to grab the “oh, crap” handle to keep from being thrown out. 

          “Please, close the door…brah,” Sammy mocks Kit. “We’re four hours from White Sands. Tay Tay doesn’t like road dust.”

Tuesday, April 1, 2pm

          Sarah stands outside the Cactus Cafe. She has been a mess all day. “What has Maria gotten herself into? I mean, Matt would never hurt her, but Kit has always seemed a little sus.”

          She stays there, eyes closed, with her face to the sun. “She only asked for the sunscreen, but I can’t let her do this alone!”

          The bells ringing as she opens  the door make her jump a little, but she walks straight over to Charlie. “I’m going to help Maria. Are you coming or are you going to flake out…again?”

          Charlie barely takes a second to think. He turns to a short dark man with a waiter’s apron tied to his waist. “Manuel! I have to go out.” He makes exit motions with his hands. At least, he hopes that’s the idea that comes across. The Guatemalans are new, he’s not sure they’re on the same wavelength, yet.

          “Si, señor. El restaurante es safe.” Manuel gives him a double thumbs up. 

          “We need to go get Memo, as well,” Sarah insists. “Is he able to leave the post office?”

          “Probably.” —Ring Ring— Charlie follows her out. “It’s April Fools Day, that’s a postal holiday, right?” 

          As they approach the highway to cross over to the post office, a black Honda SUV careens around the corner, narrowly missing them. It passes so close that Sarah can see Maria in the rear seat, oddly calm. The Honda zooms down the road. Sarah can’t catch the license number but a bumper sticker next to it clearly reads, “I brake for rocket launches!”

          “Come on, let’s get Memo. They’re heading for the missile base!” Sarah has never been more sure of anything in her life.

Tuesday, April 1, 6pm

          The terrain around White Sands Missile Range, US Army base is forbidding to say the least. Kit had decided, in his head, to name their driver ‘Hagar-ita’. Not that it mattered much. True to his Swiftie roots, Hagar-ita saw hard times ahead and left them. Kit needs the nickname for one reason, and one reason only.

         “Damn you, Hagar-ita!” He swears as he looks around. The Roadrunner picnic area had an outhouse and a table. Nothing else, just two-story white sand dunes in all directions. 

         “No use complaining…brah,” Matt grimaces at the word. “Grab the stuff, let’s go. We’ll just have to walk the rest of the way.”

         In addition to the packs with the master rocket override and the original remote, Hagar-ita had left them with five shoeboxes.  Maria gags when she opens one. The bloody mess of a dead prairie dog had been lovingly arranged inside with prickly pear blossoms.

         “That’s messed up, dude.” Kit puts an arm around Maria’s shoulder. “Even for Hagar-ita.”

         The thanks in her eyes is quickly replaced with steel. “Matt and I are going to go bury these.”  She moves to take Kit’s arm off her shoulder.  He starts to complain until he feels her push the nearly empty can of Hawaiian Tropic into his hand. 

        “You haven’t had to pee all day, muchacho,” She says as harshly as she can fake. She points to the outhouse. “Go handle that. We’ll take care of these pobrecitos.”

         “Uhh, yeah. Good idea! Thanks, ba—, uh…dude,” Kit stutters. He hurries to the john, humming a few bars of Santeria, just for good measure. With the door closed, he quickly sprays as much of his bare skin as he can with the little that remains in the can.

         It’ll have to do. Good thing it’s almost sundown. He thinks to himself. Oooh, plus, I do need to pee. Sweet!

         Both tasks completed, the three meet up again at the edge of the sand covered parking area.  Nobody says anything. They start to walk as the sun sets to the left, over the San Andres mountains.

Tuesday, April 1, 8pm

White Sands Mission Control

 

         “T-minus 60 minutes,”  the civilian Flight Director announces. “All systems green. Skies are clear, roadblocks are set.”

         “Base security reports?” General Turner asks. 

         “All clear, sir,” a lieutenant replies. “One fence on the southern perimeter is flashing red intermittently. Should I send a Jeep to check it out?”

         The general considers the question for a second. He shakes his head.  “It’s probably nothing. Let’s not jump at tumbleweeds. Send a tech in the morning to check the sensors.”

         “Yes, sir! Proceed with launch countdown?” the lieutenant looks to the general who turns to the Flight Director.

         “Your people ready?” Turner asks.

         “We’re just waiting on your people, like always,” comes the reply.

         Turner stands a little straighter and clears his throat. “Fine. If this goes well, we all get a brighter future, people. Let’s get it done and take the good news home to our families.”

Tuesday, April 1, 8:10pm

         Dear…awww, screw it!  

         What are these minions doing??!! Stopping to urinate in a picnic area outhouse?  There’s a hundred square miles of dry, empty desert around you! Just walk!!! YOU CAN PEE, literally,  ANYWHERE! Pee on a freakin’ cactus…WHILE you are walking…We’ll both thank you!

         And burying shoeboxes??!! Matt, you are supposed to be the smart one! Ok, the training in Public Health might be fresh in your head right now but FOCUS! 

         I can’t lose control now.  We are so close.  There have been so many sacrifices. I need that sunlight!  If I have to throw all my efforts into one of you, it’s going to be you, gas jockey. Your instinctive dependability will be the bit I attach my hooks into. 

         Ha…ha-ha..heh. Grrrr.

         I swear to you three —if this goes sideways— I’M TAKING YOU ALL DOWN WITH ME! Let’s just GET OUR HEADS STRAIGHT, get to that rocket, and bring me a. brighter. future.

Tues., April 1, 8:20pm

         Three heads bob chaotically in time to the bouncing suspension of Charlie’s Ford.  The service road that runs into the heart of the gypsum sands is stable, but not built for comfort.

         “Are you sure this crazy squirrel knows where it’s taking us?”  Charlie asks through gritted teeth. “I mean, didn’t a pack of these things kill Danny?” 

         Sarah cradles an injured prairie dog against her chest. One front paw hangs limply, freshly crusted blood matting its fur. Just a few tiny flecks of white show on the black nose.

         “Come on, Charlie. You saw it crawl out of the brush when we turned off the highway.”  She looks to Memo for support. “Right?  Did it look like it had the energy to cook up a diabolical plot to kill us?”

         Memo shakes his head, “Definitely not! Little guy looks like he just wants to get back to his troop.” He points to a fork in the road, barely visible in the wash of the truck’s headlights. 

         The white of the lights scatters off every crystal of the gypsum sands until everything looks the same, bleached out. Clear paths erased. 

         Anxiety colors his voice,  “Slow down!  Which way?”

         Sarah lifts her charge a little higher to give it a better view.  Moe’s snout twitches a bit and then turns to indicate the right hand track. She lowers him back down and glares at Charlie, daring him to contradict her. “That way. That’s where we will find Maria and the others.”

         Charlie sighs and turns the wheel. “Women and chipmunks, where did my life go off rails?”

Tues., Apr. 1 8:45pm

 
       “T-minus 15 minutes.  Umbilicals detached. Green lights across the board,” the Flight Director calls out. “Keep an eye on your specs, everyone.”

         A flurry of activity and a surprised grunt comes from the military side of the room. Someone starts tapping at their keyboard frantically.

         “Sir! That wonky fence, sir?  It just went solid red.  Sensor is showing a full perimeter breach.”

         Turner leans over the soldier’s station, jaw tight as he stares at the pulsing red on the screen. “Damn it! That’s only a couple hundred yards from the bird.”

         “I don’t think we can get anyone over there before the launch, sir.” The lieutenant voice wavers, “They wouldn’t be safe even if we could.  Do we abort?”

         “Is there a problem, general?” The Flight Director raises an eyebrow.

         Turner shoots a questioning glance at the lieutenant. She shrugs and gives him a minute head shake. He stands back up and straightens his desert fatigues and replies gruffly, “No problem, director. Unless your rocket is allergic to prairie dogs and tumbleweeds?”

         The Flight Director declines engagement with that and simply announces, “T-minus 13 minutes!”

T-minus 5 minutes

         Matt…Maria…Kit…Rocket.  

         A twenty story tall spike of vapor-wreathed power attached to a frail looking gantry.

          It looks so much bigger than any of them imagined.

          A loudspeaker mounted somewhere on the gantry blares out.

“T-minus 4 minutes”

 

         Yo! Brah! This is your moment. Let’s be real, your surfer daydreams are behind you. Why do you think Luna left you?

         Kit jumps, eyes wide, looks at Maria in shock.

         What? You thought you got rid of me with that ridiculous, knock-off sunscreen? Catch this wave, brah. Make a difference for once. I will see things go your way, if you make this happen.

         “Que te pasa, Kit?” Maria is instantly at his side, her voice a mixture of sternness and concern. He doesn’t have to explain, she hears the voice in her own head.

         Nobody asked you to interfere, woman. Nadie te manda! I only brought you along as leverage. Just stay out of the way. Salté del medio!

“T-minus 3 minutes”

         Three heartbeats fly by.  Maria reaches up.  Two hands pull Kit down. Their temples touch. Eyes meet.  Liquid oxygen hisses behind her. She simply says, “You don’t… have to… listen to it.”

         For once, I agree. Matt is my chosen one anyway. You snooze, you lose, slacker. 

         “Matt?” Kit breaks Maria’s gaze and searches for the older man’s form. He finally picks out the dark blue gas station uniform silhouetted against the reflected glare of the gantry’s spotlights.

“T-minus 2 minutes”

              “It’s been distracting us while it drives him to do its dirty work!” Maria yells while dragging Kit along behind her. “We have to get him out of there!”

           A light wind picks up whipping a few flakes of grit into their faces. Kit digs his heels in. He takes off the fanny pack with the extra controller and presses it into Maria’s hands. 

          “Take this. You need to stay here, just in case.” His untucked flannel shirt bellows out around his spare frame. “I’ll try to bring him back. The voice was right, this is my moment.”

           Maria’s eyes speak volumes in a frozen instant of time. Over her shoulder, Kit sees a dusty pickup truck speeding toward them.

“T-minus 60 seconds”

           For the second time in 4 days, Kit plants a kiss on Maria’s lips. It has to be quick but as he sprints away, he calls back, “That one was all me, babe!”

           The F-150 skids to a stop. Sarah jumps out and wraps Maria in a tight embrace, pulling her back to the relative safety of the Ford’s shadow.

“T-minus 15 seconds” 

        “We’re not going to make it, you dumbass!” Matt grabs a hunk of Kit’s mullet and locks him in an anguished stare. “Why couldn’t you just keep being yourself?!”

“T-minus 10 seconds” 

           “I had that bastard using all its concentration keeping me under control. You had one job! Be yourself and stay with Maria.”

           Stunned understanding dawns.

“T-minus 5 seconds”

 
          Maria and Sarah gasp together. The rocket’s engines light in primary ignition. Dust, sand, and smoke billow out, hiding the two men from view.

“T-minus 2 seconds”

          The five observers are forced to duck behind the pickup. A phoenix tail of flame bursts out beneath the missile as it disengages from the tower and claws toward the night sky.

           Two voices cry out in dissonant harmony, one in English, one in Spanish, “NO-OO-OO-OO!”

           Then all is quiet once again.

T+8 MINUTES 

           Sarah finally coaxes Maria off the ground and helps her into the back of the pickup. She signals to Charlie and holds the stunned woman’s head to her chest as the Ford slowly makes its way back to town. Overhead, the first stage re-entry shoots a bright lance earthward. 

Monday, April 7th, does it matter what time it is? 

Dear Diary, 

  

           A new star bloomed over the White Sands last night. It’s shining a tightly focused beam of sunlight onto an array of panels in the desert. Everyone east of the San Andres mountains now has free, clean electricity. The newspapers call it the Sunfire Project.  I haven’t decided if I should name the new star Matt or Kit.

 

           Maria closes the journal and tucks the pen behind her ear. A lone prairie dog runs up and hops into her lap. She scratches its head, lost in thought. 

           “I’m thinking I need a new job title, Moe.” Her eyes flash greenish, white. “How does ‘Zerg Queen’ sound?”

THE END…


?


??

 

1: Mommy, Where Does Sentient Sunscreen Cream Come From?

 

         Dr. Chase Matthews straightens out his lab coat and clears his throat. “Darn it, why’d they have to pick a day like today for this little tour? We’re already busy enough trying to get these things ready for transport.” He peeks over at a series of large spherical tanks that are on shining silver pedestals.

         “You look good Doc, just relax. We don’t have to put on a show for much longer.” Dr. Nancy McGee helps him get the kink out of the back of his lab coat. She giggles at the fuss her boss is putting up over the corporate visit. “Besides, I can guarantee no one will be looking at you. There are younger, more attractive sights to see in here.” She gestures the tanks in the back of the room.

         Dr. Matthews faces the door to the lab when they can hear air jets going off on the other side. Members of Star Corporation’s board of directors are now getting sterilized to enter the laboratory. “Huh, only three of them. Dave said the whole board was gonna trounce through here on their high horses.” He recognizes David Buzan, CEO and owner of Star Corporation, but doesn’t recognize the two younger yahoos with him.

         “That’s the new media relations team to cover our research.” Dr. McGee says after glimpsing over at the door. “They were here a few days ago when you were off to lunch.”

         Dr. Matthews vaguely recalls her mentioning something along the lines but didn’t pay it any heed at the time. Now he’s wishing he did though so he could’ve gotten more answers out of Dave. “They’re practically kids.”

         The door to the lab finally opens and the group walks in. The two young women following Dave look around the laboratory in awe. The walls are lined with all kinds of formulas and mathematical information. And the back of the room is a glass wall leading to more labs where scientists are busy at work next to a series of large dome-like structures.

         “And this is Dr. Matthews, our miracle maker.” Dave says with the biggest smile he can.

          The two young women rush over to shake his hand.

         “It’s an honor to meet the man doing the impossible.” One of them says.

         Dr. Matthews can’t help but blush at the remark. “it’s a team effort here. We can’t change the world from one mind alone. Uh, Miss-“

         “Irene, Irene Dallas at your service. Gemma and I are looking forward to working with you.” She says.

         Dave laughs, he’s never seen his lead scientist so flustered, makes him look human for once. “The two of them are among the best scientific influencers on the internet Chase, don’t let them fool you, they can keep up.” He looks over to the seven spherical tanks. “I see we’re about ready to go?”

        Irene and Gemma look over at the spheres.

         Dr. McGee puts up her rock and roll horns. “Yeah, the biospheres are prepped for their rockin’ journey.”

         “Biospheres?” Gemma asks.

         “What kind of genetics laboratory is this?” Irene asks. She’s never seen anything like this laboratory before.

          “These are the primordial biospheres that fuel the research of Star Corporation.” Dr. Matthews says. “You two are familiar with the concept of the primordial soup? Yes?”

         Gemma is quick to reply. “You mean the conditions of young Earth that made life possible?”

        “Exactly.” Dr. Matthews walks up to the closest one. “This is the primordial soup of Earth. Inside this biosphere are the very same single celled life forms that would have been around when life began on Earth.”

         “Ok, that’s actually really cool.” Irene and Gemme rush over to get a closer look at the muddy churning water inside.

         Dr. Matthews walks over to the next one. “This biosphere is the primordial soup of Tau Ceti f. One of the planets world astronomers believe is habitable for life. We have managed to gather enough data from it and other candidates to determine what the surface conditions potentially resemble and have reverse engineered the conditions on the candidate planets to what they would be like in their respective primordial stages. We’ve done this to over twelve hundred planets, and succeeded to create confirmed life in nine non-Earth simulations.”

         Irene and Gemma stare at him blankly.

         Gemma manages to say something first. “Are, are you saying you’ve replicated the conditions that could give birth to alien life?”

          “Nine times, yes.” Dr. Matthews replies. “By creating these alien life forms, we’ve been able to study genetics, RNA, and DNA in ways we couldn’t imagine were possible before. It’s truly evolved our understanding. We’ve been able to apply several of these discoveries into the products Star Corporation sells. Injectable cures for certain types of cancer, discovered from the lifeforms made from Kepler 452b. The ability to make stem cells target specific tissues to regrow, leading to damaged nerve regeneration among other things was from Gliese 180c.”

        Irene stares in awe and then looks over at the dome structures behind the back wall and takes the sight in. There are dozens of domes.

         “Yes, those are experiments replicating new conditions.” Dr. McGee says to Irene. “Who knows what we’ll discover next.”

         Gemma shakes her head in disbelief. “I’m having a hard time wrapping y head around how Star Corporation has kept this under wraps for so long. Why the change to bring this out in the open?”

          Dave clears his throat with a few forced coughs. “The world outside is changing and politics is getting worse by the day. Even those of us who are changing the world for the better need to fight for new attention to justify what we’re doing. You’re aware of the new attempts to pry our company open. We’re going to take control of the narrative, starting right here in Cleveland Ohio. These seven biospheres will be on display at the Rock of all Roll for all battle of the bands for all to see. Dr. McGee here will be the one facilitating the display and answering questions. So you’ll be hanging out with her the rest of the week.”

        Dr. McGee nods along. “Of course. We’re going to be transporting them to the Rock Hall in a few hours.”

         Gemma peeks over at Dr. McGee “Are these replicas of the environments or are there actual alien lifeforms in these biospheres?”

         Dr. McGee puts her hand on the side of the Kepler biosphere. “They are the real deal. If you take a powerful enough microscope to them, you’ll see as such. And that will be made accessible as well. People will get to see them.”

         Irene scratches her head. “Do they count as actual aliens? They were grown here on Earth right? Doesn’t that make them Earthlings?”

         Dr. Matthews chuckles at the question. Ever since they succeeded in creating life from these experiments, that’s been a running joke type question around the lab. “They’re made from the exact conditions of those alien worlds. That’s a valid question, and one we haven’t quite put a solid answer to. In raw technicality, they can be considered both.”

        Dave’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He picks it up to glance and smiles again. “Chase, our volunteers for the sunblock are here. Shall we? I’m certain Nancy has a good handle on things here.”

        Dr. Matthews follows Dave out of the lab and they walk to a different part of the building. “You’re smiling a bit much Dave. You nervous?”

        Dave takes a deep breath and exhales forcefully. “More frustrated than anything else. Everyone keeps hounding us about why we don’t file patents, why we don’t apply for FDA approval, why don’t we do this? Why don’t we do that? Our products work, we’re saving lives on a scale no one else has done. We’re curing illnesses, cancers even. Single injections and the cancer is gone in a matter of hours, eaten away by microbes that leave nothing behind and are perfectly harmless to the human body. We perform miracles every time we release something new. People love it, politicians hate it in private. The mess is brewing into a storm we’re going to have trouble with.”

         Dr. Matthews puts his hand on Dave’s shoulder to stop him for a quick moment. “We are far enough along to where no other competitor could possibly catch up to us.”

         Dave shrugs. “I don’t doubt it. But this revelation of where we’re learning what we’re learning is a bit of a gamble. I’d be a fool to not be nervous. Guarantee you we’ll be compared to a real-life space Jurassic Park by the day’s end.”

         “We’re not creating dinosaurs.” Dr. Matthews interjects.

         Dave cuts him off. “We’re creating alien microbes, viruses, and cellular life that can do things we have no earthly idea about. At least dinosaurs can be shot at by the military.”

         They resume walking along the corridor. “I’ve said as much before, the scrutiny into our protocols over safety will assuage the general people. We’ve never had a single accident due to rigorous protocols that even NASA would envy. If the people accept we’re better than NASA in controlled science, that’s al you have to accomplish.”

        Dave cackles at the remark. “You make that sound like child’s play.”

         They arrive to a door for the product testing laboratory. “I make it sound like a reality we’ve been successful with for over twenty years my friend.”

         Inside the next room are a few lockers with special suits to enter the controlled testing environment. The actual testing room can be seen through a thick glass window where several men wearing orange pants and white undershirts are being seated onto metal benches and hooked up to several medical measuring devices and . All of them have had their hair shaved off, and none of them look pleased to be in the room. Several have tattoos of various sorts.

        The woman inside the room overseeing the operation hears Dave and Chase enter the control deck and faces them. “Ah, Dave, Chase, good timing as usual. We’re ahead of schedule.”

         Dave is quick to get into one of the suits. “I can see that. Have their medical records been verified?”

         “Yes. I also have complete DNA profiles on all of the volunteers as well as detailed skin compositions and cellular analysis of their dermis profiles.” The woman replies.

         “How long have they been here?” Dr. Matthews asks.

         “Corrections dropped them off about an hour ago.” The woman answers.

        “The hell kind of freak show testing is this?” One of the exposed men asks.

         Dave walks through the sterilizing room and waits for the process to finish. A few seconds later he walks in and approaches the man who asked the question. “I’m sure you don’t care about what Star Corp does. But regardless I want to congratulate you on being one of the first people to become resistant to the sun’s radiation.”

         “Resistant to the sun’s radiation? The fuck you mean?” The man tenses up but quickly relaxes when the guards hidden in the corners of the room are heard gripping their weapons. “Please elaborate on that. Call me curious.”

         “Very well Mr. Curious.” Dave puts his hands behind his back and looks down at the inmate. “I hope you are familiar with the concept that the sun emits radiation of all kinds. It keeps Earth warm enough to sustain life, it brings light to our planet, among other things. But sometimes, that radiation can be harmful; leading to things like sunburns, dries your skin, and in unfortunate circumstances and exposure form skin cancers. That’s common knowledge I hope.”

         “I guess. Mr. Curious replies. “I get the concept.”

         Dave leans in a little closer. “Good. Because we’re going to rub a new sunblock cream onto you. And what it will do is penetrate your skin cells and alter them to become resistant to the sun so that none of those bad things can ever happen. Imagine spending the entire day outside and never having to think about getting a sunburn again, never having to spend money on sunblock again. Your skin will stay smooth, moist, and healthy regardless of what kind of radiation you throw at it.”

         Mr. Curious smiles to reveal a few missing teeth and chuckles a little. “That’s kinda cool actually.”

         Dave nods along. “It is kinda cool right?”

         Mr. Curious leans back and stops chuckling. “Except I have questions now. Like, normal idiot type questions. How will I get a tan? You know? Look at me, I’m pale as a ghost. And the ladies, they like a man with gold skin if you know what I mean. And that’s before the discussion about how that means we won’t get those nice intimate moments of rubbing sunblock on our ladies on the beach, give that extra romance in ya know what I’m saying my man.”

       “Well that’s where the next bath of testing comes into play. We can add pigments to make this sunblock change the color of your skin, have that permanent tan that never fades. As for those intimate moments you’re implying, that’s what Star Corp’s lubricants are for.” Dave remark causes a few jeers from the rest of the inmates.

         “Next batch? Not our batch?” Mr. Curious says.

         “We don’t waste the best effects on incarcerated test dummies.” The woman in charge of the test says before snapping her fingers.

          Dave raises his hand and turns toward her. “Easy now. Their cooperation is best when it is given willingly. They are guests in this building. Which might as well be my home, hardly leave this place as it is.”

         The woman disregards Dave’s remark. “Begin the application.”

         A few scientists walk up to the inmates with tubes full of the new sunblock and begin applying them to the subjects. Pouring a line of the cream along their arms and using massage machines to lather it up and rub it into the inmate’s skin.

          “Oh man.” Mr. Curious says as he relaxes to the feeling of the smooth and soothing gelatinous cream being rubbed on his arms. “I can go without a tan. This is the life right now.”

          Dave rejoins Dr. Matthew. “How long do you think the cellular integration will take?”

         “Based on the previous tests, human application should be complete in about twenty three minutes.” Dr. Matthews replies. “Evelyn, you should’ve waited for us to get here before running any analysis.”

         The woman running the test ignores the remark for a moment but the tone it was delivered in angers her and she reacts after giving a second thought. “This is my lab Chase. Orders came to get this going, and corrections has a limited window to work with us on. You could have checked your texts and known in real time.”

         “Alright, settle down you two.” Dave cuts in. “I’m going to be in and out of here while I go back and forth between here and Astrogenetics with Irene, Gemma, and Nancy.”

         Dr. Matthew walks up to a computer console where a screen is monitoring the biometrics of the test subjects. Everything appears to be going as planned.

         Evelyn walks up to him. “Why did you worm your way into this particular test?”

         Dr. Matthew is surprised. Why would she ask such a question like that? Sure she knows why. “I didn’t worm my way into anything. I was asked to pay close attention because this is the first time we’re engineering human cells directly using alien DNA. Every product in the past has been manmade with applied learning from discoveries. We’ve never used alien cells to come into contact with human ones before. That specific difference is why they asked me to be involved on this one.”

         “The mutation process is taking effect.” A scientist calls out.

         “Mutation?” Mr. Curious blurts out in a panic and tenses up, struggling under the restraints.

         “What do you think changing the very cell structure of your skin is defined as?” Dave asks with a sinister smile, getting a huge kick out of seeing the reaction..

         “Can you find a less scary word for that? Augmentation or something like that.” Mr. Curious says back.

         Dave shrugs. “I will have a little fun at your expense. But you’re right there are better, cooler words for it. I’ll see you in about ten minutes.”

         “One of my son’s new songs is called Mutation.” Evelyn comments.

         “He’s the guitarist in one of the bands in Rock them all Roll for all right?” Dave asks from the entrance.

         “Yeah, the Green Ghost Sharks band.” Evelyn replies.

 

###

 

        Dave returns to the Astrogenetics lab, where Nancy is blasting ACDC’s Highway to Hell from a boombox over a petri dish while Gemma and Irene are filming from their phones. He can’t help but headbang a little to the music while walking over. “Hell yeah, this is what I like to see and hear.”

         Dr. McGee laughs a little. “They’re filming the reaction to music that experiment 214 has.”

         Dave gives her a puzzled glance. “214? Chase never mentioned anything about reactions to music, or any kind of sound.”

         Dr. McGee gestures the petri dish. “Have a look yourself.”

         Dave walks up to the table and stares down at the petri dish as a beige looking goo pulses to every beat. “Huh, is it just sensitive to sound waves or what’s going on here?”

         “We thought it was an energy reaction to the sound waves, but we quickly disproved that theory since it only really happens when we played music that uses a Gibson six string. We can switch it up to The Who, does the same thing. Change it to Nirvana or the Rolling Stones, and it stops because of the fender guitars. It pisses Chase off because he can’t tell them apart and it’s the only confirmed correlation we have to this phenomena. The 214 lifeforms are Gibson fans.”

         Dave chuckles. “Don’t show that to my wife then, she’s a Van Halen fangirl.”

         “Is it just me or is it growing?” Irene asks.

          Dr. McGee turns the volume down. “A fun tangible discovery of lifeform 214 is its natural elasticity. A single cell can be stretched out several millimeters without damaging it. That’s something we can attribute to its atomic base, which is silicon. The chemical and atomic makeup of lifeform 214 is much more simplified than life here on Earth, but as time goes by, we are discovering more and more about it. Of the successful attempts to replicate primordial lifeforms from other worlds, this one is the enigma outlier of the group. The rest of the lifeforms have carbon bases at the atomical structure, this one being silicon based really throws us a curveball in terms of what’s possible and what may exist on alien worlds right now.”

         Dave puts the petri dish under a microscope. “Why would Chase not mention this? We just applied its DNA base to test subjects literally a few minutes ago.”

         Dr. McGee shrugs. “The cell structure reacting to the music is the druse crystal, which has nothing to do with the nucleolus DNA used in the new suncream product. We’ve verified that with full certainty as part of the concept trials.”

         Dave gives her a confused look. “Druse crystal? 214 is animal life is it not? Druse crystals are a plant structure.”

         Dr. McGee puts her hands on her hips and cocks her head. “The structure in question resembles a druse crystal, and functions in a similar manner. We still believe that 214 classifies as animal cellular life. It’s an alien Dave, it’s allowed to have properties we don’t know about yet. Heck we’re still learning new things from Earth’s primordial life that we never thought was possible.”

         Gemma takes a selfie in the lab. “The things being accomplished here truly break the barriers of space and time.”

         Irene points at the petri dish. “It’s definitely growing now.”

         Dave sees it too and looks to Dr. McGee for an answer. “Nancy, what is this?”

         Dr. McGee checks her watch, a stopwatch is counting down to less than a minute. “It’s been exposed to helium for too long. Out atmosphere is full of it, and while it doesn’t hurt us, it will suffocate lifeform 214. It’s expanding looking for breathable atmosphere for its purposes. All of those cells will be dead in a few more moments.”

         Gemma is taken aback. “Wait, so we were torturing it with the music?”

         Dr. McGee shakes her head. “We have plenty more of lifeform 214 in its biosphere. And it reacts the same way to the sound of Gibson guitars within its own habitat. This colony was extracted for a series of tests earlier. But when we do extract samples for tests, we cannot return them because while in our atmosphere they may become contaminated with germs, bacteria, or other cellular particles that are not found within the pure biosphere, despite our best protocols to control otherwise, it’s simply not possible to return them to an environment where they’ll survive long term.”

         Dave nods along. “Ah right, I do remember Chase explaining this many months ago. First time I got to see it though.” The goo in the petri dish stops growing and starts to lose color.

         Nancy picks up the petri dish and carries it over to a small cabinet along the wall, and fills out a few quick forms. “As of now, we are finished with all outstanding objectives before the public debut of the biosphere samples.”

         That’s music to Dave’s ears. “Right then, I should inform you that Chase will return quicker than expected. The testing laboratory is moving ahead of schedule.”

         “I’m surprised you got him in the same room with Evelyn and left them unsupervised. That can’t be wise.” Dr. McGee replies.

         Dave forces out a laugh. “Joke all you want, but this new suncream will open new doors to what’s possible in pharmaceuticals. We picked a simple cosmetic to start with, but when we get to work on actual wonder drugs using these new techniques, oh the possibilities are endless.”

         “Question.” Irene raises her hand. “The primordial soup species of Earth is the oldest thing possible here. Does that make us a de-extinction company on top of everything else?”

         Dr. McGee cuts in. “We’re not going to do dinosaurs if that’s what you’re about to ask. Not in our lifetime anyways. We won’t even see these single cell organisms in the biosphere evolve into multiple cell simple creatures. Creation can happen in the blink of an eye, but evolution is a more patient employee who is unstoppable, but still takes its long, sweet time.”

         Dave clears his throat to continue the answer. “And actually, lifeform 214 is technically the oldest primordial species in the room, the planet from which the life is derived from is Kapteyn B, which is about 11.5 billion years old. And based on replicated conditions, we think the microbial life formed less than half a billion years after the planet itself finished forming.”

         Dr. McGee finishes the paperwork and secures the cabinet. “The conditions are reminiscent of what people associate with hell. The biosphere for lifeform 214 is very red, very energetic, very hot, lots of magma. You wouldn’t know that looking at the brown churning soup for it in the bowl over there.” She gestures the sphere on the tube in the array of lifeforms for public display at the Rock of all, Roll for all event.

2: Why Not? Alien Genetics Are Totally Safe For Human Application!

 

         Later that afternoon at the Cuyahoga County Corrections Center, the bus bringing the inmates back from Star Corp arrives to offload. They form a line, follow directions back inside for inspections. The group is processed without incident, and they’re allowed to return to their cells.

         Along the way, the one called curious rubs his arms when the freezing cold air makes his arms feel like he’s stuck them into the coldest freezer on Earth. The other inmates from the group do the same, wrapping their arms and holding them close to the chest. Curious looks at his arms expecting them to turn blue, but they look fine. “Why is it so damn cold in here?”

         “Man this shit needs to be reported.” One of the others says.

         “The hell was in that cream shit?” Another blurts out.

          Curious gets to his cell and jumps on the bed, wrapping the sheets around his arms for the warmth. He hears a few of the others from the group getting angry. “Hey! Don’t make a ruckus that we’ll get pinned for! Don’t need our shit tossed around right now!”

         The guy across the hall from him laughs. “Told ya they’d fuck your body up Paulie.”

        “Man shut up. Why you assholes let them make it freeze in here?” Paulie retorts.

        “Fuck you. It’s hot and humid as ass in here.” The man says back.

        “No, it’s definitely freezing as fuck right now.” Another member from the test group walks by to reach his cell.

        “Piss off Roy!” The man shouts.

        “Earl, not today man.” Paulie says. “Already had enough of today being made a lab rat.”

        “What did they do to you anyways?” Earl can’t help but ask.

        “They put some sort of new sunscreen thing on our skin. Rubbed it in. made us sun proof, or radiation proof or whatever the hell it was.” Paulie takes deep breaths, and the air he’s breathing actually feels hot and soupy. “The hell, why are we freezing?”

       Earl chuckles. “Good luck getting the CO’s to take any of your asses to medical, not that they’d know what to do with whatever was done to you.” An alarm sounds off, warning that inmates need to return to their cells before the doors shut. “Damnit assholes!”

         “What the fuck people?” Paulie shouts, and soon the whole hall is cursing at each other. A few moments later, the doors close and automatically lock. A group of correction officers rush into the hallway.

 

###

 

         Five college kids are tuning their set of instruments in a wide-open garage. Everyone is wearing neon green body paint, and there are some foam shark heads laying on the ground. All the instruments have green LED’s to give them a glowing ghostly look to them. Leon is the Guitarist, Sally is the singer, Harley is on the keyboard, Duke is the bassist, and Jenny is their drummer. The band logo for Green Ghost Sharks is all over the garage and on the equipment.

        “And in just a few hours we’re going to get to the opening ceremony of the biggest battle of the bands ever to happen in the Rock capital of the World.” A radio blurts out when the commercials end.

        “Oh hey, turn that up!” The Jenny points a drumstick at it. “I can’t believe what they’re doing.”

        Duke turns the volume up. “Yo Leon, you sure that we can compete still? Your mom works for Star right?”

        “Yeah, we’re all set. A few of her coworkers also have family in this thing.” Leon replies.

        The radio host talks over his guest. “Yeah that’s right, it’s also a different kind of battle. Normally you try to out rock your opponents, but this time Star Corp is sponsoring and they’ve said that if any band scores an 8 or higher with the crowd reaction, that band straight up walks away with twenty-five thousand dollars. All they gotta do is rock the crowd and walk away with seed money to grow their band brand. If all three hundred plus bands can pull it off, they’ll probably make Star Corp rethink this idea.”

        Sally is blown away. “Hold up, so we only need to play one set to win twenty-five K?”

         The others laugh a little. “Babe, that’s why we entered.” Leon says. “It’s a gig with a shot at helping us get out of this garage and rock the whole wide world. You and me and these three sharkbites, we’re gonna go jaws on the world!”

        Harley replicates the tense music from the Jaws movie on the keyboard. “Speaking of, do we wanna do Ghost Jaws on the set?”

         Duke shakes his head no. “No way, we got a long ways to getting that right. Unless we nail that inverted arpeggiation.”

         Sally is quick to agree. It’s a fun song but the chords and licks written for it are too complicated for Leon and Duke to keep up with. “It’s the whacked out experimental syncopation y’all fuck up, can we replace it with something else? Because I wanna sing about killing Brody on behalf of every great White Shark out there! Our brethren must be avenged!”

        Jenny shrugs a little bit. “I keep telling them to just riff crap off that might work and that’d easily make it our best song.”

         A van rolls up to the driveway and parks. Evelyn gets out and waves at everyone. “You kids went all out.”

          Leon raises his guitar with one hand and starts headbanging. “We are the Green Ghost Sharks! And we’re gonna slay the living! Behold my fin!”

          Evelyn unlocks the back of the van. “Got everything moved out of the back, so there’s space for everything. Go ahead and load up, I’ll change out and we’ll head out to the hall alright?”

          “Thanks mom!” Leon runs up to give her a hug. “You’re the coolest.”

          Harley is surprised when everyone starts packing their gear up. “We got time to practice, we need to give it another shot you know.”

         Duke laughs. “And miss out on the VIP tour we were promised? No way.”

         Leon adds in. “Mom said we get to check out the Star Corp alien display before they unveil it. Real aliens, by the way. They are alive, they are not from Earth, and their genetics are why Star is curing cancer, eradicating flu strains, and doing other miracle work.”

         Harley waves her hand in the air whimsically. “Oh yay, tubes with little green men corpses propped up in some sort of stupid scifi cryosleep or formaldehyde bullshit.”

         “Actually biospheres of single cell life that are alive and moving.” Evelyn replies. “It’s more exciting, and more boring at the same time. Less scifi more reality.”

         Duke picks up his bookbag full of textbooks. “I’m going to laugh if this rewrites the biology textbook mid semester. Professor gonna be like, everything you just learned, well it’s useless now. So you have half a semester to learn how it really is.”

         Evelyn smiles as the kids laugh away and get their stuff ready. She heads into the house to change when her phone goes off. She glances at it, sees it’s from the generic Star Corp office number and disregards it.

 

###

 

         Paulie’s skin isn’t freezing anymore, but it feels like it’s gone numb all over his body. It’s the most uncomfortable sensation he’s ever felt. He kinda wishes he was back in his cell, freezing his ass off instead of being in this darkened room secured to a bench. And looking at the other inmates from the group in the room with him, everyone’s experiencing the same thing.

         The warden enters and glances the group over. “Jesus.” He mutters in disgust and walks up to the closest inmate and grabs his arm. It feels like grabbing putty. “We’re getting ahold of Star Corp and we’ll be sending you back so they can fix their mess.”

         One the of the inmates in the back starts coughing, most of the other inmates look away when he starts throwing up.

         The warden stares at the gooey substance the inmate threw up. It’s not blood, nor is it bile or anything that looks like it came from a human stomach.

         Two correction officers rush to his side to get him unbound, when the inmate screams at the top of his lungs. He tries standing up and strains his body against the restraints. His screams sound louder with each passing second until it’s deafening to everyone in the room. The pain in his voice is bloodcurdling and anyone looking at him is standing still in terror.

         The warden comes to his senses enough to grab his radio. “Get me a direct line to that lab. And get every damn doctor in the city here now.”

         The inmate tugs against the restraints hard enough to rip his hands off at the wrists. He flings his blood all around the room, and jams his exposed bones into the necks of the two officers next to him. They try to get back from him but his skin appears to be merging with theirs where his impaled them.

         “Don’t shoot!” One of the officers shouts when the others raise their weapons at him.

         “Let them go!” The warden shouts.

         The inmate calms down. His eyes turn blood red and his body fully relaxes.

         The two officers stop grabbing at their necks and relax in the same way.

         “What the hell is happening!?” One of the inmates asks.

         Paulie looks over to the nearest CO. “Bro, let us out! This place ain’t safe!”

         “Evacuate out!” The Warden shouts. “Leave the inmates showing symptoms of strange skin!”

         Paulie looks down at his arms, they don’t look right, like they’re made of putty or something. “We’re not dead! We need help!”

         “You’ll get it when the lab sends it.” The warden shouts back as the other Co’s leave the room.

         “What about him?” Paulie points to the inmate quickly turning into a monster. “You can’t just leave us with them!”

         “We’ll figure it out.” The Warden shouts over the commotion from the other inmates.

         Several of the other inmates start coughing the same way the first one did.

         The Warden slams the door shut when the last officer gets out. “What the hell kind of test did they do to these people? Call everyone, the state house, the military, national guard. We’ve got a situation on our hands.”

 

###

 

         Dave smiles at the alien lifeform display with pride. The folks who work at the Rock hall are constantly peeking over in awe. “Damn this is amazing.” He says to himself. He disregards his phone when it buzzes.

         Dr. McGee runs up to him with her phone out. “Dave, we’ve got a problem. The test subjects are showing serious problems, and I can’t get ahold of Evelyn.”

         Dave snatches the phone out of her hand. “It’s Dave, talk to me.”

         “It’s Chase. The corrections center with your volunteers are screaming about people mutating into monsters.” And looking at the camera feed they’re sharing with us, we’ve got a serious cause for concern. They’re calling everyone, even the military. We need you here, now, and we need Evelyn to get her fucking ass back now!” Dr. Matthews’s says as calmly as he can.

            Dave grabs his forehead with his free hand and tries to rub the instant headache away. “Evelyn’s kids are in the battle of the bands here, she’s probably on her way here, I’ll grab her when she arrives and get us to you asap. Can we get the test volunteers back to the lab?”

            “Not without assessing them at the Corrections facility. And even then, I’m not sure what the hell I’m looking at on this end.”

         “Fuck.” Dave hangs up and hands Nancy her phone back and grabs his to call Evelyn himself. “How is this possible? What did we miss?”

         Dr. McGee shakes her head. “I, don’t know. It shouldn’t be possible.” She opens the photos app on her phone to show Dave a screenshot Chase sent her of the corrections facility cam feed. All of the inmates inside appear to be disfigured, the quality of the image isn’t great but even so, they don’t appear to be human anymore.

         “That’s not possible.” Dave takes a closer look at it. Part of him wants to believe it’s a joke, but Chase doesn’t do jokes; and over the phone, Chase sounded absolutely terrified.

 

###

 

         Evelyn’s phone rings in the cupholder of the van. She glances down at it and see’s Dave’s picture. She answers it and sends it to her earphones. “How’s the setup going?”

         “Setup’s fine, but it’s about to blow up in our face. Are you closer to here or the lab?” Dave replies. Dave says.

         “I’m two blocks away from the rock hall. Why?” The tone of Dave’s voice is giving her goosebumps.

         Leon glances over. “Mom, you ok?”

         “I need you to meet me in the garage, we have to get to Cuyahoga County Corrections Center asap, there’s a problem.” Dave says in a tone devoid of all emotion.

         “Leon, I need you to take the wheel and drop me off at the front of the hall. Something’s up at work.” Evelyn hands him the key fab to the car and the light turns green, she speeds the rest of the way to the rock hall’s entrance.

         “Stay on the line, I’m adding Chase to the call.” Dave says.

 

3: Rock Anthem To Save The World

 

         Back at Cuyahoga County Corrections Center, Two correctional officers are knocking on the door to the room where all of the inmates are sitting on benches. The warden looks through the window and can’t believe his eyes. The two officers the mutating inmate attacked are freed and everyone inside the room looks normal. “What the fuck?”

         “Do we let them out?” The officer that alerted the Warden to the change inside the room asks.

         “Hell no, Harding, keep that door locked until we know what the hell happened in there.” He replies.

         Harding nods in acknowledgement. “Yes sir.”

         “Sir, we are two officers in a room with twenty inmates, we cannot be left in here!” One of the officers inside the room shouts through the door.

         The Warden looks over at inmate Gurney. His hands are back to normal, it’s like they were never torn off to begin with, and they’re secured in the cuffs. Gurney himself is like the others, quietly watching the door like any other pissed off inmate in a quarantine room would be. He walks away without saying a word back. He walks to the end of the secured hallway and approaches a captain. “Tate, no one else leaves this hallway. No one leaves that room. How many guys do you need in here?”

         Captain Tate glances at the eight other CO’s in the hallway. “I’ll take whatever you can spare.”

         Harding reaches for his sidearm and aims at the door’s window. “Get back from the door!”

         The warden spins around to see every other CO reaching for lethal force and joining Harding across from it. “Don’t tighten up! What’s going on.”

         Inside the room, all of the cuffs are passing through the inmate’s wrists and ankles, dropping onto the ground. They stand up and walk up to the front of the room and join hands, their skin melts together and merges. Their skin wriggles and writhes as their bodies join together. Forming a glob looking biomass of gooey people coming together.

         The two CO’s in the room draw their weapons and shoot the door lock.

         Harding and the CO’s in the hallway shoot through the glass, striking the infected CO’s as many times as they can before turning their fire on the room’s larger window, aiming for the monster forming inside.

         The Warden raises his radio up. “I need all units to D Wing Level 2-” Before he can finish talking, the gooey monster shoots an arm-like structure through the broken window, impaling Harding and the other officers nearby in the neck.

         “It’s Clayface! We are fighting a literal clayface!” The Captain shouts into the radio. “I wish batman was real right now!”

         The two CO’s from inside the room kick the door out and walk into the hallway, they point fingers at the captain and warden, impaling and infecting them before they can react. Behind them the blob of inmates reforms into the original people and they all line up like they’re being escorted by the CO’s, who are currently writhing on the floor. When the CO’s appear to relax, they all take their places. Even the Warden and Captain appear to act normal like nothing’s happened.

         “Return them to their cells.” The Warden says, making sure his voice is heard by the CO’s on the other side of the hallway door. He tries to open it but it’s sealed. Everyone looks over to the camera at the top of the hallway. The Warden holds a radio up. “Dodgeson, I need you to let us out. Unlock the door.”

         Dodgeson and two other CO’s sitting in a control room with multiple screens are staring at the big screen showing the hallway of Wing D level 2 with wide eyes. Dodgeson shakes his head no. “No way in hell. Absolutely no way. Doc, are you still watching the feed?”

         “I am.” Dr. Matthew’s replies. “I can’t explain what I’m seeing. But I’m seeing it.”

         “What did you guys do to these inmates?” Dodgeson asks.

         “We gave them a new sunscreen cream that’s meant to make them never get sunburns ever again.” Dr. Matthews replies. “Sure there’s some genetics involved, but this is impossible.”

         The Warden walks closer to the camera and stares into it.

         Dodgeson and the others look away from the screen out of fear. “Oh god, what’s he doing? Please tell me he can’t do the TV thing from the ring!”

         “Nothing can do that in reality. I assure you.” Dr. Matthews says, but the remark isn’t too reassuring.

         The Warden smiles with a gentle demeanor. “We will simply wait for the military to arrive then.”

         Dodgeson gulps. “Go get Captain Tills.”

         “They kicked that one door down with ease, how much abuse can the one at the end of that hallway take?” Dr. Matthews asks.

         “It’s not mutant proof if that’s what you’re asking.” Dodgeson replies.

 

###

 

         Half an hour later, Dave and Evelyn run into the lab where Dr. Matthews is watching the jail feed from.

         “Thank you for heeding my advice to not go to the jail.” Dr. Matthews is quick to say.

          “What the hell is going on?” Evelyn asks.

          Dr. Matthews shakes his head. “I’ve pulled some samples and given them some of my skin and blood to see their reaction, but nothing’s happened. I’ve sent for samples of the cream we applied earlier to try and find answers.”

         “We did live animal tests with that exact formula. What little I’ve seen hasn’t happened here.” Evelyn stares at the feed from the jail. “Can we get better quality on this feed? I can’t see shit.”

         “The camera is 720p, it’s all we got to go with.” Dr. Matthews replies. “Dave, you should know the military just got there, and they’re sending people here.”

         “What do they know?” Dave asks.

         “Only that we performed a human test for an unknown cosmetic on volunteers from the county jail looking to get some service hours in.” Dr. Matthews replies.

         Dave whips his phone out. “Get me direct contact with whoever is running their operation, I want to make sure our cooperation is seamless with them. Whatever is going on defies logic.”

         Evelyn watches a bunch of people in military gear walk up to the hallway door from the other side. “That’s a lot of soldiers.”

 

###

 

         Colonel Ludvick approaches the hallway door and looks at the Warden through the window. “Warden Chambers.” He immediately notices all of the inmates their hands on their heads and look orderly and obedient, but there’s no cuffs or other restraints. Everyone inside appears calm. Too calm.

         “Colonel Ludvick, always an unfortunate pleasure.” The Warden tips his hat.

         “Likewise.”

         “We should’ve called the fire department instead. No reason for you to be out here. We just need this door opened. It’s sealed shut and controls in the control room seem to be unresponsive.” The Warden says.

         Colonel Ludvick keeps his demeanor unchanged despite the shockingly weak attempt from the warden to bullshit his way out of there. “I’m taking control of the facility for now. I understand the men in there have been exposed to some novel infection. We’ll see what we can do to get you into proper quarantine.” Colonel Ludvick then turns to his men. “Keep the door sealed until we know more.” He says to his soldiers and heads to the jail’s control room.

         “You wish to know more?” The warden shouts.

         The Colonel glances over his shoulder and finds the warden’s face appears to be melting. “My god.”

         The Warden slams his body onto the door, but it holds. He does it again, and again, each time causing nothing more than loud bangs.

         The soldiers are pointing their weapons at the door and waiting for it to burst open.

          “They breach that door, you throw everything you got at whatever comes through it.” Colonel Ludvick orders.

 

###

 

         Dave and the doctors watch in horror as the inmates and corrections officers form a single large mass of human goo. “Jesus, what factors are possible outside of what we’ve considered?” Dave demands.

         “Biomass? Maybe the rats weren’t big enough to trigger this? That would alter how much solution was applied, which could be a factor?” Evelyn throws out there.

         “Do you have any idea how insane that sounds?” Dr. Matthews replies. “We have entire vats of this stuff in testing, why wouldn’t we get an observable reaction earlier?”

         “Cause no one fell into one of those vats or otherwise got covered in it.” Evelyn replies.

         “We did tests on human skin and saw nothing.”

         “Inches of skin in petri dishes, yes.” Dave says. “Can’t rule that out. Sweat glands? Does human sweat do anything to mess with this stuff?”

         Dr. Matthews gets to his feet and puts a hand on Dave’s shoulder. “Stop. Dave, you need to stop. The science has to work fast, I get that. But winging out scifi garbage to hunt for in hopes that the whimsical guess can explain it is not going to work or help here.”

         “Do you not see that!? What is happening to those people?” Dave points to the screen.

         Evelyn gasps and puts her hands over her mouth as she watches in absolute horror.

         Dave and Chase look at the screen and see the soldiers impaled by the hands of various inmates and corrections officers.

         Dave trembles. “What do we do here? What do we do if that thing gets out to the public?”

         “That jail won’t hold them for long.” Dr. Matthews watches the soldiers writhing on the ground, and for a moment their bodies deform into puddles before reforming back into the people they were before. He glances at his phone when it beeps. “About time. I’ll go deal with the military.”

###

 

         Every door to the corrections center swing open and everyone inside emerges into the city of Cleveland. Military soldiers, corrections officers, and inmates alike walk side by side with emotionless expressions and relaxed demeanors.

         Several bystanders pull their phones out to film the spectacle of everyone leaving the building. The closest person to them shouts. “What’s going on?”

         “Why are you letting them out? What’s happening?” Another one shouts.

         The infected people look up to the bright shining sun and their skin starts to hiss, steam rises from all of them and their skin starts to blister with different shades of yellow and brown blisters that grow until they burst like high pressure zits or boils. Sludgy bloody puss drips out of the bursting skin and the people. Some of them start melting altogether.

         Several onlookers scream and run away in a panic, others who are filming with their phones keep filming but are backing away in a hurry.

         The infected people start merging into a large gooey blob and rolls toward the closest onlookers. Anyone left nearby finally starts to run away, dropping their phones and screaming in terror.

 

###

 

         “Folks, this is Dylan Dukowski coming to you live from Cleveland Rocks on your local who the hell cares frequency because we are all going to fucking die! That’s right people, the city is under attack! Strange gooey people monsters are running around stabbing anyone left in the downtown coastal areas. I’m not even going to read the headline my bosses want me to read because it’s bullshit. You’ve seen the posts all over social media, I’m watching it happen outside the studio’s windows in the streets down below, and oh the humanity! I guess it’s worth mentioning that the time is five forty six pm, and I’m going to do what any reasonable radio host in my position will do. I’m going to let y’all jam out to my end of the world playlist which features plenty of songs that are not usually playable on the radio, partly because they’re profane and definitely banned! Kidding but not really. Let’s start our demise to the first thing that comes my mind.” The radio blurts out in the rock hall before playing R.E.M.’s The end of the world as we know it.

         Leon watches the windows as people are running in terror and screaming their heads off. Smoke is rising between some buildings several blocks away.

         “Dude, there’s no way in hell I’m going out to this junk.” Duke says.

         Sally grips Leon’s hand tight. “Where are all the police? Or why isn’t the military coming here?”

         Everyone needs to evacuate to safety!” Someone behind them shouts.

         “Where the fuck is supposed to be safe?” Duke shouts back.

         Leon watches the crowd of people inside the museum rushing for the exit. “We need to find Harley and Jenny and get the heck out of here.”

         Some of the gooey people they’ve seen on social media are starting to run by.

         “Gyah! Holy shit!” Duke backs away from the window and runs deeper into the museum.

         “Wait up!” Leon chases after him! “Duke, not that way!”

         “Exit’s gonna be fucked! We need to find somewhere to hide!” Duke shouts back.

          Some of the infected monsters bash their way through the windows, they merge together and start flinging bloody puss all over the place as the crowd runs away.

          Leon ducks under a blob of puss and watches it splash on a woman that was behind him. She screams as her skin absorbs the puss and she drops to the ground writhing. “Oh shit!”

         Two security guards nearby open fire with their handguns, but it does nothing to stop or deter the monster. Instead it makes them the next targets as the blob of gooey flesh rolls towards them until it’s close enough to stab them with skin made blades.

         Duke runs up the stairs ahead of a bunch of people trying to escape the monsters, several of which are right behind them. He runs by the Led Zeppelin exhibit and glances at it. “Oh, that’s an intrusive thought.” He walks up to the display and looks at John Paul Jones’ bass guitar. “Fuck it, I’m gonna die living my best life.”

         One of the monsters throws people in all directions from the middle of the room.

         Duke panics when someone lands on the display glass and shatters it from the force of being thrown. “No! My baby!” He shrieks, but when the person’s body rolls away, he sees the guitar is unscathed. “You and I are gonna rock the end of the world!” He grabs the guitar and looks for somewhere to hide.

         Dylan’s voice crackles over the radio still playing in the museum. “Alright folks, I hope REM got ya pumped for the apocalypse, we’ll warm things up a bit with a simple classic. Because I’ve never really been satisfied with my life, and let’s be honest, you never were with yours either. Unless you’re rich and famous and retired young, in which case, you deserve to die ugly deaths.”

         The monsters seem to stop moving when the guitar riff for The Rolling Stones ‘I Can’t Get No Satisfaction’ follows.

         “What the hell?” Duke asks when he sees the monsters just standing still.

         The people writhing on the ground seem to come around.

          Duke holds up the guitar and joins in with the riff. The monsters turn away from him, cringing in pain. He looks down at the guitar in his hands with his jaw dropped. After a second he looks back up to the monsters with a smile. “What’s the matter? Don’t you wanna rock!?”

         He walks closer to the monsters in the middle of the room while strumming to the riff.

         Dylan’s voice interrupts the song. “Uh, folks, I might be out of my mind, but the putty monster people things really don’t like the Rolling Stones. No idea why, but if you can, turn the volume up and I’ll keep it coming!”

 

###

 

         Dr. Matthews looks down at his phone and sees Dave’s name. “I’m at my wits end with this.” He says to the phone while it’s on speaker.

         “Chase, Guitar wavelengths. The reaction you kept hidden from me earlier, try that on the cream. There are videos coming on social media showing specific rock songs causing the infected people to go docile. Play some Dire Straits for it.”

          Evelyn shakes her head. “That’s not gonna do anything. Dire Straits used a Fender guitar, the reactions we saw use Gibsons.”

          Dr. Matthews shrugs. “I’ve got a fresh sample of the sunscreen cream in a dish now. Can’t hurt.”

         Evelyn pulls up the pandora app on her phone and pulls up the Sultans of Swing, turns the volume up and sets the phone near the petri dish.

         Dr. Matthews can’t believe his eyes. As the guitar riff gets going, the cream appears to have a reaction where the cells appear to be shriveling. “Who in the hell figured this out? The cells are experiencing histotripsy. They’re vibrating to the music, creating microbubbles in the structure that unfortunately reach a burst or collapsing point rather quickly.”

         Evelyn cuts in. “The chemical structure of the cream’s base is meant to stymie the elastic properties of the lifeform. It just altered what specific sounds trigger its erratic reactions?”

         Dr. Matthews grabs his phone and shouts into it with more excitement than he’s ever had. “But without its natural elasticity, it’s stretching however it can, creating an unintentionally lethal to situation for itself.”

         Dave snaps his fingers and blurts out something in joy then picks the phone back up. “But it’s still something we can point to being a Fender guitar right?”

         Dr. Matthews returns his attention to the microscope. “Plut some Eric Clapton on.”

         Evelyn plays ‘I Shot the Sheriff’ from the 461 Ocean Boulevard album.

         It happens a little slower, but the same reaction follows. “Do you have any idea how many years of research it’s going to take to figure out why this is actually happening?”

         “But it’s working right?” Dave asks.

         “Yeah. Tell everyone to get them Stratocasters and telecasters out on the airwaves.

 

###

 

         A trio of guys in their thirties are skateboarding down 9^th street with boomboxes on their shoulders blasting Led Zeppelin on maxed out volume. They steer closer to gooey people monsters and aim their boxes at them until the monsters drop to the ground, appearing lifeless. They skate past two rappers in lowriders that are literally rocking from the array of 32” subwoofers in the trunks, banging some Iron Maiden in place of their usual R&B thumping. The skaters raise some rock horns and headbang along.

         They even pass an elderly woman in nothing more than her bathrobe with a wild look in her eye walking the sidewalk with her kitchen radio in one hand playing Red Hot Chili Peppers, and a pink slipper tipped rolling pin in the other. They watch as she gets close to one of the monsters trying to back away from her.

          A line of police SUV’s whizz by the skaters with all the lights flashing while blaring Van Halen on their loudspeakers in place of the sirens. A truck drives by with two of the bands coming from the Rock Hall, the drummer in the bed of the truck doing his thing while the guitarist and bassist are on the roof of the truck with one foot on their amps rocking away. The cop in the passenger seats raise his horns out the windows when they pass each other.

          Several gooey people monsters break through the glass windows of a nearby highrise and splats on the ground below. A group of people with speakers are cheering where they came from. The skaters head straight for where they landed to finish the job. 

         “Man the world is ending for the better.” One of the skaters says. “Fuck yeah.”

 

###

 

         A man wearing an expensive suit leans back in his large genuine leather chair and gently tosses a manilla folder with a movie script in it onto his desk. He glances up at the ceiling and puts his hands together. “You can stop there kiddo. I’ve heard enough.”

         The young man gulps. “Oh uh ok.” He picks up the chair he knocked over during the pitch. This is his first big chance to see his work turn into a movie, and it has his blood pumping, and he’s so full of energy he can hardly contain it.

         The exec waits for him to pick the chair back up and have a seat.

         Eddy does his best to recompose. “Sorry, I’m just excited about what this movie could do to bring people together, common themes of humanity and hating big corporations in a flashy scifi story. It’ll be a blockbuster for sure.”

         “It’s a neat idea and all Eddy, but do you realize the kind of budget that would go into something like that? The CGI costs alone for that melty skin idea is silly, and a Mars Attacks style finale? Really? And you want us to chase down the rights to use all of those rock songs in this thing?” The movie executive gestures the script for Star Cream. He was giving this guy far more leeway because the kid’s his wife’s nephew who wrote a few good books and wanted a shot at writing a Hollywood movie. The elevator pitch was solid, but he this has to be a meeting that’s killed more time than he’s ever allowed to happen.

         Eddy can tell he blew his shot. “I let my anxiety take over.”

         “You were doing voice over of actual dialogue and telling plot points in detail, you can’t do that in this kind of situation kiddo. Learn to summarize, get good at your synopsis. You nailed the elevator pitch for this thing and got this far on fair terms. But I’m not the one who cares about the tiny details. I care about the selling points. I care about the broad direction and marketability. It’s a tough business. I’m trashing this, but if you improve your ability to pitch, we’ll see what you can hit me with in a few years. Alright?”

         Eddy watches his script for Star Cream get picked up and dropped into the cheapest looking wire basket trash can possible. “I wish selling was as easy as the writing was.”

         The exec laughs. “Don’t I know it. Look, no worries and no shame in it kiddo, maybe next time.”

         Eddy leaves the office, holding back tears in his eyes. Outside the office he hears the receptionist playing Queen’s We Will Rock You. He looks away when he notices he’s caught looking by the receptionist.

         “Didn’t go well did it.” She says.

         “I think Star Cream ended in disaster.” Eddy replies.

         “It was a cool story bro.” She says to him with a smile to try and cheer him up a little. “I’d have watched it.”

         “Would you read it if I fledged it out into a full book?” Eddy gets his hopes up that all of the work he did on this project isn’t dead yet.

         The receptionist shrugs. “Not really, working for Dave is a full-time gig and then some. Don’t get much time to read. I audiobook it all day though.”

         Eddy nods, the conversation is doing little to lift his spirits up. “I think that counts as reading.”

         “In that case-“ She raises up her rock horns.