by Jeff South
“Some asshole drove their damn car right up to Mo-Mo the Monster and started making some speech about portals, global domination, and shrewd real estate investments. Now he’s reading some proclamation by haiku. He’s dressed like an alien, so I think he’s one of those cosplay nerds. There’s more and more of those moving to town.”
“It’s really a shame,” the man’s wife says. “Our family looks forward to the River Luau every year, especially tonight since it’s pig roast night.” The couple shoos their children past us and out the entrance.
Screams rise up from the midway and more people are running in a dead sprint toward us. We scatter to allow a path for fleeing fairgoers. I look ahead and see three Herpezoids with weapons chasing after people. They no longer wear the guise of carnies and instead display their full Herpezoid form. They snarl and use their weapons to corral people away from the exit.
Marlene and Clara buzz by us on their motor scooters aiming shiny Herpezoid dissolvers and open fire on the three aliens. The shots land and three puddles of green slime pool on the ground where they once stood. The duo speeds up the midway toward Mo-Mo the Monster. More screams from our right as more people try to make a break for the exits. From behind them the Cosmic VW Bus roars into view. Randi Williams sits atop it firing the weapon she swiped from Max at any Herpezoid she spies. The bus skids to a stop in front of us and Jeff leans out the window.
“They’re up at Mo-Mo,” he says. “They’re about to unleash those antennae or whatever.”
“Araneae,” I say.
“Yeah. Those.”
Snarling Herpezoids and screaming civilians are running everywhere. Laser blasts fly around from all directions.
“We need a distraction,” Mom says. “Something to temporarily get control of this chaos so we can stop Grandor.”
“How do we do that?” Dad asks.
I race to Jeff to talk about ideas. My hands press against the door of the bus and rush of energy from the nanotech kicks in. My brain transports itself to some realm where I see the schematics for the Cosmic VW Bus. I flip through its pages and understand its every component. I snap back to reality and share my revelation.
“The F Bomb,” I say. “This is the 1969 Volkswagen Microbus fully loaded with a version 6.1 quintonium accelerator, portal navigation software, CD player, and F Bomb cannon. The control panel for it is in the glovebox.”
“That’s right,” Simon Tybalt says. “The cannon extends from the front, like your Vega. Fire that baby up and shoot it into the crowd. Their behavioral changes should allow us enough time to stop Grandor.”
Leigh Ann opens the glove compartment and Jeff flips every switch on the panel. The cannon emerges from the front of the bus and Jeff smashes the fire button for the cannon.
*
The Poplar Bluff River Luau is an orgy of altered behavioral mayhem. Men, women, children, and Herpezoids are doing the “Thriller” dance, crying uncontrollably as they ponder the insignificance of their lives, panicked at the sight of snakes only they can see, and telling the other fairgoers it’s really no big deal the funnel cake stand is closed because they didn’t need the calories, anyway. Really, it’s fine.
I pass a girl who appears to be in her early twenties staggering toward me. She points at me and calls out to me.
“You!” She holds her hands up to steady herself. “I need to tell you a secret.”
“I can’t right now,” I tell her. “I need to stop some aliens.”
“Oh, I see,” she slurs. “Whatever. I hate boys. Take a selfie with me.”
I push her away and sprint toward Mo-Mo the Monster, which sits about one hundred yards ahead. I’m running point with Mom and Dad close behind. A few humans and Herpezoids have yet to be hit with F Bomb fire, so we have to pick off any Herpezoids trying to harm the humans. We step in gooey puddles of Herpezoid blood along the way and they are quick to let us know how much that hurts.
I reach Miss America. She’s facing us, pointed at the scattering crowd.
“Maybe we were better off letting people try to escape,” I say. “No one knows to leave since they’re getting hit with the F Bomb.”
“You have arrived at a most opportune moment, Tony,” says Grandor, perched atop the Vega. “One last stanza before I unleash hell.”
“Will you deploy the Araneae already?” Jackie booms from inside the car. “Enough haiku!”
“You have no flair for the dramatic, Jackie,” pouts Grandor. “You never have.”
I point my gun and fire a laser at the backpack. The first shot misses, but the second one lands directly and knocks the pack from Grandor’s hand. My parents open fire on Grandor and a few shots land, knocking him from the top of the car. Jackie fires up the engine of Miss America and ignites the quintonium drive.
“This plan is a failure,” Jackie says flatly. “As with all your endeavors, Grandor.”
The back wheels of the Space Vega spin, spitting dirt on Grandor. The Jackie-possessed vehicle speeds away from the scene racing through the crowd toward the exit. Grandor shoots a blast from one of his bracelets and knocks Marlene from her motor scooter. He commandeers it, flips us off, and rides away after Jackie.
“They’re headed toward the portal,” Simon Tybalt announces. “Jackie is going to use it for her own plans. We have to stop them before they go through.”
The VW Bus skids to a stop in front of us and Jeff hops out.
“Where’s my mom?” he says. “Has anyone seen her?’
We all shake our heads and look around. Jeff’s face is covered in worry. He spins around firing his gun at Herpezoids. They are coming at us fast and furious. A line of them rushes us, opening fire from their own weapons. Civilians run screaming from the scene toward the exits, the last lingering effects of the F Bomb wearing off.
A heavy weight drops onto my back and I spill to the ground. A Herpezoid straddles me, his leathery claws around my neck. He bears his sharp teeth and I can smell his rancid breath. He draws one of his significant fists back to land what I assume will be a crushing blow. The creature explodes in a green gooey mess all over me. I turn to my left to see Jeff Harper still aiming the laser he fired at my assailant. He runs to me and helps me up.
“I want to make an inappropriate comment right now,” he tells me, “but I’ll save it for later.”
“Domo arigato,” I tell my friend. “Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto.”
“You’re welcome.” A flash of intellectual connection sparks in his eyes. “Oh, my god. I get it now.”
“Um, guys.” Dad points ahead at a line of nearly twenty Herpezoids advancing on us. We’re cornered.
“Jeff!” Leigh Ann yells from the VW Bus. “Help!”
“You guys start shooting,” Marlene says. “We’ll charge them.”
“Eliminate the scum,” growls Clara.
“Who are you girls?” Mom asks.
“They work for me,” Simon Tybalt says. “They’re consultants.”
“We got this,” Marlene says. “You start shooting. When we advance, take off.”
“That’s suicide,” I say.
“Only if it doesn’t work,” Clara says.
I grab Marlene’s face and lean in for a kiss because the moment is right and I should perform a heroic romantic gesture. My lips barely reach hers when she pushes me away.
“Now is not the time, Tony Pershing!”
“I don’t get how this works at all,” I say.
The Herpezoids let out a collective roar that sounds something like an entire marching band of untuned tubas and start their final advance on us. The very familiar sound of a truck booms from our right and we turn to see Clint Hudson’s Truck of Overcompensation barreling toward the Herpezoids. It gains a full head of steam and plows into the aliens sending bodies flying. Herpezoids lie scattered around and under the truck and we stand mouths agape at the sight. The driver’s side door opens and out steps Sandra Harper.
“I gotta get me one of these,” she says.
“Mom!” Jeff runs to her and they embrace. “I thought they got you.”
“Oh my god,” says Simon Tybalt approaching them. “Infinity Jones? Is that you?”
“Simon?” she says back. “I thought you were dead.”
“Watch out!” Dad says pointing toward what was once thought a dead Herpezoid. The creature holds out a weapon intending to fire on Sandra.
“No!” Simon shouts and stands between the laser blast and its intended target. The shot burns into his chest and he cries out in pain. Randi, Dad, and Mom open fire on the Herpezoid and he oozes to the ground in a puddle of green yuck. The entire group starts firing on all the Herpezoids to finish the job started by what I shall now call Sandra’s Truck of Awesomeness.
Simon hits the ground gasping for breath. Sandra cradles him in her arms and Jeff kneels next to them.
“You two know each other?” Jeff asks. “Mom, you’re Infinity Jones?”
“You told him about that?” She puts her shaking hand on Simon’s wound.
“You were my favorite person,” he tells her and drifts into lifelessness.
*
The Jeff’s Mom Is Infinity Jones and Holy Shit Simon Tybalt Died Revelations are still fresh in our minds, but we all know we have to flee the scene to the portal. Jeff speeds down the road barely making each twist and turn. I sit in the passenger seat offering little more than obvious reminders about needing to hurry. Kevin stayed behind to handle Simon Tybalt’s death. Sandra and Leigh Ann sit in the middle seat offering little more than pensive looks. Mom, Dad, and Randi follow in the minivan. Clara and Marlene stayed behind to finish off any random Herpezoids.
“Mom?” Jeff asks. “Is Simon Tybalt my dad? Tell me. Is he my dad?”
“Now’s not the time to discuss this,” she says. “Let’s stop that Vega and then we can talk.”
“He’s my dad, isn’t he? I can’t believe you never told me.”
“Drive!” I yell in unison with Sandra and Leigh Ann.
“The portal is around this curve,” Jeff says. “How are we going to stop them if they haven’t already gone through?”
“Jackie will use the cannon to open the portal on her own and try to go through,” I say. “The car is Jackie, so, if you’re going to stop Jackie…” I can’t finish the sentence.
“I have to stop the car.” Jeff says. “Well, shit.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Jeff Harper looks as if he could vomit all over the interior of the bus. His chin quivers and the vein in his neck protrudes and throbs. My friend is clearly distressed at this lose-lose situation. Does he let us beloved Miss America go through the portal in one piece controlled by a villainous artificial intelligence or does he destroy her so she won’t be used for nefarious purposes? Perhaps he can find her again on the other side of the portal if he lets her go.
I see it all perfectly; there are two possible situations – one can either do this or that. My honest opinion and my friendly advice is this: do it or do not do it. You will regret both.
I honestly don’t know what I would do in his position. These are the very difficult decisions in life I fear most.
“Jeff,” I tell him. “My nano tells me this VW Bus is equipped with Self-Guided Supercharged Photon Missiles. They shoot from the headlights.”
“Your point?”
“That may be your only option.”
We plow through the security gate at the portal. Jackie has poised Miss America toward the river and, as suspected, is attempting to open the portal above it with the quintonium drive. We are about one hundred yards away. I lean out the passenger window and see no sign of Grandor or Marlene’s scooter.
“Jeff,” I say. “We’re closing in fast.”
“I know!”
“Jeff, the switch for the missiles is next to hazard lights button.”
“I know!”
“We need to fire now!”
“Shut up!”
“Jeff!”
“I know!” Tears trickle down my friend’s cheek at the enormity of this decision.
“Do you want me to do it?” I reach over to flick the switch, but he swats me away.
“No! Miss America is mine! I have to do this!”
“You gotta do it now!” I yell.
Sandra reaches forward and places a maternal hand on her son’s shoulder. Jeff gives her a half look as he chokes back emotion. He looks straight ahead as his beloved Vega nearly has the portal open. He mashes the brake pedal and we skid to a stop.
“I can’t!” he cries.
“Fine!” I reach over and flip the switch. A brilliant white ball of light flies from the bus’s grill and slams into Miss America.
“Bye, babe,” is all Jeff says.
*
The elapsed time for a Self-Guided Supercharged Photon Missile to hit its intended target is only matter of seconds. Over the short distance between our van and Miss America, the time is probably two seconds. For Jeff and me, it feels like a day and a half watching someone you love slowly pass away in your arms. The ball of fire of the resulting explosion is brilliant and orange and beautiful. The cannon’s connection to the portal immediately shuts off as Miss America burns in the night.
The sound of an approaching motor scooter pulls my focus toward my sideview mirror. Marlene and Clara pull to a stop next to me. They look at the blaze ahead and then to me. We say nothing.
Jeff stares blankly at the scene ahead. The glow from the fire lights up the inside of our vehicle. He shuts off the engine and exits the bus. I look at Sandra and Leigh Ann. None of us knows what to say or do. I get out and walk to my friend as he stares at the burning wreck.
“What just happened?” He takes off his top hat and runs a hand through his hair. Tears spill from his eyes and he blows out an emotional sigh and then a groan of frustration. “What did you do?”
“The only thing I could do.” I pat him on the shoulder in the only real show of support I can offer. “I’m sorry.”
“You killed my car.”
“Be of good cheer,” I say because I’m really lame.
The rest of the group walks up to the scene and regards the remains of Miss America. The flames which once engulfed her now are only flickers. Leigh Ann slides her arm around Jeff’s and rests her head on his shoulder. Sandra stands on his other side and rubs his back in a small circle.
“I’m so sorry, honey,” she tells him. “I know how much she meant to you.”
Dad and Mom stand next to me and we hug. Randi Williams, Marlene, and Clara all walk around the car, surveying the damage. All is silent for a moment except for the crackle of the fire.
Jeff holds his top hat to his heart and through a voice choked with emotion starts singing the opening lines of Styx’s “Don’t Let It End.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
I awake with a start. I rise up in a panic and look around my room trying to get my bearings. Where am I? Why am I here? I allow myself a slight smile as the space around me comes into clear view. I’m in Poplar Bluff, Missouri, inside my house at 2300 Baugh Lane in my bedroom waking from a good night’s sleep. This will be my last time here as a regular resident.
I’m leaving home today.
I reach over and open a playlist on my phone. The first selection is “Bubbly,” but I skip over it in favor of “Into You,” by Ariana Grande because it gets me moving.
Four weeks have passed since The Tragic Sacrificial Death of Both Simon Tybalt and Miss America. My hometown looks the same, I guess, and life has moved on for the most part. Normalcy appears to rule the day once more, though I know this world is anything but normal. Nothing going forward will be normal for me. I see things differently now.
*
I place the last of my boxes in the trunk of my car and face my parents. They stand on the sidewalk in front of our house. A freshly posted for sale sign sits in our yard. They’re both giving me The Look. I feel closer to my parents than ever. Saving the world from a takeover by a megalomaniacal artificial i
ntelligence and his rogue valet will do that. I told myself I wasn’t going to cry when I said goodbye to them, but I have failed myself miserably. I’m wrecked.
“Aw, honey,” Mom wraps her arms around me and it’s all I can do to pull away. She wipes some tears away with her thumb in that way moms do. It’s one last hurrah for The Reassurance. “We’re so proud of you.”
“You’re off to bigger and better things,” Dad says in that way dads do.
“Can it get any bigger than what happened a few weeks ago?” I laugh.
“Ok, then,” he agrees. “Better things.”
I reach to rub a healing incision at the base of my neck. A few stitches bind it together. Randi arranged for me to have the nanotech removed by some R&D scientists. They used the same contraption Marlene used that night on Life Coach Gilbert and the nameless old woman outside the convenience store.
“Is it bothering you?” Dad asks.
“Just itches,” I say. “I’m glad it’s out, though.”
“I can’t believe Jeff put one of those nano things in you,” Mom says. “What was he thinking?”
“I never know what he’s thinking.” I look to the ground. I need to leave, but my feet don’t seem to be all that interested in guiding me to my car.
“I don’t know why this is so hard,” I say. “Eastern Missouri State is only a couple of hours away. It’s not like I’ll never come home again.”
“Of course you will,” Mom says. “You’re just starting out your life journey. You’ll always have a home wherever we are.”
“Still feeling good about quitting your job?” I ask Dad.
“Early retirement is a good call,” Dad says. “I needed out of the rat race. Your mom and I are going to travel.”
“Are you done with Kevin’s book club?”
“I don’t think we’ll ever be done with that,” Mom says. “Kevin has said there’s an entire network of book clubs around the country. We’re going to see if we can find them.”
“Sounds like we’re all starting journeys,” I say.
“No matter where life takes you,” Dad says, “never lose sight of where you came from.”