by Gary Barnes
“Retreat!” shouted the lieutenant. “Get to the vehicles!”
“Belay that order!” shouted Major Reid, standing on the hood of his Hummer. “They’re just dumb animals! Kill them, kill them all.”
To Reid, complying with his orders was the only thing that mattered. The safety and protection of his men was of no consequence. Outraged at the willingness of his Lieutenant to jeopardize the success of his mission, Reid whirled around to rebuke him.
At that moment, Gimp Foot and three dozen other fully grown adult aliens emerged from the forest just ten feet behind them.
Gimp Foot stood fully erect. His head was level with and only three feet from Reid’s face, staring him directly in the eye. For a moment Reid was speechless. Then he hastily reached for his .45 side arm, but before he could unholster it, Gimp Foot gave a quick flick of his tail and hurled Reid against the side of a transport truck. Then the alien pounced upon Reid, and quickly devoured him.
The other adults joined in the melee and within moments the fighting was over. The battlefield was strewn with the carcasses of hundreds of young, slain amphibians. There was military equipment and munitions scattered about, but absent were the bodies of the fallen soldiers. There were none to be found, for they had all been devoured. Then as quickly as the aliens appeared, they vanished. They all returned to the river and silently swam back upstream.
*
Everyone was speechless at Sheriff Aker’s observation post. Clayton was stunned. Larry was retching in the bushes and Tina was in tears.
The battle they had just observed was unbelievable. No one had expected the outcome they witnessed. The seriousness of their situation slowly began to sink in as they realized the danger their town now faced.
The Mayor was the first to speak. “I think we need to call another town meeting.”
Clayton gathered his composure and responded, “Yes, but I need to speak to you first.”
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CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Town Meeting
That night the citizens of Eminence were again gathered together in the town center for another meeting, the second in three days. This time their demeanor was much different. The citizens were somber and pulled together out of fear. They were shocked beyond belief at the loss of so many of the townspeople during the aliens raid of the previous night. The news of Major Reid’s defeat only a few hours earlier seemed incomprehensible to them. It had been gossiped about throughout the town but no one seemed to know exactly what had happened.
The Mayor did not need to bang his gavel to start the meeting. In the shocked silence of the town hall he gallantly rose to address his fellow citizens.
“As most of you probably already know,” the Mayor solemnly reported, “the army’s detachment was not successful in destroying the creatures. Major Reid and his men were all killed.” He took a long pause to collect his thoughts and to get his emotions under control. Whispers and hushed comments circulated around the otherwise quiet room.
“I’ve tried contacting Fort Leonard Wood,” continued the Mayor. “But I am told that they have no record of a Major Reid being stationed there, and they claim that no detachment has been sent here.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “For reasons known only to them, the military is deliberately trying to cover up this entire matter. It appears that our town has become expendable.”
There was an immediate gasp from several of the citizens. Others merely shook their heads in silent affirmation, confirming the Mayor’s comments.
“Obviously, as the threat of these creatures expands into other areas, help will eventually be forthcoming. Until then, however, I’m afraid we’re on our own to deal with this situation as best as we can.”
A hushed murmur circulated around the room.
Near the front row, Bill slowly stood and faced the gathering, “I’ve been telling you all along that the military has something to do with this situation. The Mayor’s right. Since their mission failed, they won’t even acknowledge that they had a mission. So I can assure you that we won’t get any more help from them. It’s now up to us.”
“You’re right, Bill,” the Mayor agreed. “It is now up to us. Dr. Clayton met with me and the Sheriff prior to this meeting and outlined a plan he’s developed. It’s a bold plan. It will require that all of us pull together, but I think it can work. That's why I’ve called you all here; to present the plan and to elicit your support.”
A man in the center of the room timidly stood, “But if the military can’t kill these things how can we possibly hope to succeed? We’re just farmers and merchants. Seems to me that we ought to just pack up and get out of town as fast as possible.”
“Those who want to go,” responded Sheriff Akers, “are certainly free to go, but I’ve thoroughly discussed this plan with Dr. Clayton and I think it’s a good one. These creatures have gotten into the continental aquifer, giving them access to every major city in the country. Do you want what has happened here to happen anywhere else? Well, I don’t. We need to take a stand. That’s what Americans do. We step up to the plate, roll up our sleeves and do what needs to be done. So let’s pull together and kill these things while we still can. At the rate they reproduce and grow it will soon be impossible to kill them all.”
“But what about the risks to us and our families in the process?” asked a frightened woman.
“Yes! There will be risks,” responded the Sheriff. “I’d be a liar if I told you we won’t have any casualties. I fully expect that some of us will not survive the battle. But it is a battle. We either face these creatures and conduct this battle here while their numbers are still relatively small, or we can turn and run, giving them time to increase their numbers and have this battle waged on a national level. If we make that choice, then God help us. From what I witnessed this afternoon, that battle will be pretty much one-sided. I cannot assure you that Dr. Clayton’s plan will work. But it’s well thought out, and if we all pull together I believe we can be victorious. Dr. Clayton, would you please share your ideas with our town.”
No one objected to Clayton speaking this time. All eyes were on him as he rose and stepped to the front of the room. He looked into their expectant faces and silently wondered at the wisdom of his plan. Perhaps the farmer was right, maybe it would be best to just pack up and leave, Clayton thought. But looking into the pleading eyes of the people before him, he knew that it was time to take a stand. He cleared his throat and began his explanation.
“I know that most of you have distrusted us since we got here. I can’t blame you for that.” Clayton paused a moment to collect his thoughts. “I must admit that I too had some misgivings about coming to such a small town. But I’ve learned a lot from you this summer and now realize that I have misjudged you. Now, out of necessity, the time has come for us to work together, to trust each other. If we agree to press forward with my plan, each of us will be placing our lives in each other’s hands. I now know that I for one, can do that. I pray that each of you can do the same.”
Again Clayton cleared his throat and awkwardly continued. “I was wrong about these creatures. You all know that I wanted to protect them. I wanted to save them from reckless destruction. In my ideological academic self-righteousness I deceived myself into thinking that saving the creatures was crucial. It seems that we scientists are too often fighting battles against the progress of humanity while claiming to do otherwise. I realize now that saving the aliens is not only impossible, but wrong if we intend for mankind to survive. I was an eye witness to the horrible slaughter of Major Reid and his men. It’s apparent now that with regard to these aliens, it’s either us, or them – and it is we who must survive. Two nights ago when we met I told you that I needed time to find the creatures’ weaknesses. Well, I’ve found them and I’ve devised a plan to exploit those weaknesses. I now openly request your assistance in working for the total and complete destruction of these aliens.”
The room was so quiet that not even Bill dared brea
k the silence. Clayton continued, “Through my research I’ve discovered that a mutant form of a common fungus will kill the aliens within a few weeks. We can thank the lumber industry for their pollution that created this mutation. But that time table is not fast enough. To speed things up I'm culturing this fungus at my lab and will release it into the springs where the aliens live. However, we can't just wait for nature to take its course, that would cost the lives of far too many people. We need to attack and kill the aliens now, but not with direct confrontation as the military did. We’ve already learned that that approach would be disastrous. The intelligence of these aliens is phenomenal. Nevertheless, because of another weakness, I believe that there is a way that we can destroy the creatures if we work together. The fungus I’m culturing will insure the death of any eggs or hatchlings we miss.”
Clayton motioned for the Sheriff to join him. “I guess I’ve rambled on long enough. Sheriff Akers will be in charge of implementing the plan, so I’d like him to explain the specifics of it to you.”
The Sheriff, who had been standing next to Clayton, again addressed the town. “We're going to need a lot of man-power, supplies and equipment. I need everyone who can help, including the women and children over twelve, to meet us at the Rock Quarry at eight o'clock tomorrow morning. Dr. Clayton has given me a list of the things he needs and we’ll be collecting those things throughout the night. Bill I want you to go to Jake's lumber yard and . . .” the Sheriff began to lay out the plan.
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CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Rock Quarry
At eight o’clock the next morning the Mayor and Sheriff stood on the rimmed edge of the rock quarry on Highway 106 just east of town. They watched as dozens of trucks and trailers were being unloaded below them. From their vantage point they could see the entire panoramic view of the quarry. Several crews had worked throughout the previous night converting the quarry into what appeared to be a county fair or carnival. Numerous canopied locations had been set up with temporary structures that resembled midway booths. However, as the Sheriff’s Suburban descended the rocky, dirt road, from the rim of the quarry it became apparent to them that the midway booths were actually covered workstations. The canopies protected hundreds of the townspeople from the already harsh rays of the early morning sun.
Virtually every able-bodied member of the town had shown up to help. The somber attitude and gloomy despair exhibited in the town meeting the previous night had dissipated. The Sheriff’s inspiring speech and the detailed explanation of Clayton’s plan had instilled hope within them, giving them the confidence that by pulling together they would be victorious. Each person was determined to do his or her part to rid the town of the extraterrestrial menace that threatened their destruction. They were also grimly aware of the consequences which faced them if they failed; yet to them, failure was not an option. Their very lives depended upon the success of the plan they were about to implement.
Each of the various workstations had fifty to seventy-five workers assigned to it. They applied themselves to their tasks with a united determination never before experienced by the town folk. Over the next several hours Clayton’s plan began to unfold on a grander scale than even he had thought possible. The Mayor was amazed that his town could pull together so quickly to accomplish so much.
At the Styrofoam Station, large hand printed “No Smoking” signs were posted everywhere. Stacks of 4' X 8' flat Styrofoam sheet insulation surrounded the workers flanking two rows each of ten old ball and claw style bathtubs. Johnny, Austin and Frankie, along with about forty-five other youth and women crumbled the Styrofoam sheets into small chunks, filling the old bathtubs with the broken pieces. Their hair and clothing was covered with the tiny round Styrofoam balls that broke off when they crumpled the sheets.
The operator of a gasoline tanker truck, which was parked nearby, dragged the fueling hose to the bathtubs and filled each of them one-fourth full with gasoline. At each tub a man gently stirred the Styrofoam-gasoline mixture with a wooden canoe paddle. The gasoline dissolved the Styrofoam which gradually thickened the liquid into a gooey, sticky, jellied compound. The youth and women continued to add crumpled Styrofoam until the mixture reached the proper consistency.
When the mixture was correct several men used large cooking pans to ladle the jellied substance into 5-gallon plastic buckets. A team of six teenage boys banged the lids tightly onto the filled buckets, then lugged them to a row of nearby pallets, stacking the buckets three tiers high.
Bill supervised this operation and reported their progress to Sheriff Akers, who was making inspection rounds with the Mayor.
“Homemade napalm,” said Bill as he spat tobacco juice onto the ground. “Sure am glad for smokeless tobacco though. Never thought I'd use my guerrilla training in the civilian world.” He chewed twice then yelled to some of the kids crumbling Styrofoam. “Hey . . . more Styrofoam in this tub over here.” He, the Sheriff and the Mayor continued to inspect the various crews.
“How thick does this stuff get?” asked the Sheriff.
“We’ll add Styrofoam and stir it until it gets to about the consistency of mayonnaise. It’s pretty sticky stuff but can only be used on flat surfaces or in barrels because it will slowly run in puddling globs if placed on a non-flat surface.”
Each bathtub had a “U” shaped 3/4 inch in diameter copper plumbing pipe protruding from the mixture and looped over the rim of the tubs. The exterior end of each pipe was connected by a copper wire to a copper stake driven several feet into the ground. As they reached the last tub in the row, Bill patted one of the copper pipes.
“Grounding stakes,” he explained. “We’re dealing with Styrofoam and gasoline . . . can’t take a chance on a static electricity spark.”
The three men completed their inspection of the bathtub area and crossed over to another workstation where Opal, Pearl and two dozen other ladies were working amidst hundreds of crates of eggs.
Pearl looked up at the Sheriff, “Ah wanna thank ya fer lettin’ me help ya here. Since those aliens done kilt my Honace it feels like ah’m at least doin’ ma part ta settle tha score. An Ah’m a fixin’ ta do the job right.”
The Sheriff grinned and nodded his head respectfully at her. Pearl may have been an uneducated hillbilly, but she was a hard-working and sincere woman.
The ladies cracked the eggs and carefully separated the whites from the yolks. They dumped the egg-whites into 55-gallon, plastic, open-faced drums and discarded the yolks and shells into wheel barrels. When the wheel barrels were filled, the ladies called a couple of men over to push the wheel barrels down to a large open pit that one of the backhoe operators had dug. There they dumped the discarded contents. The men then returned the wheel barrels to the egg station for another load.
At each of the 55-gallon drums a man gently stirred the egg-whites with a canoe paddle while another slowly added sugar. When the sugar dissolved, the fuel truck operator slowed added gasoline to the mixture. “No Smoking” signs were posted everywhere.
“Modified napalm,” Bill explained. “This stuff’ll get much thicker than the Styrofoam stuff. The egg whites make it into a thick meringue which you can mold like C-4 plastic explosives, and it stays put.”
“Is this stuff stable?” asked the Mayor.
“Fairly. It’s extremely incendiary but not explosive, though with this much of it around that’s a moot distinction.”
Bill pointed to a group of teenage boys working at a table about thirty feet away. “Members of the high school Rocket Club. They're coating Nichrome wire with a zinc/sulfur mixture. We’ll use those as makeshift napalm detonators.”
“Impressive,” noted the Sheriff.
About two hundred feet away, to separate them from the gasoline fumes, was a group of students who were wielding soldering irons, electrical components and circuit boards.
“At that table,” Bill continued, pointing to the distant group, “is the high school Radio Club. They’re building the circuit
ry for the master control console and the remote detonators.”
The three men continued strolling through the quarry inspecting the various work stations. It seemed that not only had the entire town turned out to help with the project but a true sense of comradery and unity prevailed.
At the fertilizer station W.T. directed several men who were opening bags of ammonium nitrate fertilizer and powdered ANFO, dumping them into the hopper of a cement truck mixer. Several dozen pallets of fertilizer were stacked nearby keeping the forklift operator busy. A diesel tanker was parked next to the cement mixer and an operator dumped diesel fuel into it as it tumbled.
A second cement mixer was parked nearby. Its pour chute was discharging the completed mixture into barrels and drums that were stacked on pallets.
“Now this stuff is very explosive,” Bill explained to the Sheriff and Mayor. “It’s what those guys used to blow up the federal building in Oklahoma City a few years back. But don’t worry, it’s stable. The only way to detonate it is with blasting caps. Fortunately the quarry has plenty of those for our use.”
At the inoculation station the town doctor and his nurse were using Tina’s antidote to give inoculations to everyone. No one minded that the expediency in this life and death situation did not allow for compliance with the lengthy and expensive FDA certification process for new vaccines. A long line of people awaited their turn. Each of them hoped that they would not need the benefit of the serum, but were nevertheless deeply grateful for the opportunity to protect themselves and their families.
“You’ve got to hand it to the ole boy,” said Bill. “When those frog guys first came to town I didn’t give them two cents worth of respect. But that Clayton fella knows his stuff. You can put me on his team any day.”
“How did he learn about all this stuff?” asked the Mayor.
“You’d be surprised what he can find on the internet,” replied Bill.