ERO

by F. P. Dorchak

You’d have thought he’d handed national security secrets over to the Russians, or something.

  Oh, wait, they already asked that.

  The lifestyle poly he’d taken up in North Dakota had been embarrassing enough (including that little piss-test and Captain Marchuk who had to actually watch his dick as he pissed into that bottle), but he knew that was coming and had nothing to hide. But this was a total and utter blindside after he’d thought he’d seen something he wasn’t supposed to have seen. Dammit, he knew better!

  What the hell had he been thinking?

  In a civilian court of law, you were innocent until proven guilty, but, apparently, there was no such thing in the military.

  And that highlighted another issue—he no longer worked for the Air Force?

  He now worked for some agency of which he’d never heard? An agency whose name he couldn’t utter, not even its initials?

  Wearing the Air Force uniform, of which he was proud and had labored long and hard to get where he was, yet doing the work of another agency.

  Sounded like “spy” to him.

  A space spy.

  Cherko took a left onto Highway 94, heading home. Continuing to pounding the steering wheel, he couldn’t shake the images from tonight and unleashed an unrestrained torrent of expletives that would surely cast him into something resembling a Purgatory.

  But he had seen something, goddammit.

  He wasn’t sure what it was, but it had been swift and small, and it had scurried across that display like a bolt out of the blue.

  Cherko took a right onto Curtis Road.

  Frick! Wrong turn!

  Cherko slowed down.

  What the hell, Curtis would get him home, too.

  He pushed back down on the accelerator.

  Whatever it was he saw or thought he saw, it must have been something important enough to elicit the attention it had. So it must have been some super-secret government project... but it could also very well have been nothing he saw, but something else.

  All he saw was what he saw.

  It could have been a cursor that had moved quickly across the display, a deorbiting or transfer-orbit satellite, even a meteoroid. Could have been anything—heck, even a UFO.

  But whatever it was, he’d sure felt as if he’d had his head handed to him on a silver platter...

  * * *

  Lake Clear, New York

  11 July 1974

  Thirteen-year-old Jimmy Cherko took the hard-plastic action figures with him up into the barn, back behind the house. It was a late overcast summer day. Rain threatened. The barn was large, painted red with white trim, and had been built in the 1880s. It leaned slightly to one side, but remained solid enough. Jimmy hurried up the creaking stairs into the dark loft.

  There was but one window, up high on the opposite side of the loft, and a haying doorway opposite, by where he presently stood. The overcast sky darkened the interior of the loft into a creepy, hazy, twilight. Dust particles danced in the wide beam of what sunlight streamed in onto the planked floor before him. His steps across the uneven and loose floor planks also creaked as he made his way to the end of the loft under that window.

  There he sat cross-legged, setting up the Gold and Silver Knight action figures.

  A little taller than his G.I. Joes, they were medieval knights one of his brothers and he had gotten for Christmas a couple years ago. They came with knightly steeds, and all their accompanying armor, swords, shields, lances, et cetera. He’d had the Gold Knight, while his next youngest brother, Carl, had had the silver one. As with most toys, the knights had faded away into the dis-use pile, and while digging around in that pile, Jimmy had found them and had decided to play with them... and try something he just couldn’t seem to get out of his head. An urge he’d decided to act out, once and for all.

  Jimmy set both knights up in their armor, giving both lances and shields, which he’d previously hidden up here with their horses earlier in the day, and set them about to jousting. Of course, being partial to Gold Knight, the Silver Knight constantly lost. He was just no match for the Might of Gold.

  After being roundly defeated by Gold Knight not once, but several times, the two took the fighting to the ground, and by sword. Only twice had Gold Knight been bested, but this last time Gold Knight swept his feet under Silver Knight, dropping him to the medieval barn floorboards. Silver Knight’s sword fell from his Quick-Draw action grip. Gold Knight quickly got to his feet, grabbed his sword, and prepared to again face off against his opponent. Silver Knight also got back to his feet, and Gold Knight allowed him the honor of retrieving his dropped weapon.

  Honor in combat as well as in peace. That was Gold Knight’s way.

  The same, unfortunately, couldn’t be said of Silver Knight.

  The battle continued, Silver Knight’s attacks matched blow-for-blow by Gold Knight. The dual went on long into the darkening afternoon. Finally, Gold Knight had had enough. It was time to finish off this cat-and-mouse game.

  Silver Knight charged, sword arm upraised. Gold Knight feigned fatigue—but at the last moment, pivoted and swung his sword up and around over his head just in time to slash at the upraised arm.

  Jimmy quickly snatched up the double-bit ax he’d also secreted away earlier and with a loud thump! lopped off Silver Knight’s sword arm.

  He then shot to his feet.

  Backed away.

  Looked to what he’d done to his brother’s toy.

  The ax momentarily stood upright, stuck into the barn’s floorboard planking before it tipped over and clunked onto the floor. On one side of the blade lay one Silver Knight minus three-quarters of its right arm, and on the other side lay the severed arm and sword.

  He stared at it.

  There was something disturbing about this.

  Without touching either, he looked closer at the severing, and saw how there were rings inside the solid plastic of the action figure’s arm stump. Just like tree rings.

  He settled down onto his knees continuing to examine what he’d done.

  No turning back now.

  Silver Knight was done for.

  Jimmy then shot back to his feet and down the loft’s stairs. In the lower section of the barn he rummaged about farm equipment and cans and tool benches. Finding what he wanted, he hightailed it back upstairs. Before heading back to the scene of battle, he went off to his right, to the loft opening, and undid the eyehook latch. Carefully, he peered outside.

  Listened for steps up the loft’s stairs.

  The coast remained clear.

  Closing and latching the loft door, he returned to battle, but it was like returning to the scene of a crime.

  Jimmy stood above the two downed knights like a circling condor, and set down the paint can and brush. Mesmerized, he looked to the severed arm. He pried open the paint can with the flathead screwdriver from his pocketknife, and grabbed the brush. He painted the severed arm and Silver Knight’s stump red, and also added a dash of red down Silver Knight’s torso. He set down the brush across the top of the open can.

  Jimmy now picked up Gold Knight and brought him to Silver Knight. Gloating over his handy work, Gold Knight watched as Silver Knight moaned in pain; twitched on the ground. Gold Knight was ready to finish him off when Silver Knight—in a surprising act of courage and daring—reached for his sword with his remaining hand and attacked Gold Knight!

  Gold Knight was barely able to avoid the killing arc, but it was enough to give Silver Knight a chance to get to his feet. Staggering, Silver Knight feebly charged.

  He put up a valiant effort, Silver Knight did, but, in the end, he was simply no match for Gold, as his blood loss accumulated down the side of his body (which Jimmy painted). The scene reminded Jimmy of an old black-and-white LIFE photograph he’d seen in the Saranac Lake Free Library, of a World War II soldier heading toward the reader, his entire left side absolutely drenched in blood.

  Gold Knight slashed at Silver Knight’s other arm.

  O
ff it, too, was lopped, the hard plastic rattling beside the already severed right arm.

  Jimmy painted that, too.

  Jimmy didn’t know what happened next, but before he knew it, he’d hacked off Silver Knight’s legs. And not just totally, but into pieces.

  It was amazingly easier to do the rest of the job once the first amputation had been committed. He just couldn’t stop himself.

  He’d started by hacking off only the lower portions of the plastic legs, the calves, and gradually took off succeedingly higher portions of the legs until there was nothing left to amputate. He’d long since stopped painting his handiwork, now lost in the grisly moment with the double-bit ax. He then took off the rest of the arms he’d left behind, hacking the severed pieces in a frenzy of maniacal fascination. Here he’d started with a perfect, full, toy, but had now summarily hacked it to pieces with one of his dad’s axes. The carnage lay scattered about at his feet, and into some of the stacked planking against the wall before him.

  Then, in his frenzied haze and without thinking, he’d brought the blade down on the neck of Gold Knight.

  Jimmy recoiled, the ax raised above him. Tossing the ax into a pile of planking in the shadows behind him, he backed away.

  What had he done?

  He’d finished off his own champion!

  Jimmy fell to his knees before Gold Knight, unable to pull his eyes away. Gold Knight’s body lay there, decapitated, the head popped off against stacked boards and slaughtered Silver Knight debris.

  Why had he—what had caused him to mutilate his and his brother’s toys?

  Was this something he’d done before?

  No.

  Was he an evil kid?

  No.

  Had he enjoyed doing this?

  Yes.

  Did he want to do it again?

  Yes.

  Did he want to do it to birds?

  No.

  Squirrels?

  No.

  People?

  Heck,

  (a simple yes or)

  no!

  Then, why on Earth had he done this? What had caused him to—

  He didn’t know.

  He only knew that it had been an urge he’d felt for some time. Had felt it when looking to his sister, Penny’s, Barbie dolls, though he hadn’t done it. It hadn’t been there from the beginning, when Carl and he had opened their beautifully wrapped Christmas presents two years ago, and marveled at how cool they were.

  Hadn’t been there when they’d had so much fun playing with them the past couple years. Hadn’t been there when they actually highly prized them as toys...

  But somewhere along the way, the urge had risen... softly at first, quietly... only to have grown to the point where he felt he could no longer put it off, and had to see, had to actually put that powerful urge into action and see what it would do... what it would look like, how toys would look... when mutilated and hacked to pieces.

  Decapitated.

  Now he knew.

  He picked up a body part and examined it. Part of Silver Knight’s upper thigh.

  Picked up Gold Knight’s head.

  Both had those plastic “tree rings” inside them. He set them down and got to his feet. Slowly he picked up the ax; hefted it loosely in his grip. He towered above the two mutilated action figures at his feet. His mind was blank, his heart, blank, his soul... blank.

  No whys nor wherefores, he’d simply done what he’d done. Before he realized it, he’d again swung the ax above him and made frenzied, short work of Gold Knight, as well....

  Chapter Six

  1

  Curtis Road, East of Colorado Springs

  12 December 1985

  2013 Hours Mountain Time

  Fucking bastards!

  He had seen something.

  So, what had been the big hairy deal, anyway? He’d already had the program accesses, why the grilling? Heck, he was even in the process of being trained in this shit, for crying out loud! Whatever he’d seen, it hadn’t been all that much and would learn about shortly. Why not simply debrief him and be done with it? Move on. But no....

  Cherko’s car slowed. He gunned the engine, but it only sputtered. Cherko pulled over onto the shoulder and glanced to the fuel gauge.

  Empty!

  Bone dry. The indicator was pegged all the way to the left, beyond “E.”

  “Shit!”

  The car knocked a few times before completely shutting down.

  “Goddamn it!”

  How the hell had he forgotten to fill the tank?

  Furious, he looked behind him.

  Nothing but darkness. Out in the middle of fricking nowhere.

  “Now, what the hell am I supposed to do?”

  Cherko looked to the clock. Quarter after ten p.m. He exited his vehicle.

  And he had that van to catch that would pick him up in less than two hours.

  “Wonderful. Juuust wonderful....”

  Walking into the center of the lane, he stood there, hands on hips, burning a hole of pure rage out into the darkness.

  He was probably about fifteen miles from his apartment. He just had to start walking, is all. Eventually he’d hit Highway 24, where he could bum a ride.

  A light appeared down the road.

  A car. From the direction of Falcon.

  Cherko walked back over to the shoulder.

  Could be a sheriff or deputy highway patrol cruiser, or maybe even someone from the site.

  The twin headlights soon made their way to him, and slowed down. Cherko listened to the sound of rubber crunching roadside debris as the vehicle rolled up alongside. The passenger-side window rolled down.

  “What seems to be the matter, Lieutenant?”

  It was that sergeant from his interrogation. Fucking A.

  Cherko cleared his throat. “Car trouble.”

  The sergeant held his gaze.

  “Having a rough time of it tonight.”

  Cherko briefly looked back to his car.

  “Get in.”

  Cherko nodded and went back to his car, retrieving his bag. He turned on his hazards and locked his vehicle, then went to the sergeant’s car. As they left the shoulder, he looked into the rear view and watched his car recede away into the darkness.

  And felt an odd, incomprehensible sense of longing....

  2

  Cherko lay in bed, the bedroom’s blinds closed.

  God, he had a headache.

  He shot up to an elbow.

  Had he made his other training?

  He lay back down.

  He had to have, though he seemed somewhat confused at the moment....

  And there was... he’d seen something, hadn’t he—yeah, that’s right, he’d seen something at work—

  He glanced to the clock just before closing his eyes. Almost seven. Everyone was waking up and preparing to go about their caffeinated day, yet here he was in the enviable position of actually sleeping through the normal work day.

  Yes, he remembered. He’d seen something at work he wasn’t supposed to have seen. Had been interrogated because of it.

  Yeah, a great night at work.

  But, okay, given his oath and debrief to never talk about what had happened, he’d never given an oath to never think about what had happened.

  What had he seen? What had been on those screens?

  There had been something on one of the displays that had set off alarms, something that had been flying around in orbit above Earth. He hadn’t gotten a clean look at it, but it must have been something pretty gnarly for him to have been so ruthlessly grilled like so much steak. He’d heard of recent tests involving anti-satellite weaponry.

  Or it could have been a—

  Cherko shot back upright.

  How had they known about Erica?

  The phone rang.

  What now? Were “they” employing further mind-fuck techniques and going to call him back into work to further dick around with him?

  He grabb
ed the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi,” came the soft female voice. “It’s me.”

  Cherko sighed.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Oh, I’m fine. Just had a rough night last night.”

  “I thought I’d heard you rattling around over there. Wasn’t sure if I should call.”

  “I really just had a hard night, is all. I’m okay.”

  “Can I come over?”

  “I’m in bed.”

  “Can I come over?”

  “Sure.”

  The phone clicked and Cherko rolled out of bed, making his way to the door. He peered out the peephole to see Erica already standing before his door, clad in sweats. Her arms were crossed against the cold, unkempt hair cascading about her shoulders and lightly touched by a soft breeze.

  “Hi,” she again greeted, as he opened the door. “You okay?” She reached out to his face.

  Cherko grinned, nodded, and allowed her in. Erica came to him, kissing him gently on the lips. Then she wrapped her arms around him and Cherko just stood there, exhausted.

  “Come on,” Erica whispered, “let’s get you back into bed.”

  Erica and Jimmy went into the bedroom, where Jimmy slipped back in between the sheets. Erica snuggled in alongside.

  “So... it was pretty bad?” she asked, whispering.

  “Nothing happened.”

  They knew about Erica...

  What else did they know? What else could they know?

  Cherko kissed her. Erica said nothing, spooning up behind him. She lightly touched his hair.

  How had they known about her?

  He’d never told anyone. They’d only been together a little more than a month.

  And of course he loved sex. Who didn’t? Of course he wanted to be with her—was that a state secret?

  Cherko took hold of one of Erica’s arms, brought it in tighter, then lifted it to his mouth and kissed it. He paused, then turned around into her. Cherko again kissed her. Erica studiously traced the outline of his face, ending up at his lips. This time Erica planted a long, lingering, open-mouthed kiss.

  Cherko’s headache quickly dissipated, as Erica slid on top of him, straddling him with her strong, beautiful legs.

  To hell with them if they found out about this, too....