Fatal Green

by The Brothers Washburn

  The snake slithered down the center of the hall, its head raised above the slate floor in a threatening posture. It was now headed to the far end where Mr. S had positioned himself next to the fireplace. Agent Allen waved Cal out of her line of fire.

  The snake’s approach gave her a prime angle for a head shot. For a fraction of a second, the reptile looked fuzzy, slightly out of focus. It solidified, and Agent Allen took her shot. The bullet sped straight to the hard slate floor, demolishing one of the stone tiles. The booming retort of the gun deafened her as the recoil jarred her to the bone.

  She had missed. She had not only missed the snake’s brain, but the entire snake. How could she fail to hit that massive target?

  She raced along the balcony, tracking the snake. When she drew even with the head, she assumed a shooting pose and fired again, taking great care to aim at the enormous head. She had the same results. No damage to the snake, but a stone tile below its head exploded. Agent Allen glanced down at Mr. S and raised a hand, palm up, in a gesture that said, huh?

  Mr. S waved both hands back and forth while yelling for her to stop shooting. As if responding to Mr. S’s voice, the snake made a beeline for him. As it approached him, the head rose higher, drawing back in striking posture.

  Fearful the snake was attacking Mr. S, Agent Allen fired again. This time the bullet flew into the wall, just missing the stone fireplace.

  “Stop wasting your ammunition!” Mr. S barked.

  Agent Allen was sure those would be his last words.

  Curving in a large S shape, the snake pulled back and struck. The gaping mouth hit Mr. S where he stood, but did not bite down on him. The strike didn’t even stop at the wall. The snake continued right through Mr. S and into the wall behind him.

  As the snake body slithered through Mr. S and the wall, Agent Allen saw all three—the snake, the wall, and Mr. S—joined into one image as though they were occupying the same space at the same time. While she could see all three at once, none of them looked normal, but all were wavy and distorted as if seen through a slot filter creating a light-wave interference pattern.

  The snake’s rattles disappeared through Mr. S’s abdomen and into the wall. The snake was gone. Both Mr. S and the wall came back into focus. Agent Allen ran downstairs to check on Mr. S, who looked okay in spite of having had a giant snake slither through his body.

  “Are you alright?” Agent Allen checked Mr. S over, hardly believing he was still alive.

  Mr. S gently pushed Agent Allen back, and she stopped her fussing.

  “I’m fine, I’m fine. Although I must admit that was a singular experience. I could actually see the snake’s internal organs as it passed through me.”

  Planting her hands on her hips, Agent Allen gave Mr. S a stern look. “I have so many questions. I don’t know where to begin. Why don’t you just tell us what is really going on here?”

  “Well, it is still conjecture, but I will do my best.”

  At that moment, the dining room door flew open with a bang, and Camm stalked out to slug Cal in the arm. “Don’t ever do that to me again!” she ordered.

  Cal smiled, slid an arm around her, and pulled her over to the fireplace by Mr. S and Agent Allen. Martha and Lenny hurried to catch up. Camm’s angry eyes flashed back at Lenny, shooting daggers at him. Keeping a cautious distance from Camm, Lenny gingerly cradled one arm.

  Martha smiled gently up at Lenny. “I tried to warn you. Camm throws a solid punch.”

  Cal raised an eyebrow at Mr. S. “What just happened? Why couldn’t we shoot the snake?”

  Mr. S nodded. “I was about to explain that. But first, someone needs to check on Mr. C.”

  Martha spoke up. “I’ll check on Mr. C and sit with him for a while.” With that, she jogged toward the stairs. The rest gathered in a semi-circle around Mr. S, waiting for his explanation.

  Stroking his chin, Mr. S hesitated a moment. “We thought that starting the clock would attract the snake and that it would come out of the desert to the mansion. Our plan was to shoot it outside before it could come inside. What we didn’t count on, and had no way of knowing, was that the snake had already transitioned into another world—maybe our own, who knows?

  “The action of the clock brought the snake back towards this world from the world or dimension it had already transitioned to. That is why we saw the snake enter through yonder wall.” Mr. S pointed to the wall by the grandfather clock at the opposite end of the main hall.

  He continued. “We only had one clock functioning, so the snake did not complete the transition into this world. We could see it, and it could see us, but it was never completely here. It was probably as surprised and confused as we were.”

  “That’s why the bullets went right through it,” Cal exclaimed.

  “Yes, and without causing the snake any damage.” Mr. S nodded at Cal.

  “Thank goodness!” Agent Allen said, rolling her eyes at the ceiling.

  Everyone gave her puzzled looks.

  “I mean, not that we couldn’t kill it. Not thank goodness for that. I thought I was missing it completely. I couldn’t believe I had become such a lousy shot.”

  “I know what you mean.” Cal nodded in her direction.

  “Your aim was right on, but the snake had not obtained a corporal reality in this world, and therefore the bullets could do it no harm.”

  “Hey! Hey everyone!” Martha interrupted from the second floor balcony, her voice full of distress. “Mr. C is not breathing! I think he is dead!”

  * * *

  The buckshot from the eight-gauge shoulder cannon blew through the overhang. Pieces of lumber and asphalt shingle exploded in all directions. But from what Granny saw, he had not hit the rat. Momentarily deafened by the blast, Granny wished he had brought earplugs.

  Where was the rat? He should have hit it with the discharge from the shotgun. Instinctively, Granny knew he had only seconds to figure this out. His ears still ringing, he shook his head to clear his thoughts, then froze. I’m not hearing anything!

  Spinning a hundred and eighty degrees, Granny cocked the eight-gauge in the process. The rat loomed directly behind him. The drop of saliva was used to mislead Granny into thinking he knew where the rat was, but it had slipped back, waiting for the shotgun blast. Then, counting on the blast to cause momentary deafness, the rat had leapt through a window, getting behind Granny. Had Granny turned an instant later, the rat would have been on him, biting his neck and severing his spine.

  Simultaneously, the green beast pounced and Granny fired. Allowing the shotgun’s explosion to push him backwards, Granny bent his knees, dodging the rat by rolling beneath it. The rat’s back claws jerked Granny out the door and onto his back while the rat’s tail snapped across his arms like a bullwhip, throwing the shotgun across the yard. This rat was full of surprising moves. Never before had Granny faced a challenged like this.

  Without hesitating, the rat regained its balance and whirled for another attack. Granny rolled over backward and swiveled to face the rat. The shotgun was out of reach, but he still had the 30.06 slung across his back. With one movement, he swung it forward as he stood.

  Not waiting for the rat to initiate the attack, Granny fired the rifle immediately. Walking toward the rat, he fired the rifle with each step. The bullets did not kill the rat, but were far from painless. Chunks of green flesh flew in all directions as the onslaught literally shredded the rat.

  The constant barrage from the 30.06 coupled with Granny’s aggressive advance were too much for the rat. Spinning, it raced away, shrieking in agony, disappearing down the road.

  The rat was too fast for Granny. He knew he could not catch it. He shrugged. He would track it in the daylight. For now, he had other business. He turned to survey the house.

  Reentering, it took Granny only minutes to find the items he needed and to complete his preparati
ons. As he walked away, smoke began to billow from windows and doors. The owner would no longer need to worry about a hole in the roof. Fire crawled along the roof and walls. Within seconds, the entire house was engulfed in flames. The rat would need to find a new lair.

  XXVI

  Rolling her eyes, Camm sent Cal a look that signaled her disapproval. There were acceptable ways for a funeral to be conducted as well as acceptable funeral music. Magic Man, by the rock and roll group Heart, was not, in Camm’s opinion, an appropriate funeral number.

  The sun was sinking behind the Argus Range peaks in the west when the entire team congregated around Mr. C’s burial site. Earlier in the day, Cal and Lenny had dug a grave near the mansion where Mr. C had often rested in the afternoon shade. Mr. C would now rest in this spot until Mr. S could return to collect and re-inter Mr. C in his home world. Until then, he needed to be buried as soon as possible. With the desert heat, the scent of decay was becoming unbearable.

  Camm fidgeted uncomfortably. This funeral was odd in so many ways, starting with the fact there was no minister present. Though Mr. C had expressed strong religious beliefs, no prayer was offered. Instead, Mr. S spoke a few well-chosen words, remembering his brother’s life.

  Agent Allen, oddly enough, was especially touched by Mr. C’s passing. Looking more determined than usual, she insisted, “We’re playing Magic Man for Mr. C. He would enjoy hearing this tune at his funeral. My iPod doesn’t have much battery left, but we’ll go as long as we can.”

  Lenny bobbed his head emphatically. “That’s so perfect, dude,” he exuded. “He was a magic man. A scary man too, kind of mean and all that. But, he was like a multi-dimensional magic man. It took a giant hawk and monster rattlesnake to take him down.”

  Cal silenced Lenny by putting a hand on his shoulder, which was fortunate, because Camm was getting ready to silence him in a more forceful way.

  Agent Allen was not done playing music when Magic Man ended. Next came What About Love, by the same group. Ann and Nancy Wilson were well represented at Mr. C’s funeral. This second song, a love ballad, was unusual at a funeral, but seemed more appropriate than the first.

  Lenny certainly approved. Shaking his head, his eyes wide with wonder, he mumbled reverently, “Dude, this is so deep.”

  This time, Cal placed a gentle hand on Camm’s shoulder to keep the peace.

  Solemnly, they buried Mr. C, securely wrapped in blankets tied with stout nylon ropes. On top of the grave, Agent Kline and the two backup agents arranged a massive pile of heavy rocks to discourage predators from digging up the body. The large pyramid-shaped mound of boulders ended up being an appropriate monument to the strength and determination of Mr. C.

  Martha was affected by Mr. C’s death as well. That surprised Camm because Martha didn’t know him well. Martha had been the last person to speak with Mr. C before his passing. He had said something meant for her ears only. She wouldn’t share his final words with the others, but cried throughout the funeral.

  At one time, Camm would have considered Martha’s tears a sign of weakness. But she knew her friend better now and no longer thought Martha’s compassionate heart as a sign of weakness. On the contrary, such empathy was evidence of significant inner strength. It was a positive trait, one that Camm had come to desire.

  After the simple, impromptu ceremony, Camm and Cal remained outside, perched on the front steps of the mansion, holding hands and enjoying private time together. Everyone else stepped quickly inside, where the thick stonewalls kept the temperature in the mansion relatively cool. Not cool in the absolute sense, but when compared to the scorching heat outside, relatively cool.

  Having grown up in the wicked heat of Trona, Camm and Cal didn’t mind the outside temperatures if they had shade. With the setting of the sun, temperatures would quickly drop.

  Cal reached an arm around Camm and snugged her next to him. “Ready to go back?”

  “I am ready to be home.” She didn’t hesitate. “But, I’m not ready to go back through the cave.” She shivered and leaned in closer to Cal. “There were whispering voices and the smell of rotting flesh. I almost lost Martha over a cliff, where we couldn’t see the bottom. It is really scary in there when there’s an earthquake. I mean, one hit when we were in complete darkness. It was terrifying!”

  Cal kissed the top of her head, then straightened to scan the area around them. Camm also glanced around looking for whatever might be distracting him. In this world, Cal was more attuned to possible danger signals than she was. She had learned to pay attention when he looked worried.

  Before she could ask what was wrong, he shrugged and turned back to her.

  “I wish I could have been with you in the cave. I don’t like the idea of you going through on your own again, so don’t try sneaking away like you did with Granny. Someone has to go back through the cave, but hopefully not you. Agent Kline has to go back that way to fix the clock on the other side, so the rest of us can transition home through the mansion.”

  “I know.” Camm sighed, then spoke in a rush. “But he shouldn’t have to find his way alone. I know I don’t have to be his guide, except I feel like I do, because I already went through it once, so I know the way better than any of you. I can’t ask Martha to go through it again, ‘cause she’s already done too much, and this isn’t really her thing anyway—she shouldn’t even be here.”

  Cal arched his eyebrows with an exaggerated condescending look. “Whoa! Didn’t they teach you anything about run-on sentences at that highfalutin college you attended?”

  Camm smiled at his joke and playfully punched him in the arm. “Don’t get academic on me and don’t change the subject. Seriously now, Cal, I’ve been thinking about what’s going on here.”

  “Okay,” Cal replied cautiously.

  “So, you think one of the reasons for setting up the system of mansions and clocks to transition between our world and this world was to mine plutonium, right?”

  “I do. Maybe not at first, but I think that later became the plan.”

  “Okay.” Camm nodded. “Tell me what you think of this line of reasoning: If they were going to mine plutonium, bringing it back through the two mansions doesn’t make any sense. I mean, they’re not set up for it. The mansions have steps, not ramps and are too elaborately decorated to be part of a mining operation. Moving ore is a messy process. There is no evidence any minerals or ore have ever been brought back to our world through the mansions.”

  Cal pursed his lips and nodded. “With you so far.”

  “And, even if they knew about the cave, I don’t think they transported the plutonium out that way either. Again, there is no evidence. The rope bridge, the slanting trails, the tight tunnels and all the other stuff inside would have made the transportation of heavy ores impossible.”

  “But, from what you said, there is probably plutonium in the cave that could be mined.”

  “True, but there is no sign of any mining in the cave. No equipment, no tracks, no leftover rubble. Nothing. No one ever tried to do any mining in that cave. And, carting any substantial amount of plutonium through by hand would have been impossible. Trust me on that.”

  “I trust you. Where are you going with this?”

  “So!” Camm held her hands up to signify a dramatic conclusion. “If they didn’t bring the plutonium through the mansions, and they couldn’t bring it through the cave, then . . .” She took a breath. “There must be another way to transition between the two worlds.”

  She grinned up at him, her eyes brimming with excitement. “Another passageway must exist between our own Searles Valley and this one. A way that is wide open and always available for ore transfers between the two worlds.”

  Cal shook his head, studying her upturned face. “You’re pretty smart. No wonder they let you into a highfalutin college. But, if there is a third passageway, or transition place, where is it?”

&
nbsp; “That is the $64,000 question! I’ve been thinking about that. At first, I thought the transition point could be anywhere in the valley and would be impossible to find. But then it occurred to me that, no, it wouldn’t be just anywhere, because you just can’t pop up out of the desert floor anywhere in the valley with a load of plutonium without attracting attention.”

  Camm stared hard at Cal. “So, where would be the logical location to have the transition take place? Where could you bring big loads of ore into our world without attracting undue notice?”

  Camm sat back with a self-satisfied smile, waiting for Cal to answer.

  Cal considered her question. His eyes opened wider.

  “The plant! The plant would be the ideal place to have the transition. Access is limited and big loads of ore would not seem suspicious.” He narrowed his eyes. “But, what are the odds that a transition place would just happen to be where the plant is?”

  “Or . . . ” Camm punched him in the arm again. “What are the odds they would build the plant exactly where a transition point happened to be located? Don’t forget, Dr. Alberto Samuel, Sr. built the first chemical plant and his mansion together, at the same time.”

  “Of course!” Cal leaned forward, his face alight. “That is exactly what he would do. And then the town would be built around the plant. That’s why the plant owned the mansion. They built the plant on top of a transition connection, and then built the mansions to keep the transitions from happening randomly. That way they could control the whole thing!

  “And look . . . ” Cal jumped up off the steps and jogged over to the west side of the mansion with Camm close behind. Stretching out an arm, he pointed out into what looked like empty desert. “Right over there. That is where the plant would be in our world. That means the transition place has to be in that area, over there.”