The Abduction Chronicles

by Thomas L. Hay

  It was impossible to find food and shelter out here, let alone a friendly face. My contact had assured me there would be no problems. He said he had it all planned out. A piece of cake, were his assuring words. I seemed to have this problem of taking people at their word.

  Then he had to go and get in the way of one of those deadly laser beams before he had time to let me in on the plan. I was in a heap of trouble now, to say the least.

  Chilled to the bone, feelin’ and most likely lookin’ like a wet rat strung out on a high wire, I was now on the run out here in no man’s land. I hadn’t a clue what to do or where to go. I’d been running around like a chicken with its head cut off for several hours. I knew I should have stayed in bed this morning, ‘cause it’s obvious I got up on the wrong side.

  SWISH! BOOM! CA’BAMM!

  Here we go again!

  Laser beams again lit up the dark and gloomy night. My surroundings started to resemble a scene straight out of a Terminator movie. The bad guys had the upper hand and looked to exterminate anything and everything that moved, which obviously included yours truly.

  Christ! You best move your butt, Tommy boy, I shouted to myself. The bad guys are a comin’ and their laser beams are singin’ your death song.

  One big gigantic problem here. I hadn’t the slightest idea where to run. Where does one run in a wasteland, when getting fired upon, with no place to hide? I just knew I’d best get movin’ or I’d soon be toast, with my peanut butter and jelly scattered to kingdom come.

  Another laser blast hit a dead tree right above my head. This provoked me to make like a scared jackrabbit and high-tail it as fast as my legs could carry me. I should have been going to the gym and stayed in shape, ’cause the muscles in my legs were cramping. Hindsight is not foresight. But then, who would have foreseen that I would be dodging laser beams 170 years in the future.

  Come on man, I’m getting too old for this shit.

  These heroics belonged to my Marvel hero buddies who never seem to grow old. But they, again, were nowhere in sight.

  My sudden movement intensified the laser beams, which made a bad situation even worse. All the laser lights had me thinking I was in the middle of a rock concert, only it wasn’t music blasting me.

  A box of Russell Stover assorted chocolates would come in handy right about now. I could definitely sense some post-traumatic stress disorder coming on.

  I heard someone shout, “Set your lasers to stun. We must take him alive.”

  Somehow, those words were not very reassuring. I had no idea what a ‘stun’ would feel like and I was not about to hang around to find out.

  I hadn’t run far, when another ear-splitting blast and its force propelled me through the air. Hey, I ain’t no Superman, nor Spiderman, but I took to the air without a cape or web.

  It was not a soft or dry landing. The wind was knocked out of me as I flew head over heels, tumbled, and crashed face down in a horrendous, stinky mud puddle. A dank smell of mold hung in the air as its gritty scent made me want to puke. It was not where I, nor anyone for that matter, would want to dine.

  While thrashing about, I latched onto a boney fleshless hand. Up popped a human skeleton with me in its arms, hoping to be my buddy. Not the type of hug anyone would crave. I’d have protested, but my mouth was filled with slimy muck one might take for baby poop. It left me gagging with my nostrils screaming for fresh air.

  AHHH! Christ! Get off of me you skinny son of a bitch!

  With the strength of someone possessed, I hurled that frightening sucker off me. Hey, I appreciate a hug now and then, but not with someone on a crash diet. I felt my blood pressure spike, ‘cause it scared the you-know-what out of me. I didn’t have my ‘old fart’ diapers on for this event, which just added to the stench and my misery.

  My frantic thrashing about caused the mud hole to suck me further into its nightmare. I had sailed smack dab into some frickin’ rats that had been gnawing on the skeleton bones. You know how I hate them squirmy suckers. But they would be the least of my worries.

  I tried to crawl and paw my way out of the mud pit again. Every time I gained some momentum, the cesspool sucked me back under its oozing muck. I finally touched something hard, hoping it wasn’t another boney hand. Do I grasp it or what? Desperation told me to grab it. It was a tree root, and I finally made my way out of the hellhole, only to find myself in an even worse predicament.

  As I looked up, I saw Monroe charging on a colossal and really mean lookin’ black stallion. The stallion’s fiery red eyes spoke of the devil himself. Fire shot from its nostrils as it reared to trample me. The thought of being a trampled carcass was not very reassuring, so I frolicked back into the mud hole to escape the flying hooves of a horse with no name.

  Monroe’s head was enveloped in a blue static electric halo that was certainly not of an angel. Behind him charged a band of his warriors screaming bloody murder with their laser guns spittin’ hell-fire, and damnation.

  My little bugged eyed grandson waved a sword type weapon that shot a laser beam from its tip. Flashing him the Vulcan peace sign had no effect. The evil sense of satisfaction written all over his face told me he was hell bent on putting some hurt on me.

  A blast from his laser sword dissipated the two middle fingers on my left hand. Before I could contemplate the pain, another blast hit a dead tree just a few feet to my right. Thank God, the unsteady horse was disturbing his aim.

  “Jesus Christ, Monroe, will you lighten up,” I shouted, showing him the hand with two missing fingers. “That was uncalled for you earless little gimp.”

  I could have sworn someone had said to set their laser’s to ‘stun’. Apparently, ‘someone’ hadn’t gotten the message.

  I heard a loud cracking noise and turned to watch, in slow motion, as a dead tree fell towards me. I was frozen in my tracks as it smothered me under its mass. The weight of the tree pinned me beneath the mucky water. I was back in the arms of the skeleton and among the frickin’ rats.

  My lungs had begun to fill with the murky, smelly water as I grasped for a straw. This was turning into one horrendous nightmare.

  A horrific blood-curdling scream, which gyrated from deep within my gargling throat, jolted me from my nightmare. The scream protruded through my body, bolted me upright and back to reality. It scared the crap out of both Karen and me.

  “What is it, Tom?” she asked as she wrapped her loving arms around me.

  I was shaking like a leaf and the bed sheets were soaked in my sweat. My heart was pounding like I had just crossed the finish line in a marathon.

  Lord have mercy!

  For Pete’s sake. What the hell is going on with Tom?

  CHAPTER SIX

  Monroe Returns

  A few days later, I grabbed my fishing gear, some beer, and headed out on the lake in my pontoon boat. Karen had a Women’s Club meeting that evening, so I was going it alone tonight. I needed a relaxing evening after that distributing nightmare.

  I anchored in the middle of the lake, popped open a Millers ‘delight’, and tuned in the Cardinals baseball game on the radio. A couple of hours passed and I hadn’t gotten one lousy bite, and the Cardinals were down by two-runs going into the bottom of the ninth. Not a very productive evening.

  To the tune of When the Saints go Marching In, I started to sing: ...Oh, when the fish…come reelin’ in…oh, when the fish come reelin’ in…

  But tonight, for some reason, the fish were in a cranky mood. Perhaps they weren’t that impressed with the melody.

  Maybe I should switch bait, I thought.

  After all, you just have to outsmart them, right?

  You never know what a catfish might be craving. Picky eaters they are. One night it could be a delicious fat juicy earthworm and the next it could be a smelly, old rotten chicken liver or a hot dog. Usually, they take to the dogs, without any ketchup or mustard, mind you. They also prefer they aren’t cooked.

  The catfish seemed to bite best at night. Besides, I
loved going out on the lake at night to observe the stars. It brought back memories of my good ole’ Navy days.

  The night sky on the lake would sometimes put on the same magnificent shooting star displays as I had seen so often on the ocean. My thoughts of Monroe, my creator and greatest of great grandsons, came to mind. I hadn’t seen him since he brought me back in 1978. He probably isn’t even aware that I had melted the memory blocks and now know who I really am and know of his existence.

  What turned out to be a peaceful and clear evening suddenly became threatening. To the west, I saw swirling monstrous black clouds developing. Lightening started to dance across the heavens. Muted rumbles of thunder followed.

  One thousand and one, one thousand and two, I counted. An old folk’s tale told of God rolling his potatoes across the heavens which caused the thunder to roar. How many seconds it took from seeing the lightening to hearing the thunder would indicate the storm’s distance. A mile for each second. According to my calculation, the storm was about two miles out.

  The thunder and lightning stirred my anxiety. The wind soon announced its swirling and spastic presence. All of a sudden, the glass-like surface of the lake became white caps. The boat started to rock and roll. An eerie feeling chilled my bones.

  Kansas’ tedious weather was about to jump the border and wreak havoc on its rival neighbor. Some might call it the Jayhawk revenge.

  Shit, no fish tonight. Looks like I’ll be eating my bait for dinner. So much for my relaxing evening. I best be heading in, I thought.

  Hurriedly, I reeled in my lines, stowed the fishing gear, chugged my fourth Millers ‘delight’, and sat down in the captain’s seat to start the motor.

  It appeared that I might have waited a bit too long as the wind whipped my hat off my head in one swift movement. I watched as it disappeared into the swirling darkness.

  Darn, that was my favorite Cardinal hat too. Going to have to add that to my Christmas list.

  Dad gum it, this storm was coming in faster than I had anticipated. I’d best haul ass, or I might be up a creek without a paddle. It was going to be a race to get back to my dock before the shit hit the fan.

  When I turned the boat’s ignition key, all I heard was a ‘clunk.’ I turned it again and got the same result. Ah, come on man. The darn thing wouldn’t start. Of all times.

  Before I could try a third time, a huge shadow blocked out the entire sky. The whole lake turned into a dark bottomless pit. I’d seen dark, but never this kind of dark. I could hardly see my hand in front of my face. Even the coming storm disappeared.

  At the same time, all the dogs on the lakeshore started to serenade their neighbors, and I couldn’t imagine it was from my singing. All around the boat fish started jumping out of the water. A flock of geese that had just swum by started to honk up a storm and took off like bats out of hell. It was turning into a real spooky night and Halloween wasn’t for another two weeks.

  Whatever blocked out the sky and turned the night into blackness was gigantic. I’m talking really big.

  “What the hell is going on,” I thought.

  Then the pontoon boat began to vibrate. A tingling sensation enveloped my entire body.

  “Here we go again,” I chattered, knowing full well what was about to happen.

  Every single hair on my body started to dance the two-step. I knew what was happening, even before I heard Monroe’s voice reverberate in my mind.

  Tom-Tom…I am on a desperate mission. You must accompany me.

  “I’ve had a feeling that you might be showing up,” I answered.

  Your original and his brood require your assistance, he added, in a high pitched anxious thought.

  My brother and his brood required my assistance? Seems I had heard that before, only the table had turned. Before, it was I, Tom-Tom who needed the assistance. This time, it was my original (Tom) who might be in a pickle.

  I bet it has something to do with the nightmare, I thought.

  You might be wondering how I could hear Monroe without a communications helmet. Well, since you have gone technical on me, I suppose you will require an explanation.

  Tom had to wear one, as did all the originals, in order to communicate with their future generation telepathic kinfolk. We clones have a communications microchip, as well as a tracking device, installed somewhere in our body. So, there is no need for a helmet. For those of you that keep track of all the technical stuff, this should satisfy your enquiry. Now, let’s get back to the story, shall we?

  The next thing I know, I was standing in the transfer room aboard Monroe’s Mothership. There will probably be talk of a UFO in tomorrow’s news.

  There in an adjoining tiny, almost claustrophobic cubical, that I recognized from my previous travel, sat Monroe in his boring gray metallic cloth suit. Still the same old dull fashion that would most definitely receive a ghastly review at any fashion show of our time period.

  At least I thought my abductor to be Monroe. It was hard to tell our future descendants from one another, as they all looked alike. He didn’t seem to have aged a bit. Keep in mind, it had been 37 years since I replaced Tom and last saw Monroe.

  Greetings Tom-Tom. My apologies for interrupting your evening. Since you have learned to melt your memory block, you are aware who I am, where I have traveled from, your true identity, and why you are here. I anticipate no objection for joining me, since your original, Tom, is in a desperate situation that I trust you would be willing to assist, Monroe said telepathically.

  It was Monroe all right. I recognized his thought. As in most abductions, I might not have much of a choice as to whether I wanted to go or not.

  Holy Mackerel! I’m heading back to the future, to learn what in the world Tom has gotten himself into. You’re not going to believe what I discover.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A New Revelation

  Before we depart, there is another I must retrieve, Monroe stated.

  Another? Wonder who that might be? I thought as I shot him an inquisitive glance.

  Bet you’re thinking Claudia, my first wife’s clone. Actually, she was going by CJ these days. Well, to be honest, that was my first thought too. We both would be wrong. It turned out to be the last person on earth I would have imagined. Well, maybe not the last. But close to it.

  The Mothership’s transfer room was in the lower central part of the ship. How people were transferred from the surface to the ship was…you guessed it… need to know. I knew it wasn’t like in Star Trek, where all your body modules are scrambled and transported to the ship in a beam of light and then reassembled. Don’t know if I’d like that. All I know is that I am at one spot one moment and then magically appear aboard the spaceship the next. I had asked Monroe how it worked. He told me the answer was beyond my comprehension.

  You must go to the bridge, Tom-Tom. No other person can be in the transfer room during a transfer, Monroe pointed out.

  He was sitting in a chair that spun a full 360-degrees as he manipulated controls on a circular transparent instrument control panel that was suspended in mid-air.

  In the middle of the panel, I noticed a large sphere that hovered and rotated, ever so slightly. It looked to be a hologram or pictogram that resembled Earth. There were many tiny colored lights flashing around the sphere.

  Monroe made an imperceptible gesture with his hand, the great panorama faded from view, leaving only a shadowy blankness of indeterminate depth.

  He then noticed my observation and inquisitive expression.

  “Wow! Is that sphere what I think it is?” I asked.

  Yes, you are correct. It is our planet. Each flashing light represents a clone who had replaced their original, he replied without much emotion. They each have a tracking device implanted in their communications chip so that we can identify their locations, he explained further.

  There appeared to have been at least 100 flashing lights of two colors scattered across the globe. I would eventually discover that a blue color light mea
nt a male clone while the color pink indicated a female clone. Some things never change.

  You and CJ are not the only clones to discover a method to melt our mind blocks. There are several other clones who are aware of their true identity. Fortunately, not enough for it to be a concern or problem.

  “Do I know any of them?”

  I cannot reveal further information. You have already learned more than most clones in your timeframe. Further information could be dangerous to your health.

  “Whoa! Hold on a second. I’m not a threat to national security. Surely, you remember that Tom was cleared for top secret information while in the Navy,” I reminded him. “That means I too, have a top secret clearance, so what’s with all the secrecy?”

  I am well aware of that fact, he added, giving me that ‘don’t ask any more questions look’. But I asked another one just the same, which seemed to irritate him even more.

  “Who is this other that you have to retrieve? Anyone I might know?”

  Not to my surprise, he replied. You will discover their identity in due time. Meanwhile, please take the entrance to your right and follow the signs that will lead you to the bridge. As soon as I retrieve the other, we will join you.

  I could tell his symmetry was being disturbed with all my questions, so I made like a good grandparent and followed his instructions. I followed the signs to the bridge, all the while picking my brain as to who this ‘other’ might be.

  On the bridge were two of the Warriors that Tom had encountered on his trip to the future. They hadn’t aged a bit. If you remember, Monroe had told me they are genetically engineered to provide security in the one world order of the future. Their human form more closely resembled our generation.