Total Amnesia: Forgotten Lives

by J. W. Northrup

  Cory Hall, the Six News evening anchor comes on.

  I’m confused—an evening anchor on a Saturday morning?

  The TV is tuned to channel six and it is the Six-News set. Why would Six News do something tacky like this? Couldn’t they get into trouble pulling this kind of stunt? Don’t they remember what happened with Orson Wells? No, that couldn’t be right. That means this must be a movie. That must be it, they’ve seen the movie and their trying to get me to think it’s real.

  I know how to disprove this. I quickly grab the remote and switch through the channels but every station is showing their own version of the same Special Report! And every newsperson is the stations’ main anchor.

  I begin to feel a twinge of nervousness in my stomach and I keep thinking; could this be real?

  I check the recorder again. Yes, it is off.

  I look at Mark and Alex—are they suppressing laughter? No. Mark actually looks downright scared and Alex appears rather pale. This doesn’t make sense. These two can never hold a straight face when they need to.

  I can think of no other explanation for what I am seeing and I’m beginning to get a strange feeling of unreality as I begin to realize this apparently is reality.

  “So how long has this been going on?” I ask.

  “They say about 20 hours,” says Alex earnestly, “Teresa called at 7:30 in a panic and told Mark to turn on the TV. There were Special Reports on every channel. They said the air force was trying to keep it under wraps but they couldn’t because the East Coast began to experience temporary blackouts as the UFO’s flew over.

  The blackouts continued following their flight path as they moved west. Then people started spotting them from the ground. They fly over us and all of a sudden we lose the picture and the lights go out and I swear I could feel some kind of strange vibration in my head that makes me sort of dizzy for a second or two, and then everything came back on.

  “So me and Mark go running outside and everyone’s out there looking up in the sky. But we can’t see anything.”

  “They say everything just stops working when they pass over,” says Mark, “I mean even emergency generators—anything with any electrical function at all just shuts down for a second—cars stall, pacemakers stop, everything for a second or two. Everybody’s panicking!”

  Alex jumps in. “Other countries are blaming the US. They’re saying we are responsible and that it’s some kind of new technology, but we’re saying we don’t know anything about it!”

  I search my mind for an explanation. I look at the clock on the range, and the microwave and see they are blinking 12:00. This is getting very strange!

  Alex is staring at the TV intently. “Oh I’m freakin’ man, I’m freakin’.”

  Crystal Koen, an ABC anchor is interviewing a man in uniform. The caption says “Major General Robert Adams, United States Air force”. He looks vaguely familiar.

  He is talking about the so-called invasion

  “The first reports of the phenomena came from Hawaii and Alaska. A short time later, the same phenomena were reported by Japan and soon afterward by the Russian states. By the time they reached Eastern Europe, we defined the disruption as a longitudinal line extending from pole to pole. At that point we began to suspect some unexplained disruption of the Earth’s magnetic field.

  “Then we began to receive reports that the UFO’s were spotted from the ground. Apparently they are completely invisible to radar. Our fighters were immediately scrabbled to investigate and they soon established visual contact with a number of the UFO’s. Eventually we discovered that there must be about 100 of them flying in a straight, latitudinal formation stretching from pole to pole.”

  I can see beads of sweat at the general’s temples. His forehead is wrinkled with obvious strain. He looks like he’s been up all night.

  “Haven’t you tried to contact them?” says Crystal as if she’s the first one to think of such an obvious thing.

  “We have attempted to, and are continuing to try to make contact with these strange UFO’s, but they are not responding—if indeed there is some form of life there to respond. They continue to move along in formation at a very fast speed—about mach 2. They disrupt any communication systems beneath their flight path. In fact virtually any electrical circuitry is rendered useless as they pass over. The signals coming from each ship extend 100 miles longitudinally, which corresponds with the spacing of the UFO’s. That is why we believe at this time—if indeed they are actually flying aircraft—uh, be it another country’s new technology, or uh some other unknown intelligent life, that they are doing some sort of scan of the entire planet—for what reason we do not know. But again this is total conjecture. There’s is no evidence to suggest an intelligent life form. I would like to emphasis, that there is no reason for panic. They do not appear, repeat, do not appear to be hostile or of a category that would be considered a life form.”

  “At least we hope it’s just a scan,” says Crystal, “then what would you guess they are scanning for?”

  “We do not know Crystal. We have our top people studying it. If it is a scan it has no detectable wave form or energy reading, we are unable to identify any signal what-so-ever being emitted from these UFO’s so we cannot at this time determine what is causing power failures beneath them—only that the phenomena is coincidental with the UFO’s above.

  The camera returns to Crystal, her hand has moved up to one ear, “uh, OK, we have new video of one of the UFO’s. OK, we’re going to go to the video.”

  The screen switches to a jumpy close up image of one of the UFO’s. The caption says the picture is from a trailing F18 fighter. The general explains that the fighter must keep out of range of the scan or lose all control of the aircraft. The camera pans the hull from front to back. Aside from a general shape, there are no distinguishable features―just a smooth, opaque gray.

  “General. What do you make of it?”

  General Adams shrugs, “there is no indication of heat or fumes being emitted from any part of the UFO that would manifest some type of known engine or propulsion system. The opaque gray seems to be shielding whatever is inside―if there is anything. There is no technology we know of that could act as such a complete shield and no propulsion system that would not have some type of heat signature. With no established communications, we simply do not know. As of now the only explanation is that this is simply an unknown natural phenomenon.”

  “Do you think it may be another country testing some new technology?”

  “Of course we have been in contact with any government we feel may be remotely capable of such technology and have only receive accusations in response. Most are accusing the US of violating their air space, claiming that we are testing some new type of spy plane and threaten to shoot them down if they fly over again, but I can tell you positively that this is not the case and I can’t imagine anyone with this kind of technology. These things are a mile wide! This discounts any known technology of flight.

  The general smiles uneasily and shakes his head.

  “Of course the popular rumor is that these are some kind of UFO’s from outer space, but at this time there is no real indication that these phenomena contain any sentient life. A more reasonable explanation at this time is that this is some sort of unknown natural phenomena. More and more experts are beginning to theorize that this could be some kind of intermittent, inverted electronic polarity anomaly extending between the magnetic poles.”

  Another news correspondent cuts in; his voice has a tone of urgency.

  “Uh, Crystal, Crystal can you hear me…we have another startling new development…”

  The camera switches back to Crystal.

  “Uh, OK we’re going to Mick Dillard in Los Angeles; Mick?”

  “Crystal we have reports that a new UFO has been sighted roughly 200,000 feet above Columbia, South America. This thing is huge and its features are similar to the UFO’s we’ve all seen a number of popular movies—notably, ‘Indep
endence Day’. It’s estimated to be anywhere from to 100 to 150 miles in diameter. Could this be the mother ship?”

  The camera pans out to Crystal and the general, whose face has suddenly gone pale and his expression confused.

  “Oh my god, we are being invaded!” says Mark, his eyes are wide as he grabs his face with his hands.

  Alex is staring—wide-eyed and open mouthed. He suddenly twitches. “This is it! Oh god, I’ve got to call mom. This is it!”

  The TV shows Mick Dillard, an uncharacteristic expression of genuine terror on his face, his voice rising in pitch as one hand pushes against an ear and he begins to repeat the information coming in:

  “…Unconfirmed—no confirmed reports—the disrupting signals have stopped. The UFO’s are gone….More UFO’s?

  Uh, Crystal, they are saying that a new—more numerous group of UFO’s have appear at 45,000 feet in a similar formation over Japan….and they’re now emitting a…a gas…could you repeat…a gas? A gas! …a pinkish gas…people are dying?…They’re dying! People are dying from the gas!…apparently the Martians—uh aliens are…oh shit….the UFO’s are releasing some kind of nerve agent….reports….reports say Japanese fighters have orders to attack…that they can’t get near them…they’re being shot down…Oh god, they’re saying planet Earth is under attack…”

  Alex is frantically dialing and redialing the phone. “This is it!” he keeps saying, this is it!”

  As for me, I can’t really recall ever being in a state of panic and—aside from a few stray butterflies in my stomach—I’m not in one now. But the day is young and if I’m capable of panic I suppose today will be the day.

  Mark’s state of panic is manifested in his slumping onto the couch and staring with his hands still clutching his mouth. I guess Alex is right, this is it!

  I have an impulse to go over to the window and look outside for any signs indicating that this is actually happening outside our little apartment, in the real world.

  Oh lord! Campus Drive is completely packed with cars. Some of them are running the lights at the intersections! Two cars collide, back up, swerve and continue on. It looks like a demolition derby out there!

  OK, it’s time to reassess the situation again. Did I really wake up? Yes, I know I’m awake. Apparently this is the real thing and yet all I can muster is a twinge of nerves in my stomach. I feel inappropriately calm; unable to get into the spirit of a hysteria that seems to have taken over our unfortunate planet. But I’ve always been that way. I only lose it with silly things, like slow people in the left traffic lane when I’m in hurry or someone with15 items in a ten item, “cash only” checkout line casually writing a check. I’ll go crazy over petty stuff. I suppose you put one of those aliens in the fast lane when I’m in a hurry and I would lose it.

  Oddly enough, my reaction to this reminds me of three years ago when I moved into my little shared apartment here at Stanford from my hometown of Cassville Missouri.

  I was the only one in my school to receive a scholarship to Stanford. I’m sure I was the only one to apply and I didn’t particularly mention it to anyone when I did. For whatever wild-hair-up-the-butt reason, I just wanted to go to Stanford. I suppose it’s this control problem of mine. Everyone back home was trying so hard to push me into the simple, redneck, Southern Baptist lifestyle—working at the local poultry processing plant or something. Well, you push me one way; I go the other—even if you are right. I can’t stand people who think they know what’s best for me. The way I see it is you’re either able to observe and make decisions according to your own observation or you do what the self-assigned authorities tell you to do and all that translates into this: You’re either a slave or a free man. I’m a free man. In my opinion most people are sheep. Governments love sheep. Sheep love to be told what to do and feel safe in the security of numbers. Sheep rely on “authorities”. I don’t.

  I probably could have gone almost anywhere. I was a sterling scholar and winner of the academic scholar of the year in Barry County. I have to admit I’m pretty smart when it comes to science.

  So I came here all by myself to Stanford. Everyone at home was so emotional about my moving away to school; so many admonitions about going off to that debauched bay-area California lifestyle that would only distract me from my studies and validate my problems until I was like “all the rest of them”—either on drugs or seeing a counselor who would put me on drugs. I actually thought at one point they were going to call some de-programmer, lock me in a room without food or sleep, dope me up, and exorcise my demons until I decided to go to the University in Springfield like everyone else.

  I didn’t care what they said. I didn’t care about anything. I was going and they knew it, so they had to let me go, they had no choice, that’s just the way I am. When I make up my mind to do something, I do it. Hell, if I don’t have enough intelligence to make decisions about my life, I say it’s better to be wrong than a sheep.

  And there were the tearful farewells and the countless words of advice about the big city from worldly elders who have probably never even been out of Barry County. And though I tried to get into the significance of it all, I just couldn’t. I simply packed up, drove out here to Palo Alto, moved in the dorms and began going to school, majoring in Physics, no big deal. I haven’t been infected or influence or corrupted or perverted. I’m still me. Sure there are plenty more distractions here, so what? You can’t run away from it all. You can put a big fence around your house and pull the blinds, but the world is still out here. My philosophy is you can’t run away from the world. Maintaining your integrity to yourself has nothing to do with anything but yourself. The only thing distractions are good for are excuses and you can find them anywhere you look, including Barry County.

  But then there is this distracting matter of me and Professor Espree that has revealed my hypocrisy. I’m obsessed by her, compelled by her and completely intimidated by her presence. In the past six months she has totally destroyed my whole “I’m my own man” thesis. Leave it to a woman!

  Now, as the world around me freaks, I find myself thinking about Professor Espree. Damn! Just when I’m getting somewhere with her, the world has to come to an end. Just my luck!

  I look back at the TV and hear Mick Dillard’s hysterical voice describing another live shot showing a fighter approaching one of the UFO’s. Sure enough a pink gas is flowing out from each end in big fire-hose streams that seem to extent horizontally forever without curving downward. And the gas just seems to shear vertically from the horizontal stream like a wall. Apparently these aliens haven’t been notified of our laws of gravity because they seem to be ignoring them.

  Now the fighter appears to be turning toward the ground, going into a spin. The ground is coming closer and closer and the screen goes blank as the fighter crashes. Mick is saying that the gas is knocking out the pilots. Even when they avoid the gas and fire their weapons on the UFO’s from the air it has no effect. The missiles can’t lock on a target that doesn’t appear on radar and even when they fire at close range with cannons, the bullets simply bounce off. One fighter was able to detonate a missile right on top of one of the ships with no effect. Now they’re talking about using nukes.

  I feel so matter-of-fact. OK, life here on Earth is going to change. We’re all going to die, or maybe we’ll be taken over by some alien race.

  Yep, that’s pretty interesting.

  Any way you look at it my 15 years of education has suddenly become relatively insignificant. The last three years of college―with all of its supreme importance―means nothing now. Material possessions, mortgages, mutual funds, insurance policies, business plans, social security, the national debt, terrorism―even governments and entire cultures―all of that is going to become basically meaningless in the scheme of things; wiped out, just like that. Now everything that made up my life, everything that is so important to achieve; the goals, the aspirations; they all seem like some silly, almost childlike game in what has become the curre
nt scheme of things. Now that’s an interesting “Theory of Relativity.”

  Apparently we’re just some Podunk Planet with Podunk technology and they have their own version of Manifest Destiny. It ain’t so noble when it’s your society that’s being “civilized” is it white man!

  I think that maybe I should be doing something to save myself. I look around. The cellular network was apparently knocked out by the first ships passing over. The land lines are clogged so I can’t call my family. I’m certainly not going anywhere with the traffic out there. I don’t own a gun. To hell with it; this situation is obviously much bigger than I am.

  I settle myself onto the couch next to Mark who has yet to move and look over at Alex who is swearing and dialing over and over.

  “Give it up Alex.”

  He stops and stares at me. “I gotta go!” he says suddenly.

  He runs into his room to retrieves his wallet―as if money and drivers licenses matter now―and heads for the door.

  “Alex, you’re not going to get anywhere out there, look at the roads.”

  He stands there with his chin high, “I have to try,” he says courageously. He turns and disappears.

  “Bye Alex,” I say, but he’s gone.

  Mark suddenly springs to life.

  “Teresa!”

  A few seconds later he’s out the door, heading for the girl’s dorm.

  “Bye Mark,” I say, but he’s gone too.

  I look around―not certain as to whether I’m feeling lonely or relieved that my roommates have gone. I suppose it is relief, I really have nowhere to go. With no family in the area I am suddenly aware that I have neglected―in my aloof, self-righteousness―to develop any lasting personal relationships in the area.

  I think about Sally, a girl I dated briefly. I wish we hadn’t just broken up and I’m sure she’s with that Eddy “Chicks-dig-me” Jansen jerk and I bet you anything that human penis is using this as an opportunity to get into her pants―disgusting jerk.