by Spencer,Alan
"Yeah," Mac said in his normal gruff, "It's definitely Arnold."
After hearing three padlocks unlock, Mac grabbed Arnold by the arm and pulled him inside quickly. The door slammed closed immediately. Mac peered outside to make sure nothing or nobody saw what had happened.
"You okay, kiddo?"
Mac brushed Arnold's arms and gave him a once over. "Other than some cuts and bruises, you're in one piece. Only a touch son-of-a-bitch could survive out there longer than five minutes."
Mac called for someone in the backroom. "Sue, could you bring the first aid kit up here?"
"Careful! Everything can kill you."
"We know. Hell, when you think about it, nothing's changed," Mac gave an unsatisfying laugh. "Everything could kill you before today. Now, these products are taking the initiative."
Arnold leered at the front room of the pawnshop. Would the gold coins in the displays somehow gouge out his eyes? Would the guns in the display cases start blasting people for no reason? Could the electronics blare music to the point their heads exploded?
Mac saw Arnold's horrified expression as his eyes took in every object in the room. The man drew him in for a hug. "It's okay, Arnold. I know things. Try and set your mind at ease."
"That's a tall order, pal."
He tried to read Mac. The man was his father's best friend. They were war buddies from Vietnam. They drank beer together and shared stories of easy women and fallen soldiers. Arnold hocked items here when his acting jobs weren't paying the bills. Mac always gave him the best deals.
"If your father was here today," Mac said, "he'd be ready to kick some serious ass. I guess you're going to have to kick some ass for him. May he rest in peace. A man's heart can only take so much shit in this world before it gives out. Your father had his fill of shit. I'm about there myself, but before I got out, I'm stopping these assholes. Even if it's my last act of life, I'm taking as many of them out as possible."
Before he could ask what Mac knew about the people responsible for the recent killings, a woman in jeans and a tight-fitting American Pawn t-shirt came out of the back room. She had a first aid kit in her hand.
"Whoa, careful with that kit," Arnold said. "Do you see any words on it that don't belong there?"
"I know things," Mac reassured him. "And so does Sue. The first aid kit is safe. It'll mend your wounds, not create them."
Sue was Mac's daughter. She wasn't overweight like her father. She was tall and slender with big breasts and long platinum dyed hair. She was in her late forties, but she looked to be in her thirties. If Arnold wasn't mistaken, she was a fitness and yoga instructor part-time and helped her dad in his shop to help make ends meet.
"You're shaking," Sue said, holding his right arm that still had pieces of glass embedded in the skin. "I bet you've been through hell out there. I saw what you did to that car wash. That was brave. I would've been afraid to draw attention to myself."
"I couldn't stand it. Those people were suffering. It's unimaginable. One of the cars even had eyeballs for dice hanging from the rearview mirror."
"Let me wash your arms off," Sue said, trying to take the horrors off of his mind. "I'll try and get the glass out."
She helped him to the restroom in the back. He insisted they double check the faucet and sink for any words or warnings. The bathroom proved safe. She washed his arms and did her best to clean the glass out.
"Sorry if I'm hurting you."
"You can't avoid it. Thanks for the help. I'm still in a state of shock. It's going to take me years of therapy to process everything."
"If we survive. Mac thinks he can stop them. I think he's crazy. But then again, what's out there is super insane. Regardless of what we think, it's happening, and it's up to somebody to stop it."
She dried his arms off and wrapped his wounds in gauze. "That should keep the dirt out of your wounds. You'll need stitches, but I don't have anything for that here."
"I can only imagine what the hospital is facing right now. The possibilities are staggering. Think about all of that equipment, like life support machine, dialysis machines, and those shock paddles. God help them."
They rejoined Mac in the front room. He was rubbing at his big bald head as he studied an object on top of the glass counter.
"What's that?" Arnold asked.
"I stole it from one of those fucked up people out there."
"You mean the naked people with their veins on the outside of their bodies, those people? And what do you mean you stole it?"
"It's a long story. Look here."
Mac pointed the long metal rod he was inspecting. At the end of the rod was a flat metal surface. He imagined a branding iron for cattle. Where the hand grips were located, there was an empty cylinder glass container. Mac had Arnold smell the inside of the container once he removed the cap.
"Oh God, that stinks! What is it?"
"I don't know. I have a theory, though. I saw one of those uglies out there branding a telephone booth with this tool. The person inside was using the phone and had no idea what was happening. Seconds later, the telephone booth rockets out of the ground and it never came back down. The poor bastard."
Arnold explained the deaths of his agent and the police officers, and the deadly words on random objects.
Mac nodded, interestedly. "It makes sense. They brand things. Who knows how they get the words on the metal? Maybe this tool is something else altogether. It could be supernatural. What I do know, whenever they do brand something, that object becomes a killing weapon."
Mac pointed at the empty glass reservoir. "My guess, whatever substance was in that container is something powerful. It made the words come to life, maybe. I'm not sure. God, it stinks. I can only imagine what that milky substance actually is."
Sue pointed at the television behind the front desk. "Look. It's the president. He's giving a speech."
Arnold saw President Ted Yearling standing nervously behind his podium at the White House. The captions at the bottom of the screen were rolling.
The President has declared the United States a disaster area. Stay in your homes. Avoid use of any products. Read all labels of anything you must use. The surgeon general recommends those citizens seek refuge in wooded areas. Do not use technology or products unless absolutely necessary.
President Yearling started his speech.
"Americans, we must band together during this vulnerable time."
The president kept rubbing at his eyes. His face was glistening with running sweat. The man could've been in a sauna, how the sweat was beading from his pores. One of his security officers offered him a towel.
"Thank you," the president said, wiping at his face and head. "Anyway, we are using every government resource to get to the bottom of this horrible epidemic. It's unknown what the causes are, but the end result will be the same. America will prevail. It's the American "can do" spirit that will...ah, Jesus, my eyes are killing me."
"What's wrong with the guy?" Sue asked them. "His eyes are...funny."
The president shut his eyes tight. They were clenched so hard, it was impossible to tell he had eyes at all. The skin over them tightened. The president rubbed and itched at his eyes. He couldn't open them. The skin was throbbing and bulging.
"Oh no, oh God no, it can't be! I used Benford's Hemorrhoid Cream this morning. My eyes! They're turning into HEMORRHOIDS!"
They were exactly like hemorrhoids, Arnold thought, but the president's fleshy bulbous protrusions for eyes were vibrating to the point tiny blue veins leaked blood down the man's eyes.
The president screeched in pain, then after a moment, he sounded like a zombie. "The future of America, is death, chaos, and pain."
The president collapsed onto his podium, crashed through it, and landed somewhere off-camera.
The television signal cut out.
There was only fuzz.
Arnold couldn't believe the product he endorsed in a commercial had caused the president's eyes to break out in he
morrhoids.
"Hemorrhoids were bad enough on your ass," Mac said. "I can't imagine having them anywhere on my face."
Sue had tears in her eyes. "We're all going to die. Nobody can stop this from killing everybody."
Arnold drew her into his arms. "Shhhh. We're here. If we stay together, we'll be fine."
"Damn straight," Mac said. He wasn't deterred by the president's speech. Mac was emboldened. "I got a plan. I've watched them in action. Whatever's going on, their base is here. Maybe they have many bases, but they have to be hiding somewhere in the city. I saw them come out of nowhere together earlier today. They didn't just appear out of thin air. They were hiding before this moment of attack."
Arnold wasn't sure any logic could be applied to this situation. "How do you know that?"
"Think about it. They couldn't have perpetrated this in hours. They had to have been planning this for awhile. And that means they were hiding out somewhere. I bet their lair is here in the city. We find it, we blow them out of the water. If they have nowhere to hide, our chances of killing them increase."
"And how do you plan to find out where they're hiding? I'm almost afraid to ask."
Mac smiled big. "There's one place to start. We ask them."
"Huh?"
The man gave him that killing smile. "I captured one of the assholes."
The Plan
"You did what?"
"I've got one of those ugly vein covered fuckers locked in my office. My office is fireproof and solid steel. She can't break out. We got her trapped."
Sue backed up her father's story. "He's not lying. It burst in here and used that metal prod on Mac's cash register. Once she branded the words on the machine, the register started moving on its own. It opened up, and instead of money, there was fingers, and tongues, and eyeballs as money. Why, I'm fucked if I know."
"Long story short, I shot the register," Mac said. "Or I should put it this way. I shot the words that nasty bitch stamped on it with one of those metal prods. The register's in pieces on the floor, and it hasn't been a problem since."
"So you shoot the words," Arnold thought out loud. "That makes sense. It's far-fetched, and insane, and loony as bat shit, but how am I going to argue with what's in front of my face?"
Sue picked up an aluminum baseball bat from behind the display of gold watches and rings. "I whapped the shit out that lady. Dad pried that rod from her grip, then we both kicked the shit out of her. I remembered we had a tarp in back, so we wrapped her up in it, tied her up, and threw her inside the office."
He wasn't sure what to think about what he was hearing. "She's still in there, huh?"
"She hasn't made a sound, which is making me nervous."
Sue kept taking practice swings with the bat. "What do you think she's doing in there?"
Mac moved behind the counter. He picked up a Remington pump-action shotgun. He had four shells bulging from his shirt pocket. The man started to load the weapon "Let's find out. What else are we accomplishing except a bunch of talking?"
"Fine, but I want a gun too," Arnold said. "And I don't want a handgun. I want something that will hit my target even if I'm a shit shot."
"I wouldn't have it any other way, kiddo. This is a war that's been waged against us. Words and rhetoric won't stop these assholes. Only we can."
Mac unlocked a panel in the wall and removed a box of bullets. He pointed at a 12 gauge hanging on the wall. "Grab that one. It doesn't kick as hard, but it sure has a punch. You back me up if anything goes bad. Sue, you hold onto that baseball bat and start swinging if anything comes at you. If two guys with shotguns can't stop one crazy lady, we've got problems that guns can't solve."
Arnold loaded the 12 gauge and followed Mac to the back room. After opening the employee's only door, they were walking among shelves of back stock items. Then there was Mac's office. They listened hard. There wasn't a sound being made from inside the room.
"What's the plan, Mac?" Arnold asked. "They're bloodthirsty. Engaging in an intelligent discussion might not happen. But they do talk, I know that much. There was one of them wearing a black cape. He was threatening back at the police station that everybody would die. Something about how we couldn't save ourselves from ourselves."
"We play it safe," Mac said. "We talk to her through that door. She talks, she talks, if she doesn't, we use force."
"You're talking about opening that door if she's quiet?" Sue didn't like the sound of that plan. "That's very dangerous. You sure about this idea?"
"Opening the door is a last resort," Mac said. "First, let's try and chat with the bitch."
Arnold kept checking over his 12 gauge for words that shouldn't be there.
The three of them were standing outside the door. They weren't sure what to ask. Arnold spoke up first. He chose an easy question.
"Who are you?"
There was a snarl, then a dismissive scoff.
No words.
"Look, lady," Mac started in. "Why are you killing everybody? What's with branding things with metal prods? Do you come from space? Are you an alien, or some other kind of goon?"
Arnold almost laughed. The man really asked them if they came from space.
There was only silence behind the door.
"She's not talking," Mac sighed. "The bitch wants a shotgun pointed in her face. Then those lips will start moving. I'm done pussyfooting. Once I bust her chops, I'll get her life story. Even the shit I don't want to know."
"Slow down," Sue said. "I don't want to open that door unless we absolutely have to, Dad. Please. We know nothing about her, and what she can really do."
He knew Mac was a stubborn man who thought violent force was the answer to situations like these. He had to try to and reach the woman in Mac's office without opening that door. He thought back to Detective Larkin's interrogation tactics. They were offensive, annoying, and most of all, not at all conducive to reasonable conversation.
He decided to use another method.
"That was cool what you guys did back at that police station. How do you pickle a person in jar? Very creative. If I were to die, I'd want it to be over-the-top spectacular. Like turning my body into human fireworks. My intestines could shoot out of my body like those Roman candle balls. My ass would be the end of a sparkler, maybe."
All three of them were shocked to hear the mad woman respond. She sounded like a scheming monster demon child.
"I like that idea very much. Yes, oh that's great. The boss would approve. Yes, oh yes, he would indeed. Human fireworks, you say? Why didn't we think of it first? No wonder we had to come here. We need fresh ideas. Fresh ideas don't come easy. You'd be a good servant, you out there. Why don't you give me back my cattle prod? I can refill on ammo, and we can try out your idea. You're volunteering, am I correct?"
Mac was about to tell the woman where to stick her head with that talk when Arnold motioned for him to be quiet.
"Oh absolutely, I'm volunteering. But don't you want credit for the idea? I'd be honored if you were the one who did it to me. How do we get a refill of ammo? Maybe I can help you."
"My idea! My idea! All mine! You shut your fucking mouth. I came up with the idea, not you, you, you asshole! I'll be promoted. Yes, my idea! Let me out! Let me out now! My idea! My promotion!"
"I can get you a refill on ammo. Just tell me where to go. You can brand me afterwards. It'd be a honor. You've got good ideas. I bet it'd impress your boss and you would get that promotion you deserve."
He was really reaching. He hoped she didn't catch on to his bullshit.
The woman was pounding against the steel door. "Refills are down the street. I can't get them in here. Lemme out! Lemme out NOW!"
Mac's eyes lit up hearing the bit about the refills being down the street.
"What building?"
"You're trying to trick me. I've said too much. The boss won't be happy with me. Have to kill you, and kill you real good. Better than fireworks. We'll have to have a round table and talk about how
to kill you so good. Good ideas take time. They don't give us enough time anymore. The business isn't what it used to be. It's all about the backend and not the quality of the product."
He gave Mac and Sue a strange look.
"What do you mean? Like you need to get approval before you kill people?"
"You're tricking me! Stop talking and let me out!"
"What building down the street?" Arnold insisted. "I can't get your refills without knowing where to go."
"Let me out!"
Through the bottom crack of the door, a blue string slithered upwards, wrapped around the locks on the door, and unlocked each one. The woman's veins, Arnold realized, had done the trick.
The door swung open. Sue screamed. Body parts were flying forward. Mac hit the ground, dodging the zooming head that threatened to punch him in the stomach like a shot cannonball. Sue swung her bat and hit a leg across the room. Arnold fired two shots. An arm exploded into pieces, but the rest of the body located a small window and shattered the glass to make its escape.
Mac got up from the ground, his eyes wide. "Damn it, she escaped. It's like she was waiting for the right opportunity. They're smarter than they let on."
Sue stared at the shattered window. "So what now? We found out a building on this block has refills for those cattle prods. Big deal. We're still in trouble. That didn't help us at all. We're still as fucked as before."
"I don't know what to do now," Mac said. "We didn't find out enough from that bitch. But we have to do something besides standing here with our thumbs up our butts. We're at war."
"We're in over our heads," Arnold argued. "We know nothing about them. What can we do but wait for the military to show up? It's been a matter of hours. We have to give them a chance to save us. We're not vigilantes.
"Look, my dad treated me like shit when he found out I wanted nothing to do with the military. I barely graduated high school. I was a loser. He thought I could do better if I spent my time in the service. But my father eventually came to his senses. Life has a way of putting things in perspective. His health wasn't so great, and he knew some things in life weren't worth ruining relationships over. He welcomed me back into his life, and he said one thing to me that stuck with me over the years. The meanings change a lot, but the final message is the same.