by Travis Borne
Rob had always been transparent with her. So, she knew Lion had been a top lender, Jim’s partner, but had gotten the chair and his memory was supposedly wiped. And Joey, being enlisted in security, was allowed into the facility, although not told specific details—just that he’d better keep a zipped lip, or else. Lending, she thought, but not similar in process, so Boron had said—just the idea of it had her spooked; a good thing not everyone realized the ship was actually a kidnapper, but by the look on their faces, she knew they now felt it. Besides, Joey had spilled quite a few beans back there. But it was something else, too, something inside her mind that was different now; she could feel it like fingernails digging into her temples.
The sensation of floating ceased. Solid ground jostled the ship. The ramp door opened. Light flooded in.
7. Extarion
Again, the same beings stood, but many, many more, and they formed parallel lines as if to herd human sheep from the ship into an arched doorway. Much outside was made of white stone and metal. A good 100 feet beyond the ship a door opened at the end of the channeling lines. Silver metal slid into the stone. Then, several spoke. The voices were synchronized perfectly. “Welcome all. Please follow the path to my briefing room.”
Kim had her hands tightly clasped together, her lips pressed into her white knuckles. But she knew—she had to be strong. Being someone who everyone knew, second in charge on the town panel, she decided to take the lead once again. Her mind assembled two sentences, getting one or the other ready to launch: “Everyone please form a line and listen to Boron, everything is going to be fine. Follow the path,” and two: “We’re not going anywhere until we get some answers!”
The choices rolled around the inside of her skull like oppositely charged magnetic marbles, and new, colorful thoughts and emotions were streams of chromatic snakes twisting into knots. It was in her brain. Her very mind made her feel dizzy. Her ears rang. Dice getting ready to hit the craps table, marbles on a roulette wheel; the imagery came in flashes. Slowly, nervously—she was scared and drops of cold sweat beaded up on her nose. I must be strong, she thought. They’re all looking to me, and now more than ever.
Big Jake stood dutifully at Kim’s left. He nodded, lowering his brow as if to portray boldness and influence. Tall Crisp on her right, lowered his gaze to meet her eyes; he pressed his lips, making his stache flare up like a flag of war. There was a mutual feeling floating between them all, and the dice landed, and one marble smashed the other—bits went flying; the squirming snakes of Kim’s brain locked becoming Medusa-glimpsing, gray statues, and they began to glow like hot orange filaments. She took a deep breath and said loudly, “We’re not moving an inch until you tell us what’s going on.” Mutually, all wanted to know: What in the fucking world was going on?
One droplet of sweat fell from her nose.
Every one of the seaweed-green, teal-sparkling beings lining the landing area turned a head directly to face only her. Black pits for eyes glared at hers and the worm-under-the-skin eyebrows bulged and angled. The nine closest rotated their bodies to face the large group huddled inside the ship; the heads, like an owl’s, remained fixed. And those nine swiftly marched up the ramp.
Kim arched her back and stood erect. Another bead of sweat detached from her nose. Standing front and center, with every human supporting her decision, she crossed her arms. Jake and Rick stood firm at her sides. Bag-eyed Lion stepped up. Joey, burning with hubris, squeezed forward like a boasting gnome, next to the delivery truck that was Jake; his thin face couldn’t contain his prideful smile and it looked like another grin could’ve popped out the side of his neck. All the others stood with Kim, too. Humans stood tall—some with shit stains on their pants—shoulders back, ready. Unified. Some imitated Kim’s take-that, arms-crossed stance. And Kim resolidified and emboldened her own composure. She felt powerful and resolute, and mighty.
The beings halted before the abducted wall of tenacious humans.
Macy, one of the youngest teens, a friend of Amy’s from her graduating class, jerked her head side to side quickly, blinking, poking between Joey and Jake to see. Like others, she’d done that several times during the ride. Some had been rubbing their arms and legs, double blinking, or rubbing their temples. She wasn’t hiding the fact that she felt strange and it had been a hot topic of discussion during the long, and stinky, ride. Some mentioned that they turned to see a pulse while running toward the ship, and if the level of chaos and urgency hadn’t been so elevated they surely would’ve stopped entering to witness more: the broadcast needle had been rising higher into the sky than they’d ever seen and a purple glow emanated from its tip, creating a static discharge. Many said they almost wanted to halt right there, let it flow into them. Others said it was, as if something had zapped their heads and minds while they were running. Macy described it artfully as, massaging her brain. Some recalled it was the most beautiful light they’d ever seen, and had perceived the emitted energy on a level that went beyond just visual perception; that they could feel it tickling their minds and flowing through their veins, warming their bones, unleashing new thoughts and elating their curiosity. The talk was flowery during the twelve-hour ride. After-feelings were like orgasms and all agreed: they possessed a different way of thinking, a boosted imagination—some felt like they were dreaming awake. Piqued and jolted curiosity abound; many concurred that colors seemed more vivid, life itself was less black and white and their minds had instantly been inundated with good feelings, elation, and euphoria; a few of the women described it as an ecstatic orgasm—some more literally than others. It had, at first, made the long ride pleasurable.
The consensus was just that, at first. It was grand. When they’d seen the light coming from the tip it flooded each and every with good vibes. They ran with motivation toward the ship and everything contributed to the wonderful feeling of finally being saved. But later, after they’d taken off, and were jolted back and forth for several hours—some tossed about taking minor injuries, many into gobs of shit and piss that’d bounced out from the corners—most accepted, they knew they’d gained a newfound sense of intuition none could exactly put a finger on. And the feeling was no longer a cake with sweet icing: rot had set in, the cake had been doused with gasoline and set ablaze, a gnarled cramped fist in their gut, and the happy-sweet cake slid down their throats as a foul clump of corrosive residue. They were in the shadow of that goodness now, falling ever deeper away from the sweetness and into the bowels of something malodorous, abominable, evil. Feelings of dread took over. Yes, the broadcast needle had emitted a wonderful source of positive energy, but the ship on the other hand, their savior, had become anything but.
Little Macy was the same size as Amy, twig-skinny. She squeezed herself further between Joey and Lion. Curiosity overwhelmed her like it was doing to Joey. She just had to sneak a peek from the front lines. Joey turned to see her, smiled, and scooched so his friend could slip in.
The green beings noticed the sudden movement in unison—a young, cute one. Nine heads turned. One of the nine moved forward as if a ghost had punched him in the back. He grabbed her and pulled her out and away. A struggle ensued but the seaweeds moved forward and made a wall. Jake and a few others grabbed Macy by the feet but she slipped from their grip like an earthworm from the mud of a culvert.
Jake, while a good deal shorter than the seven-foot-tall weeds, was at least five times as thick. He resolved to intervene; his footfalls were hard, resolute and purposeful clanks on the metal ramp; he was a short giant. Plummeting into full panic mode, Macy started screaming as they took her away. Jake went to the last of the nine as they gingerly strolled away with the young girl, and he put a hand on its shoulder. The ninth being stopped, but did not turn to face him.
Kim crossed her arms as if she had made a well-reinforced chess move and pronounced, “With a man like that facing you—at the very least you will tell us what’s up. Your move, Boron.” She said Boron like bore-on, dragging out both syllables.
“Let her go, now,” Jake commanded in his deep voice. “Sir, we just want to know what is going on, and only then, will we step out. Who are you people?”
“I am Boron,” he said. And each of the eight that continued walking away with Macy repeated, “I am Boron.” Then all of the hundreds of others repeated in unison, “I am Boron.”
“What?” Kim gasped.
Jake retracted his head and his brow fell like the first turd into the first corner. And every human took a ghost up the spine. After a good second Jake’s mouth let words fall out: “You are all Boron?”
Several others joined the gang of eight that had the now violently squirming girl. And the Boron that Jake was trying to manhandle changed shape. The face formed on the back of the head. The ass lump bulged on the other side, the balloon chest bulged, the eye and mouth depressions sunk deep, and every joint reversed. Arms bent to face Jake and Boron’s newly deepened eye sockets widened. Jake used his force and squeezed, slightly—because he’d just been shocked! The squeeze also reinforced the question—from the humans’ perspective: Who are you people? And Boron placed one of his own hands on the mighty furniture-truck’s opposite boulder shoulder. Boron squeezed.
Jake wrenched in pain but re-tightened his own grip, unleashing his full power. Jake released a hint of a smile, albeit a slightly nervous one. His muscles clenched tight enough to crush a numbskull, and he pushed downward onto Boron.
Nothing.
Jake’s mammoth-sized muscles went hot, and drops of sweat descended his satin-smooth, pitch-purple face. Boron did nothing, no flinch or budge, only looked down on the black bull of a profusely sweating man who was becoming colorful; Jake went purple, then burgundy. Jake balled a fist, powered it up, and fired—right into Boron’s thin waist.
He released Boron’s shoulder. The pain in his fist keeled him over. He broke at least one joint, likely every damn one! Boron, still with a hand on his shoulder, squeezed. And it brought the furniture truck down. Boron squeezed harder. And 300 pounds of muscle took a knee. Jake’s shoulder made a grinding pop. Boron squeezed even harder.
“Arrrhhh!”
Aghast, Kim ate her white knuckles. “I’m sorry, please, leave him alone!” Her voice was the wail of a cat being squished in a compactor. “I made the wrong choice. We’ll come out peacefully.” She knew, the dice—it was a bad roll.
“It is too late, Kim the botanist. You made this choice—and you will live with it.” His words were ice water seeping into her gray noodles, leaking from brain into spine. Only that one Boron spoke—the one still squeezing the once, boulder of a shoulder. He glared at her with unemotional hollow dents for eyes while pushing Jake down, down, down, with what seemed to be—an extending arm! And Jake’s shoulder let out a crack followed by smaller grinding noises like that of charcoal being crushed by a steamroller; the rock was breaking. His shoulder was being ground to bits within his flesh.
“Please!” Kim yelled it at the top of her lungs. Her eyes gaped seeing Boron’s fingers move in weird ways to work Jake’s shoulder like a stress ball.
Then, seaweed number nine let go. Jake fell. He arched and wriggled in pain; his eyes bulged and went into his forehead. The torturous feeling was not going to abate anytime soon, all knew. What Boron had so easily done was terrifying. Crisp and another man named Hugh selflessly rushed out to help. With eyes locked onto the Boron that had done it, they touched him in an attempt to help. Jake’s eyes fell into his face and a roar exploded like Bertha taking Abell’s best. Many others inside the ship did the same, cries and gasps abound as the dismaying agony went from eyes to ears, and through brand-spanking-new brains. Jake’s wail was a roller coaster at the peak of the drop, all others were follow-ups down the line, screeching on rusty rails, rails that led to hell.
The Boron closest them held still, observing with a meandering head as if time had halted in phlegmatic digestion. The shocked bunch of 140 people could do nothing but watch as Macy was carried away against her will. A circle was made and one Boron punched the back of the young girl’s head. The blow sent her into the center, alone, dizzy. Another stepped forward and pushed a foot into her stomach—and he pressed until she went red. She came to, somewhat. As if drunken, she punched at his legs but could accomplish nothing and soon fell limp.
Passed out.
Rick became enraged, Lion too, as well others, but several Boron made a line surrounding their exit—and they knew now, none could compete with such an omnipotent power.
Every Boron currently surrounding Macy turned a head to face the humans within the ship. Five walked inward toward Macy who lay breathing but defeated on the floor, the foot of another still atop her chest. Without altering the position of their five heads, still facing the ship, they grabbed her, again with seemingly extending arms and fingers.
The one Boron that stood facing the group, center of the fence, said, “It never fails. Not once has this been avoidable.” And every Boron spoke the subsequent words: “This one will be spared. And, if any of you fail to listen to orders from this point forward, I promise your fate will be infinitely worse.”
A sigh of relief mixed with newfound obedience fluttered throughout. But the several Boron gripping Macy’s legs, arms, and head, began to pull; alertly she popped to life and let out a high-pitched scream.
“Wait, wait! You said—”
And they pulled, as if the mass of seaweed-green beings were before the edge of an expanding balloon. All and every Boron kept a dent of an eye focused on the humans inside the ship, as they slowly pulled, and pulled. Slowly. Slowly, like the minute hand on a clock. Macy’s screaming escalated. Then, eventually, pop. The screaming hiccupped, followed by a sharp increase in pitch.
“Please, you said—”
“I said she would be spared. And I am sparing this one. Death—completely and cleanly.”
Another pop—crack; the screaming turned to heavy, gritty breathing with spasms of high and low pitch. Huffing, in and out, faster, faster. Like an exorcist administering every blast of holy water, every cross, every trick, and every chant, she huffed in response, gritting, grinding her teeth, breaking them off—a tiny, young girl’s muscles went red hot like a bodybuilder squatting 500.
The final tearing sounds were something…indescribable.
Silence.
Breaths fell out of lungs.
The five, and the one that had a foot on a torso, shuffled to form a line, carrying the now separate parts. Within the circle of many surrounding Boron, pieces rose: on the ends, two raised dismembered human arms, next in, lifted legs, then a torso, held high, blood and bowels raining. Each had a piece of a young girl who was once—Macy: Amy’s friend, Joey’s friend, a beautiful young woman loved by many, with a blossoming life. Blood pooled staining the whitish-beige marble-like ground. Innards were webs, and Macy’s final expression was a white petrified rock; the central being held her leaking head straight forward.
People broke down, fell to their knees, most passed out. Vomit shot from empty stomachs like 12-gauges firing buckshot. And Kim, as if seeing black, floated down the ramp as if she’d just beer-bonged a gallon of raw eggs, malt liquor, and sleeping pills. She fell face first onto the floor—out cold.
8. Single File
Single file, the humans followed a channel between parallel lines consisting of hundreds of Boron. Seaweeds no longer…Gods, evil fucking ones.
Minds were enigmatic knots that’d been pulled tight. What had happened rocked foundations. It was the purple energy they’d witnessed in Jewel City, too: emotions, imaginations, and the ability to perceive the world around them was a positive-feedback loop gone viral. Panic attacks. Heavy unstable wheezing by many, others with push-suck, in-out breathing that made chests pump as fast as racing hearts, and it led to a mass state of lobotomization. Eyes went dull. Heads fell forward. Legs shuffled like those of a prisoner who’d worked on the railroad in the hot sun, one that’d been beaten, finally into submission. What had once felt intensely l
iberating, now felt constricting. The ability to perceive intuitively on a deeper level left each in a state of anguish unlike even, the tragedy with Amy back in Jewel City; now, feeling itself ran deeper into their bones, to new dimensions within their unlocked, opened minds.
But it was as if, having had achieved a relaxing buzz: the precipice of sunshine and happiness on a warm spring day with flowers and golden retrievers and bright green grass, and hot dogs, and friends with whom face stuffing would be fantastic; relief, salvation, liberation, finally after all those years, rescued at last—then this. The fabric of reality, the very rug of sanity and any sense of being grounded, was snatched away. Tripped, never to stand up in the same world again. Macy’s death was a macabre, leg-wobbling tragedy: blood and guts, torn muscles, ligaments and skin—but mostly, it was the expression on her lifeless face as the central Boron had raised her decapitated head with arms that seemed to extend, shoving the expression down each and every human throat. It stifled any remnants of the once blissful euphoria, and hope.
The view nudged a few chins upward. 142-minus-one humans trudged single file and the new distraction handed minds a scintilla of respite from thoughts sinking into hell. The sky, if it was one, was the skin of Uranus: peeled, electrified, then used as wallpaper. And it was high enough to emulate actually being outside, and as bright as a cloudy day. Purplish pink and turquoise filtered down lending the city a cool hue, but the temperature was anything but; it was warm, bordering on hot, and drier than expected.
Kim looked around while shuffling forward at turtle speed.
Swirls of purple energy danced about the two horizons sandwiched between seemingly endless cliffsides. Deeper rich purple dissolved into red emanating from a tubular, silver-ringed base; it appeared to be approximately a half a mile away on both the left and right extremes—north and south perhaps, Kim’s mind guessed, her thoughts trying to wander from the hell in which they found themselves drowning.