Shatnerquake

by Burk, Jeff

  He picked up and tossed aside squishy parts of the corpse until he found what he was looking for—the heart. He brought it to his mouth and bit out a huge chuck. He chewed on the tough muscle—fresh blood smeared over his lips and chin—and then spit out the hunk to the floor.

  He stood, enraged. He spun around and flipped the lightsaber on.

  This was not William Shatner.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  By the time Kirk had realized his mistake, Shatner had made it up two flights of stairs. Without consciously thinking, at the second floor he ran down a hall directly at the top of the stairs. He came to a set of doors and pushed his way through them.

  The doors shut behind him and Shatner fell to his hands and knees, exhausted. He wheezed in-and-out. He looked around the room to find himself in a room about fifty feet by fifty feet.

  It was lined with tables filled with food and bottles of alcohol. The walls were decorated with streamers and the ceiling was filled with balloons.

  Shatner stood up with a groan and stumbled over to the table filled with bottles. He grabbed the whiskey, twisted off the top, and drank deeply from the bottle.

  He coughed and leaned against the table.

  This is it Bill.

  He swigged again from the bottle and stood up straighter. A million tiny cuts and bruises screamed back.

  You can’t just keep running. He’ll just keep coming after you.

  He drank more.

  You’re the hero.

  He took a final drink and tossed the bottle across the room.

  You’re the hero.

  He walked over to the room’s door.

  OK, head to the dealer’s room again. The weapons stand should still be well stocked. Either that or find one of those freaky-ass guards. I’ll feel safer with them rather than the nerds or psychos.

  He opened the door and went through.

  I’m the hero—

  The briefcase hit him over the head the moment he was through the doorway. Shatner stumbled forward dazed and fell to his knees. He was hit again on the back of his head.

  As the world went black he heard a familiar voice yell, “Denny Crane!”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Lobby: People filled all available space and pushed toward the front doors. The wall of static prevented anyone from getting out. Those closest to the doors were crushed and mashed. More and more people surged into the room from all parts of the convention, hoping for some kind of escape. The mass of humanity became denser and denser. Some were sucked beneath the crowd and smashed underfoot.

  Dealer’s Room: The people had broken down into a tribal mindset and were searching for something, anything, to blame the current disaster on. One target stood out amongst all the others: the Star Wars memorabilia dealers. The crowd rounded them up and herded them into the cleared out center of the room. They circled the dealers and hurled insults.

  “Luke is emo.”

  “George Lucas is the cause of all pain and suffering.”

  “Han shot second.”

  The dealers were then pelted with plastic lightsabers and discounted Jar-Jar action figures until they stopped moving.

  Theater: Jack and Sondra were convinced this was the end and if they were going down, they were going down. They went into theater three and a quick glance made it clear that the room was empty. If Shatner had known how these two people were spending their last minutes, he would have approved.

  When they were done, they stood and brushed the gray dust off of each other’s bodies. They wondered what the filth was, but they didn’t give it too much thought.

  Museum: Shatner’s senses slowly drifted back. First, he was aware that his legs and arms were restrained and that his head hurt like Hell. His vision came back and he saw he was on a full-scale replica of the bridge of the starship Enterprise—the TV version. He was tied to the Captain’s Chair.

  Scattered through the bridge were various William Shatners, representing all stages of his career, his life, staring at him. There were also two men and a woman standing together in front of him. Each of them was missing their right hand. Campbellians.

  Denny Crane stepped up next to them. “He’s awake.”

  The Campbellians moved and Shatner saw there were two cardboard boxes behind them. One of the men and the woman picked up a box. The other man walked up to Shatner, pulled a package of baby wipes out of his pocket, and began to clean Shatner’s head and face.

  Shatner shook his head. “What…are…you doing?”

  The man punched Shatner in the jaw.

  Shatner coughed and spit out a tooth in a mess of blood.

  “I only need you to be awake for this,” said the Campbellian. He grabbed Shatner’s head with one hand and began to wipe it down again with the other. “I don’t care what condition you’re in.”

  Shatner stayed still. He looked to the other two Campbellians. They each had unpacked their boxes. The woman was messing with what looked like an overly large silver VCR. The man held what looked like a large steel motorcycle helmet but it was missing the facemask and it had long wires jutting out of it.

  The Campbellian let go of Shatner and the one with the helmet came over and placed it over Shatner’s head.

  “What…are…you doing to me,” asked Shatner.

  The Campbellian took hold of the wires from the helmet and plugged them into the back of the VCR-looking device. The woman took a videotape out of the box and put it in the machine.

  She pushed a button and then said, “We’re good to go.”

  The first man turned to Shatner. “We’re about to steal all your show business knowledge and talent. Everything that has made you a success, we are going to take. It will be a glorious gift for our savior, Bruce.”

  All three Campbellians raised their handless right arms and lowered their heads. They were silent for a moment and then they lowered their arms.

  The man continued, “What I need you to do is think about your life. To help you along, when I’m done, they’re,” the Campbellian motioned with his head to the Shatners, “going to kill you.”

  “Wait…I…implore you,” said Shatner, “you…don’t have to do this…are we not all…humans…people…people with hopes…dreams…and desires…think for yourself…your God…is a lie…do the right thing…let me…go.”

  “Nope,” the man moved away from Shatner and turned to the woman who was crouched in front of the other machine.

  “Do it,” he said.

  Before she had a chance to push the button, Denny Crane jumped in between them.

  “Wait,” he yelled.

  “Why?” asked the Campbellian who was standing off to the side.

  Crane turned to him and smiled, “for suspense.”

  “Fuck him,” said the other male Campbellian. He turned to the woman, “Push-”

  Before he could finish, the turborlift beeped. Everyone in the room turned to it as the doors slide open. A blood-slicked, crazed-eyed Captain Kirk stepped out.

  The room was frozen in shock as Kirk slowly turned his head, eyeing them all. He held out his right hand, which held the lightsaber, and flicked the weapon on. The room was still and silent as everyone waited to see who would make the first move.

  The turborlift on the other side of the room beeped and its doors slid open. Out stepped another Shatner.

  “Welcome back to this special convention edition of ‘Rescue 911,’” he said staring off, “here, on the bridge of the Enterprise, was the sight of one of the convention’s bloodiest and most bizarre incidents. As a deranged Captain Kirk brutally massacred a room full of terrorists and fictional characters made real.”

  Kirk roared and charged the nearest Shatner, who looked circa mid-seventies, and drop-kicked him.

  The Shatners rushed to Kirk.

  “You…people…are crazy,” yelled William Shatner from beneath the helmet.

  Kirk leapt to his feet and swung the lightsaber at the Shatner dressed in old-English garb that was running
towards him. The beam smoothly decapitated him and sent his head rolling across the bridge.

  The black-and-white Shatner tried attacking Kirk from behind but he spun around and quickly struck with the weapon, neatly cutting off both of his arms. The stumps sprayed black sludge and film stock as the Shatner slumped to the floor.

  “Remember, everything you’re seeing is real,” said Rescue 911 Shatner, still standing at the second turborlift.

  The Campbellians watched as Kirk began the slaughter. Blood and limbs flew about the room.

  The Campbellian closest to Shatner turned to face the others, “Start the machine.”

  The woman pushed a button on the machine and Shatner started convulsing in the captain’s chair. He screamed as the machine began to steal his identity. It felt like a thousand straws had been stuck in his skull and the insides were being slowly sucked out. His consciousness flickered out and Shatner found himself only aware of his memories as they were dismantled piece by piece. He was lost in his own internal, crumbling world.

  The Campbellian closest to Shatner shook his fists in the air. “Yes. Yes! All glory be to Bru-“

  He stopped and looked down. A bright beam of red light jutted from his chest. It sunk back into to his chest and the Campbellian fell to the ground.

  Kirk stepped over the corpse and charged the other Campbellians, widely waving the lightsaber. The man jumped aside. The woman screamed and dodged, falling over the recording device, as the glowing blade narrowly missing her

  Blood began to flow from William Shatner’s nose and the corners of his eyes. Green, creamy pus slowly oozed out of his ears. He pissed and shit himself at the same time. Having who you are sucked out of your head is an extremely unpleasant experience.

  Kirk stood over the woman and brought the light-saber down. She rolled to the side and the machine beneath her was cut in half.

  Shatner began screaming as the helmet, with now no destination to send the information it was collecting, began sending the data feedback into his skull. Every millisecond that passed, Shatner’s memory doubled, but it was all the same info. After a moment, Shatner had a thousand memories of his first kiss. His head felt on the verge of explosion as more and more info was crammed into it.

  Kirk turned his attention to the screaming and walked over to William Shatner. He raised the lightsaber to his left side. Shatner kept screaming, unaware of anything but his past as it filled and refilled his head.

  Kirk swung and cut Shatner’s head in half, long-ways. The room went silent as every eye watched the half skull flip through the air, flinging brain matter. It hit the floor with a CLUNK.

  A bright beam of white light shot up from the attached half of Shatner’s head. It looked like someone had turned on a spotlight in the body.

  Bruce and Bruce ran to each other and clutched tight.

  As one, all the Shatners dropped to their knees and raised their fists.

  “NNNNNOOOOO,” they all screamed.

  Their hands began to lose form. Their finger fused together and stretched out with a sickening cracking sound. The tissue pulled and reshaped into a series of bone squares framing translucent skin. The flesh film-strips stretched through in the air and went into Shatner’s skull and the source of the light.

  The Shatners screamed as their bodies bent and transformed. First their arms were gone. Then the Shatners levitated into the air as their feet began to change. Their legs disappeared as the limbs fused together and extended out, giving each body a third reel. Once the makeover completely took their arms, their torsos began to change starting at the shoulder. The three reels of flesh-stock met in the center of the chest and became one large strip continuing up to their neck.

  The floating disembodied Shatner heads managed to sustain the cry of “No!” until they too disappeared.

  The flesh-strips flapped in the air and then were sucked into the light. Once the last bit was gone, the light suddenly turned off.

  Bruce and Bruce stood silent and still. They looked at each other and then to Shatner’s body. Blood oozed down the half-head.

  They turned to each other. Bruce stared deeply into Bruce’s eyes.

  “I think it’s all over,” Bruce said.

  Bruce nodded. “There’s something I’ve wanted to tell you,” she said.

  “Yes,” said Bruce.

  “I love—”

  The blast of red light emitted from Shatner’s head. It tore through the room, leaving all non-living matter unharmed but it reduced Bruce and Bruce’s brains to runny sludge as it passed through them. They fell to the ground holding each other.

  The light spread through the whole convention center. It filled every room and overtook everyone.

  Then the light went out.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  William Shatner came to. He moved his head and it felt like a thousand Gorn were pounding inside. He winced at the pain as he looked around the room. It was empty but for the three Campbellians lying on the ground. One had a gaping hole through his chest. The other two didn’t look harmed but they were not breathing.

  He tried moving his body and the rope that had held his arms and legs in place easily broke away. He looked at it and it looked like it had been burned through.

  He turned around in the chair and looked behind him. There really was no one else in the room.

  Where did the…me’s go?

  The last thing he could remember was the Campbellians putting the helmet on his head. Then he went out.

  He looked down at his body and saw that his clothes were now fresh and clean. It was the same suit he had been wearing before but all the blood stains and tears were gone, as if he had not been fighting for his life all day.

  As he tried to stand up, the world violently spun about him. He tried to steady himself but he fell right back into the captain’s chair.

  He tried standing again and he fell to the floor. Struggling, he managed to get to his hands and knees. His head screamed in protest at the movement.

  The turned-off lightsaber was on the floor in front of him. He grabbed it and shoved it in the waistband of his pants. If any of the Shatners were around, they would surely make short work of him in this condition but at least the weapon would give him a fighting chance.

  He crawled to the door of the tuborlift and pulled himself up the wall. He paused to vomit and then the world had stopped moving slightly enough for him to stand on his own. He pushed the button and the doors slid open.

  The next room of the museum, an exhibit based on “Incubus,” was empty of people. So was the next one. Shatner did not see any sign of another person until he managed to stagger to the lobby.

  The marble floors were carpeted with corpses. Some had obviously been crushed to death by the crowd, their bodies mangled and mashed. Some bodies displayed no signs of injury but it was obvious from their positions and stillness that they were all dead.

  Shatner stood at the top of the lobby’s stairs and almost cried when he saw the sun shining in through the glass entranceway. He half ran/half fell down the stairs and across the bodies. His head and body screamed with pain in protest but he was too joyous to care.

  He reached the set of doors next to the wrecked ambulance and with great effort, managed to push aside the body of a skinny girl wearing Spock ears.

  He went into the revolving doors and pushed and found himself outside. He rushed forward and threw himself onto the concrete. The feel of fresh air as euphoric as a drug to him.

  He was vaguely aware of the flashing lights of emergency vehicles around him and only half-heard the person run up to him.

  “Are you OK, sir?” they asked, throwing a blanket over him.

  Shatner didn’t respond. He just cried and started kissing the ground.

  The person pulled him to his feet as two other people ran over. They guided him to the back of an ambulance as they talked. Shatner’s head hung low the whole time. The pain had resided but there was now a low drone that filled his hearing.
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  “Is it…”

  “I think so.”

  “Sir? Sir? Are you OK? Can you tell me your name?”

  Shatner slumped against the side of the ambulance and started laughing, “I’m…William Shatner.”

  He laughed so hard his eyes teared up. He rolled his head around giggling.

  When he looked at the paramedics he started screaming.