“You’re right,” Jenkins said quietly. “Give the order. I’ll ready the statement for the press. Southwest Strat has had issues with brittle expansion coils. It won’t be difficult to create a connection.”
The Stars at Night Were Big and Bright
“Hank! Come on, boy! Hey Hank!”
Mark Crawford shook his head and let out a long, exasperated sigh, perfectly imitating his father’s mannerisms with all the precociousness one would expect from a ten-year-old boy. He trudged back into the kitchen and grabbed a flashlight from the junk drawer, checking to make sure the batteries weren’t dead before returning to the dark back yard. Hank was a good dog and Mark’s best friend, but he could be stubborn about coming when called, especially if there were possums or raccoons out in the yard. He only hoped that Hank was staring down a cornered animal on the fence and hadn’t actually caught one.
“Hank!” Mark called out again, waving the flashlight’s weak beam along the chain link fence that bordered the property.
A bright flash in the sky caused Mark to pause and look up, catching the tail end of what looked like thousands of shooting stars glittering away in the night sky.
“Wow,” he said to himself, taking an unsteady step back as he tilted his head up to watch as the starbursts faded away, replaced by the usual view of twinkling lights from the space station resorts. He wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to visit outer space.
Several of his classmates had already taken vacations into space, but not Mark. Romo, Mark’s best human friend, had spent nearly the entire school year telling Mark all about the zero-g aero-coasters at Six Flags over Earth. When he asked his parents if they could go, Mark’s father tried to change the subject by surprising Mark with season passes to their local amusement park. Though he tried to act grateful, Mark was pretty sure that not even a summer full of the craziest rollercoasters here on Earth was anywhere near as cool as the aero-coasters Romo bragged about riding.
A cold, wet nose nudged his hand and Mark blinked back to Earth. “There you are, boy!” he said, scratching Hank behind the ears. “Come on! In the house now.”
As Mark washed up and headed to bed, he heard the news program his parents were watching mention a tragic accident aboard a shuttle.
“Insane,” Mark’s father muttered. “That is the third shuttle explosion this year. You’d have to be a nutter to want to go into space.”
“Nonsense,” Mark’s mother countered. “It’s just as safe as flying in airplanes.”
“Which is why I’ll keep my feet planted firmly on the ground, thank you very much. At least I know I’m safe here.”
“You know that Mark is very interested in outer space,” Mrs. Crawford reminded her husband.
“And you know that there is nothing in space or the rest of the world for that matter that we don’t have bigger and better here in Texas,” Mark’s father countered with a note of pride. “If he brings it up again, I’ll book us a tour of the space museum and the old mission control in Houston.”
As he got into bed, Mark sighed and tried to distract himself from his disappointment. He had hoped to approach the subject of an off-world vacation again over breakfast, but with the news of another shuttle tragedy, Mark knew that this would be yet another summer spent stuck on Earth while the gloating Romo got to go back to his family’s timeshare in space. With another dramatic sigh, he turned onto his side and curled up around Hank, who had jumped up onto the bed despite Mark’s mother’s insistence that dogs did not belong on the furniture. Mark fell asleep instantly and did not notice that his bedroom was suddenly bathed in an unearthly green glow. Nor did he realize that the glow seemed to be coming from Hank’s open and watchful eyes.
Patient Zero
Shaking, sweating, cramped, and hungry, Sam Crane hunched over the filthy gas station toilet, willing himself to throw up, but his empty stomach had nothing to offer. Withdrawal was excruciating and it had been far too long since Sam could score much of anything, so he had been expecting the unpleasant side effects to kick in. Still, knowing what to expect did little to lessen the discomfort. There was only one cure for what Sam was suffering and at that moment, he was broke and out of luck.
Sam was an addict, plain and simple. There were very few drugs on the market that Sam hadn’t tried at least once. If he was being honest with himself, there were very few drugs that Sam had tried only once. But never in his two-decade history of chemically abusing his body had Sam experienced this much pain. Even his teeth hurt. He needed to get a fix, and he needed to do so immediately.
As he exited the bathroom, Sam spotted the opportunity he was looking for. Some idiot had gone into the store and left their car idling with their wallet sitting on the passenger seat. People did stupid things all the time. For example, they made the false assumption that their car was safe if there were visible cameras around, but Sam knew better. Having worked at this gas station until he was fired a few months prior, Sam knew that none of the posted cameras did any good because the owner had been too cheap to buy the equipment required to record the footage. With the practiced ease of someone who cared only about their own needs, Sam reached through the open window, lifted the wallet, and strolled casually to his own beat up Chevy.
Once he was a few miles away, Sam inspected the contents of the wallet, elated to find nearly fifty bucks in cash, a rarity these days. With hopes as high as he soon planned to be, Sam drove to the rundown Lewisville neighborhood where he knew he would find what he was looking for, and sent a text message to his dealer. Out of paranoia that stemmed from experience, he parked his car in the grocery store parking lot three blocks from his destination. The short walk was brutal enough with the evening temperature still hovering over one hundred degrees, but in his current condition, it was all but unbearable.
He cursed the so-called “progress” of the drug decriminalization measure that had been passed several years earlier. The measure was meant to take the strain off of the overcrowded prison population and free up the judicial system to deal with real and dangerous criminals. For the casual user and dealer alike, this was like getting an extra birthday. With an influx of potential customers, most dealers were able to increase their prices while decreasing the potency of their wares. True addicts, like Sam, were forced to deal with gang-affiliated cartels, dangerous neighborhoods, and questionable substances that were just as likely to kill him as they were to numb reality.
About a block from his destination, as he crossed through the scraggly patch of grass and concrete that passed as a park, a shooting pain in his gut forced Sam to stop and rest for a moment. Normally, he wouldn't pay anyone any mind in this rundown neighborhood, but today something compelled him to glance at the group of teenage boys playing basketball on the buckled court. He watched one boy in particular, a muscular youth, who was currently dominating the ball, running and jumping as if the heat and humidity had no effect on him. A gnawing hunger ripped through Sam’s belly and he was overcome with a rather strong and sudden urge to tear into the boy's supple biceps with his teeth. He heard a low, rumbling growl and realized that he was the one making the animalistic noise.
What the hell am I doing? he thought as he closed his mouth and wiped away the drool that had collected. He had been staring at the boy, leering like some sick pedophile. Shaking himself, he moved away from the park as fast as his broken body would take him.
"Damn, Lenny, what was in that last bag you sold me, Brain Freeze? I'm messed up, man!"
"Freeze?" The overweight and hygienically challenged dealer began laughing so hard that Sam actually worried about the structural integrity of the apartment building. “You’re quite a comedian, Sammy.”
“I ain’t playing, Lenny. Something’s got me jacked up. I’m in bad shape, man.”
"Yeah, like I’d waste even the smallest speck of that honey on someone as small time as you. Do you really think if I could score Brain Freeze I'd still be dealing out of this dump?” Lenny asked
as he caught his breath. “You ain't worth it, Sammy boy. You paid for rock and I sold you rock."
"Yeah well, explain why I want to know what your entrails taste like," Sam replied in a low, hungry growl that surprised him almost as much as it surprised Lenny.
"You trying to play a game, Sam? You think saying that’s funny? I ain’t got time for games, Sammy."
"No man, sorry, it's cool. I'm just… it's hitting me, man,” Sam said as the violent trembling threatened to take over. “It’s hitting me hard. I need a fix now, bro."
"I need to see the color of your money first, bro," Lenny replied with a sarcastic snort.
Sam dug into his pocket and pulled out the rumpled bills he had stolen earlier. "I got forty," he said, tucking away the last eight dollars and change. Sam might have been an addict, but he at least recognized that he was going to need to eat at some point.
"Ain't gonna get you much."
"Feel me, bro. Shit's slim right now," Sam pleaded, absently scratching a bite on the back of his leg.
"Oh, I feel ya, all right. It's slim all over," Lenny said dryly as he measured out a couple of smaller rocks. As he glanced over at his client, he nearly dropped the whole bag. "Whoa! What happened to your leg?"
"Some psycho dog bit me," Sam replied with a glance down at the teeth marks that peppered the back of his calf. The ragged edges of the bite had turned black and the skin around the wound had bruised to a violent shade of green. "Aw hell, man! It's getting worse. People need to put up 'beware of dog' signs! How am I supposed to know if they got freaking Cujo living with them?"
"Junkies like you are the exact reason folks get a dog in the first place, Sammy boy. Wow man, you’re shaking. Maybe you got rabies."
Sam shuddered. He knew that something hadn’t been right about that dog. As an addict, finding and holding a job for more than a few months was nearly impossible, so Sam often resorted to breaking and entering to support his habit. Subdivisions were his specialty. It always amazed him that the same people who would pay too much to live in a ‘safe’ community were the first ones to do stupid things like forget to lock their doors when they went away on vacation. It was almost as if they expected the gateless brick walls surrounding their suburban oasis to deter thefts by the sheer power of wealth and privilege alone. Even better was the fact that often, these break-ins went unreported because no one wanted their community to be known as the dangerous one.
But even though, more often than not, the homeowners lacked common sense, their dogs weren’t as easily lulled into a false sense of security. Sam was usually careful, but the occasional dog bite was an occupational hazard. He had been working one of his favorite subdivisions in Corinth when he received this latest bite. The homeowner had carelessly told his neighbors that he was taking the family to Houston for a week. As Sam was passing by, he noted that the man gave the exact dates and told his neighbor that he would leave the garage unlocked so that he could borrow the lawn mower. It would have been an easy hit if it weren’t for that dog.
Most dogs bite out of fear or defense, but this one seemed downright calculating. As if he knew what was up, the dog had kept himself hidden in the shadows until Sam was weighted down with the high-end electronics he had scored. If the low, menacing growl wasn’t terrifying enough, the dog’s red and bloodshot eyes, frothing mouth, and sickly, almost greenish coloring was enough to make Sam drop everything and take off running for the fence. He was lucky to get away with just a bite.
“No, screw that, man. I ain’t got rabies. I just need to get high.”
“What you need is to see a doctor, Sammy,” Lenny said with a hint of concern. Not for Sam, but for himself. If anything did happen to Sam, he didn’t want it to get around that he had been the last person to deal him anything. Business was slow enough as it was.
Still shaking and losing control fast, Sam snapped and lunged at Lenny, grabbing a fistful of greasy undershirt. "Dammit, Lenny, quit playing with me and give me the rocks,” he growled. “I'm dying over here!"
"You ain't dying, you're tweaking, and I'm gonna need you to calm down or I'm putting a hole in your head." Lenny pulled a gun out from between the sofa’s cushions and pointed it at Sam. But rather than back down, a wild look appeared in Sam’s bloodshot eyes and he licked his lips.
"Augh! What are you doing?" Lenny howled as Sam's teeth sunk into the ample flesh of his neck.
Sam was amazed at how easily his teeth tore through both skin and muscle as if it were paper. He knew there was something very wrong with what he was doing, but he couldn’t stop. He should have been disgusted with himself, but as he tasted Lenny’s blood, Sam let out a shriek of euphoric delight.
Horrified and understandably in shock, Lenny struggled to pull away, unable to comprehend where this ninety pound junkie got his sudden superhuman strength. The gun dropped uselessly from his hand. Terror held him transfixed as Sam pulled back, staring at him with glassy eyes and his face smeared with blood, Lenny's blood.
"What's wrong with you?" Lenny asked in a small, quavering voice.
"What's wrong with me?" Sam's voice was pitched higher than normal with a maniacal edge. Bits of gore clung to the side of his mouth. "What’s wrong with me? Oh Lenny, there is absolutely nothing wrong with me, buddy! I've never felt more alive!"
Rearing back, Sam head-butted Lenny with enough force to knock the bigger man back and over the edge of the sofa. Leaping onto Lenny's chest, Sam renewed his attack, mauling and biting like a savage animal. Only after Lenny's muffled screams turn into a rasping gurgle, and his own stomach ached pleasantly under the weight of the surplus meat, did Sam pull away. He looked at the carnage he created in awe; amazed that he felt neither disgust nor guilt. He had never experienced a high like this before.
It felt good.
It felt right.
Sam knew he would kill again.
Without question or remorse, he shuffled out of the apartment, leaving both the money and drugs behind. He knew that he would no longer need either, but he also knew that he’d need his next fix soon.
Sealing the Deal
George Fitzsimmons swirled the ice in his near empty glass and glanced down at his watch with a frown. His wife had promised that they would only stay at her sister’s backyard barbeque for a couple of hours. That was four hours ago and from the animated conversation she appeared to be having with a couple of the neighbor ladies, it didn’t look like she was actively trying to leave. He didn’t want to appear rude, but he was going to have to say something if she didn’t hurry. Already the sun was going down and George had a lot of work to do before he had to leave for a business trip that would take him to three different states in as many days.
“Would you like another glass of soda, Uncle George?” Mark, his ten year old nephew, stood in front of George, trailed by the family mutt, who was looking a little worse for wear.
“No, thank you, Mark. Aunt Stacy and I need to be leaving soon,” George replied with a polite smile. Mark was a good kid, but George wasn’t a kid person. Also, he didn’t want to let Mark (or Mark’s disapproving mother) know that what was in his glass was most certainly not soda. “Is your dog feeling okay?” he asked with another nervous glance at the ancient mutt. George didn’t care for dogs any more than he did children. There was something not quite right about the dog, but George couldn’t put his finger on it.
“Oh, he’s okay. Hank’s just getting old,” Mark replied as he reached over and gave the dog an affectionate pat on the head. “Dad was worried that the space junk got him, but he seems to be doing all right, aren’t ya boy?” Mark addressed the dog directly.
“Space junk?” his uncle asked. “What space junk”
“The shuttle that blew up,” Mark said as a shadow crossed his previously smiling face. “They found some of the parts around here. I was gonna ask dad to take me and mom to Galaxyland this summer, but now he won’t even think about it.”
“Well, I’m sure that’s for the best,” George said with
an air of distraction as he glared daggers at his wife, who was now crossing the street with her sister and another woman. He did not have time to wait while his wife looked at baby pictures, or admired the neighbor’s new furniture, or whatever. “Excuse me,” he said to Mark and unlatched the back gate that went to the alley, hoping to cut off his wife before she got to her destination.
Hurrying down the alley, George cursed as his feet hit loose gravel and he slid, twisting his ankle. Luckily, he had managed to right himself before he actually injured anything. The last thing he needed was a hospital visit to waste more of his time. Even more fortunate, he managed to catch up to his wife before she disappeared into the neighbor’s backyard to admire their new pool. His declaration that they needed to leave netted him a few glares from the women, especially his sister-in-law, whom he suspected of never truly liking him. George paid them no mind as he rushed his wife to the car. Sure, she was upset now, but she wouldn’t stay mad, not after she saw the check that this trip was going to net him.
Back home, George stepped out of his shoes and poured out the gravel that had gotten in them when he cut through the alley. As he did, something bright and sparkling caught his eye. At first, George thought it was a piece of glass, but as he bent down to get a better look, his eyes went wide. He vaguely recalled his nephew mentioning something about space debris from the wrecked shuttle that had been found in the neighborhood. He also recalled that the shuttles used precious minerals such as diamonds to create some of their components. He plucked the bright blue gem out of the pile and slipped it into his pocket, intending to have the stone appraised when he got back from his trip, and promptly forgot about it.
Going Green Page 2