Shadow Seed 1: The Misbegotten

by Richard M. Heredia

  I could only squint at them as if I’d tasted something sour. Girls could be so fucking weird at times.

  Other aspects of “hardness” developed, during those few days as well, having nothing to do with my reproductive organ. With every twelve-hour interval, both Tirza and I grew harder. Now, I’m not referring to anything sexual or even sexual in nature. I mean precisely what I am saying – we grew harder. I knew my first encounter with this physiological change within me had occurred while I was attempting to shave. I had shattered the shaver when I should’ve flayed my cheek, but this was somewhat different. I was becoming denser as if the billions and billions of molecules in my body were realigning, as if they moved closer together, making space for more mass to inject itself into my body. As a consequence, I was getting heavier and made the floor and my bed creak loudly whenever stepped or moved about. This was true of Tirza as well.

  We didn’t feel any different or lose equilibrium or anything along those lines. We just had to be more careful of what grabbed or bumped into, for one tiny, inadvertent knock of my hand against the drywall in my bathroom had left the impression of my knuckles behind. I had stood there shocked, because it had been such an innocuous movement, and yet the result was ten, maybe fifteen, times beyond what it should’ve been.

  By the end of the third day, needles could no longer penetrate our skin and both Tirza and I were over sixty percent heavier than we had weighed seventy-two hours prior. We both became hyper-aware of our surroundings, because we didn’t want to hurt anyone unnecessarily. It still didn’t stop the others from taking pot-shots at us now and again just to test whether or not we’d feel their punches more than they did – usually, they felt it more. My ex-girlfriend and I began to joke about all the sore knuckles we had given them without so much as lifting a finger.

  By the end of the fourth day – Monday, the 18th - our little community rouse began to unravel as well - the angst amongst our parents began to reach levels so high, real fear was beginning to take over. The first to crumble before the onslaught was Sandy’s mother, who called her mid-afternoon and told her she couldn’t stay the night at Leda’s. When Sandy protested, her mother would have none of it and said she expected Sandy to be home when she got home from work at 6:30 pm. Sandy shrugged at the phone and said to no one, “I’m sorry to disappoint…”

  The second was Ramona’s mother, Maria, and she wasn’t as diplomatic. Her and my girlfriend went back and forth for a few minutes until her mom had enough. Maria had yelled at Ramona then, promising if she didn’t come home that night, she would report her as a runaway. Ramona threw the phone on my bed in anger, skulking where she stood, facing out one of the back windows of the Loft. She was so annoyed, she was on the verge of tears.

  When Leda made to go to her, I stopped her. It was always better to leave Ramona be when she was about to cry, the slightest miscalculation could set her off screaming in the other direction. Instead, I wrapped Leda in my embrace and held her for a few moments, letting her know I understood what she was trying to do, even if my girlfriend couldn’t. She had turned her head and laid it against my chest and stayed there for a while.

  We all knew Ramona would now be a runaway.

  When my mom got home on Friday, the seventh day of our tedious wait, she settled little Lucia with a fresh Sippy-cup of juice before the TV in her room and came directly to the Loft. With only a cursory knock, she stepped into the large room, her face registering mild shock at the sight of the girls, the air mattresses, all the blankets and the general untidiness of the room. She had frowned, and probably would’ve rounded on me with a stern remark upon her tongue when she saw Flavia and Jolene as well as Johan and Martín sitting on my bed with the rest of us, while we watched the local news station.

  I had extricated myself from the group and met her half way, apologizing for the mess, but she really wasn’t looking at me anymore. Her eyes were festooned to the LCD screen depicting story after story of Muto infestations, terrorist uprisings that seemed to never end.

  When I said I was sorry for the mess for a second time, she just waved me to her, worry and uncertainty in her expression. I went to my mother and she gave me a firm hug. Then, she did an amazing thing. She whispered in my ear that it was okay if any of my friends wished to stay over. As far as she was concerned, she didn’t want anyone on the streets once the sun went down. I lied a white lie, saying that only Jolene and Tirza would be staying. I just couldn’t see her having to accept the real number of people who’d be – and had been – staying for nearly two weeks now.

  When I motioned to Tirza, her eyes nearly popped out of her head in confusion. I knew she was fighting to comprehend how Ramona would allow Tirza to be within one hundred feet of me.

  But, my mother, being the great woman of tact that she was, merely pursed her lips and said under her breath, “I’ll wait to hear you explain that one later, young man. Until then, be good.” Her eyes were direct and bore into mine. Like always, she was telling – and not particularly subtle, I might add – to keep my hands to myself and my junk in my pants.

  I sighed dramatically, while she waved her “hi’s” and “good-bye’s”, and took her leave. Not before she told me to clean up, though.

  [He rockets into himself, his fingers flicking so fast, it is hard to follow them.]

  My mother had always such a pain in the butt, always so watchful of us. How I miss her now. It has been so many years.

  R.I.P. Mama…

  [To avoid the anguish, he plunges back down – gone.]

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~♦~~~~~~~~~~~~

  ~ Chapter 61 ~

  (Summer – 2018)

  Marijuana Massacre

  By the next evening, we were all wired so tight we were fighting over the stupidest shit, arguing the most ridiculous points and just overall getting on each other’s nerves at every single, fucking turn. After the second hour of this bullshit, I’d had enough. I marched over to my dresser, yanked open the top drawer, shoved in my hand and pulled forth the rolled joints and weed Jacob had put there sometime early that month.

  I didn’t wait for anyone. I didn’t talk to anyone. I simply strode over to the window, climbed through it and made my way to very top of the house – the roof over the Loft. I sat down, peering about the darkened city, gazed briefly at the stars. I put a fat joint to my mouth and lit the butane lighter. My cousin had left it within the plastic bag with the rest of my “goodies”. The roofing shingles were still warm from the midday-sun and were, thus, comfortable to sit upon. They were a good balance between their warmth and the cool breeze blowing inland from the ocean.

  I took one long puff, held it and watched them come up like a procession, trickling upward sauntered Katie, Sandy, Ramona, Leda, Tirza, Jolene and finally Flavia. Only Johan had stayed behind, because he, by some amazing ability only he seemed to possess, had fallen asleep amongst the cacophony of bickering and bitching. They had left him spread-eagled upon my bed with the TV on low, a note scrawled upon my desk, telling him where we’d gone should he awaken.

  When I finally released the smoke from my lungs, Katie put out her hand, a knowing smirk on her visage. “I thought this was breaking the rules about being ready in a moments’ notice and all that weak shit. I mean, isn’t it?” she asked, taking the joint and pulled hard on it. She was, after all, the biggest pothead among us, excepting Jacob maybe.

  “I don’t give a shit,” I replied. “After all the crap going on down there, all I could think of was finding something to make me relax. We’re all too keyed up. We need to chill. There’s no way we can possibly hope to focus when we’re acting like a bunch of assholes.”

  “I’m with you there, cuz,” she said as she sat down beside me, her leg rubbing against mine.

  Leda reached around my cousin and took the next plug of the drug into her body. She stood there holding her breath. Her neck was canted upward, holding the naughty sig’ between her fore- and middle-fingers, flaring out her hand so the smoldering end was awa
y from her body. She was in profile relative to me, and she looked very much like a movie star – sexy, young, and beautiful silhouetted against the canopy of stars. I realized then, I’d been mooning over how hot Leda was for some time now; because, I couldn’t remember the first time I admitted it to myself. I was attracted to her. It could’ve been quite some time ago. As I stared at her that night, I couldn’t help but feel something deep for her. The very sight of her stirred me.

  “Cat got your tongue?” asked Sandy, coming to sit on the other side of me just as close as Katie.

  I sniggered. “Naw, Leda does,” I offered freely, something I could always do with Sandy. There are no secrets between us. We have always told one another exactly what was on our minds’.

  Her gaze followed mine and, for a few heartbeats, she got to see Leda exactly as I had. Right before the petite teen moved to face us more directly, handing the joint over to Ramona. She took it and sat down in front of me, though close enough, her butt was partially on my right foot.

  “Yeah, she sure is a pretty one, isn’t she?” responded Sandy with a question, rhetorical and really not for answering.

  “Yes, she is…,” I retorted nevertheless.

  “Who is what?” asked my girlfriend with the strained tones of someone holding their breath while trying to talk.

  “Leda,” said Sandy, quick to speak. “We were saying Leda is pretty.”

  Ramona nodded emphatically, exhaling, passing the rolled cigarette Jolene, who promptly took it and took a nice hit. My step-sister stared at her with wide-eyes the entire time. I guess there were a few things Flavia didn’t know about her best friend. “Leda is gorgeous, what are you guys talking about?” Her eyes were already glassy and her grin was too wide. Fucking Ramona was one of the few people I knew who got buzzed off the first drag. There was no waiting with her. One moment, she was sober, the next, she was stoned. It’s always bewildered me.

  “Who’s gorgeous?” interrupted Leda.

  “You are babydoll, you are,” was my girlfriend’s uneven reply.

  Leda stepped closer, a serious cast about her. “Hell ya, bitches, and don’t you forget it either.”

  We all chuckled lightly. The interplay was more like the norm, especially when compared to the childish way we had been acting down in the Loft. It made me feel better and some of the tightness in my shoulders and neck evaporated.

  Jolene had just passed the joint to Flavia, who looked down at it as if it were a rattlesnake or something, barely holding it between the tiniest tips of her fingers.

  To my surprise, Tirza crept up to her and deftly took it from her before she dropped it. My ex-girlfriend, without pause, brought it to her lips and sucked in, then held it. “That’s how you do it, girl,” she said in a similar voice to the one Ramona has used. Tirza held her breath for a few more seconds, while I shook my head, thinking. Since when did this god-fearing, bible thumping, little imp of a girl become an expert at smoking dope? Where in the fuck had I been to have missed such a drastic change?

  The thought came without recourse. Up Ramona’s pussy, you dumb ass!

  Tirza handed it back to Flavia, talking her through the process, while my step-sister followed suit. I was watching the scene raptly when Sandy’s cell phone rang. She squawked with shock.

  “Oh crap, it’s my mom,” she said in a strangled voice, scrambling to her feet and moving away, so she could hear clearer.

  I gazed after her, more than a little worried, but was side-tracked as my step-sister let out a series of harsh, hacking coughs, marijuana smoke belching from her lungs explosively. Every third cough, she gaged and retched almost as though she was about to up-chuck right there on the roof, but she held it in with a chorus of long, deep breaths.

  No one laughed or made fun of Flavia, we were too loose to be mean at that point.

  “You broke your cherry, girl, congrats,” announced Ramona with a flourish and a few us did laugh then.

  Katie saluted her. “Welcome to the club, cuz!” she said, while Tirza patted her lightly on the back.

  Flavia peered through watery eyes like we were crazy. I couldn’t blame her though, everyone coughed and spewed and choked the first time they tried smoking weed. It was like a fucking rite of passage or some shit like it. Well, it sure felt as if it was, at least in my book.

  Sandy came back then, her face a twist of confusion.

  “What happened?” I asked the first to notice the change in her mood.

  Sandy grimaced, the lack of understanding making her sweet face look momentarily unattractive. “I don’t know…,” was her inadequate answer.

  “What don’t you know?”

  “My mom, she told me not to go home, to stay away at Leda’s or wherever the two of us were staying,” she tried for a second time, sounding more coherent.

  “Really?” I asked, unbelieving.

  She bobbed her head up and down absent-mindedly. “Yeah, she said some guy in a suit had come over asking all sorts of questions about me and my friends – you guys, I assume.”

  Those last four words drew my full attention in the blink of an eye. “Us, why would you think us?” I asked, trying to make the same deduction she had.

  “I’m not sure, Estefan. I guess you had to hear the way she said it. It was like she was saying something to me, but wanted me to understand she was implying much more.” She shook her head in confusion. “She never talks that way… I think it was more than a warning, and yet, I’m not totally sure.” She was about to cry, the bewilderment was overwhelming.

  “Don’t worry too much, Sandy. Don’t forget your mother doesn’t know how prepared we are should anything come our way. She’s thinking you and Leda, and maybe one or two others, are kicking back someplace acting foolish. She doesn’t know you’re here, with us, armed, ready and with a game plan.” I motioned for her to sit back down next to me. “I doubt she would’ve called, if she knew what we’ve set up here. Why take the risk, right?”

  She nodded like a toddler trying to be brave of the dark or the boogeyman.

  “At least she gives a crap,” chimed in Ramona, having retrieved the half-smoked joint. She blew off some of the ash and took a quick hit.

  “Why do you say it like that?” wondered Katie as she took the mini-doob and repeated what my girlfriend had done.

  Ramona blurted a chuckle. “Because my bitch-ass mom reported me as a runaway this evening, that’s why.”

  “Really, when?” I asked.

  “A few hours ago, the fucking bitch.” Ramona’s eyes were hooded now and kept sliding away from whatever she was trying to look at. For some reason, they were unable to stay in one place. She’s fucking high!

  “Hey, won’t that pose a problem for us? I mean won’t the police be out looking for her now?” questioned Leda. No sigh of a buzz on her. “Her mom has gotta know she spends a lot of time over here, right?”

  I sighed and massaged my scalp. “Yeah, I guess that’s a possibility, but if she knew for sure, why report her as a runaway and not just come over and get her?”

  “Because, she’s a lazy, fat-assed cow who’d rather get fucked up the culo, then lift a finger for me,” rasped my girlfriend, wiping at the dribble of spittle leaking from her mouth. “She’ll let the cops sort it out…” It was an afterthought, directed at no one.

  “It still has to be ‘back-burner’ stuff for the cops with the NIA invading their backyards every night, killing people indiscriminately. I doubt they’d waste their time looking for some teenage girl who’s run away from home. They’ll just think she’s snuck out to have sex with her boyfriend or some lame grown-up shit like that,” countered Tirza. The Mota was giving her the exact kind of clarity we needed at the moment. Then she exploded with the giggles, gurgling, “Even though that’s not far from the truth!”

  There were a few muted laughs.

  “Tirza’s right,” began Katie. “They won’t bother.” She wore a grin that was too big for her face.

  “I’ll have my
Uncles look into it. Maybe they can squash the whole, stupid thing.” It was worth a shot.

  Sandy jumped all of a sudden, which startled me in turn and I twisted toward her, unsure if I should shield my face against some unseen attack. I felt like a dweeb when she pulled her cell phone from a fold in her pajama bottoms.

  “Mom, what’s wrong now?!” she said into the tiny mic, so worried it was dripping to the rooftop.

  All meaningless banter between us stopped.

  “Yeah, yeah sure, mom… you now, I do. Yes, I do, I love you very much. I have -.” Sandy pulled the device from her ear, and then placed it back, her face mangled with anxiety. “Mom are you there? Mom, can you hear me? Mom. Mom? Mom!” She stared at the face of the headset, disconnecting the call with a thumb swipe across it. “The line went dead,” she explained, peering from one of us to the next, her face drained of blood. “She told me she loved me and the line went dead.” Then her eyes nearly popped free of their sockets. “You don’t think anything had hap-,” was all she got to say.

  Overhead, a pair of helicopters screamed from behind us, so low hurricane force winds flattened us to the top of the house. The roar was deafening. None of us could hear the others as we screamed. They streaked toward a lower section of the neighborhood, blacked out, no lights visible. They were huge winged, ebon vipers, swooping down to fifty feet above street level about half a mile away. Seconds later, they began to disgorge large, equally dark lumps at varying intervals.