Mandy White's Blog: Dysfictional, page 20

The Pit

[image error]Summer’s here! Time to enjoy some camping. But beware…something is alive in the outhouse!

~ Published in Dysfictional 2 and WPaD’s Creepies 2: Things That go Bump in the Closet ~

I was an avid outdoor enthusiast who loved everything about being in the woods: trees, fresh air, campfires and best of all, peace and quiet. Dirt, wildlife, tents, and pit toilets were all part of the experience. I’ll admit that having to use rustic restroom facilities were not my favorite part of camping but they never bothered me that much.

At least, not until the night I encountered the thing in the outhouse.

I stumbled down the path half-asleep one night sometime around three am, flashlight in hand in hopes that I wouldn’t trip and do a face-plant in the dirt. I locked myself inside the tiny wooden house and avoided looking into the hole beneath the seat before and after doing my business. I mean, who would want to see what was down there? Everybody knows what’s down there and it’s not pleasant.

When I was finished, I discovered to my horror that the lock was stuck. I set the flashlight on top of the toilet paper roll so I could use both hands to jiggle it loose. It really was stuck. The rusted bolt began to inch back slightly as I worked it back and forth. It was then that I heard a noise coming from behind me… or more specifically, below me.

I froze, holding my breath so I could listen carefully. Was there a wild animal outside the outhouse, waiting for me to free myself from one predicament just to stumble into even greater peril?

Silence.

Then I heard it again. A wet, sucking sound, followed by what sounded like a wheeze – laborious breath drawn into a congested pair of lungs.

I reached a shaking hand toward my flashlight, afraid to take my eyes off of the black hole I knew was the toilet pit. I fumbled and the flashlight fell to the floor with a loud THUMP. Then the light went out.

I froze again, listening for sounds from below.

Nothing.

I squatted, groping around on the floor for the flashlight. I bit back a scream when my hand touched something soft and wet.

Please let that be a slug or some mud! I begged inside my mind.

My fingers found the smooth metal cylinder of the flashlight, and I nearly wept from relief. The bottom had popped off and the batteries had come loose when it fell. I found the bottom and put the flashlight back together. I pressed the switch and it worked.

Do I even want to look?

I had to look. I knew I had no choice. If I was going to spend the night trapped in the shithouse, I at least needed to know whether or not I was alone in there. I shone the light into the pit.

The sight I beheld was the usual thing one might expect to see in the pit of an outdoor toilet – a mountain of stuff most foul, with bits of tissue embedded here and there. As nasty as it was, the sight comforted me because it was normal. Nothing moved and all was quiet.

Relieved, I once again turned my attention to the stubborn door lock and managed to work it loose. I opened the door a crack and peered out cautiously. I swept the flashlight beam across the path. If the noises hadn’t come from inside the pit, then whatever had made them might still be out there, waiting… I envisioned a Grizzly bear, sitting behind the outhouse, licking his chops as he waited for me to become his dinner.

Slurp. Suck. Wheeze.

There it was again! The sound had definitely come from behind me. I turned to face the toilet pit once again, keeping my foot braced against the door to prevent it from swinging shut. I leaned over and tentatively shone my light into the hole, preparing to look in again.

Whatever was down there didn’t like the light, from the frantic slapping, slopping noise it made. If I didn’t know better, I’d think someone had thrown a live trout down the hole.

I leaned over and looked. I saw nothing at first, then caught slight movement at the edge of the hole, near the base of Mount Feces. I followed it with the light as it burrowed into the muck. The thing was about the size of a toddler, plump and pink-bodied with a long ratlike tail. Some kind of hairless mutant sewer rat? It was too big to be a rat. It was probably a stupid idea, but I needed to see. I stamped my foot on the floor to get its attention. It stopped burrowing and turned to look up at me, face and… hands? covered in filth. The tail was where its resemblance to a rat ended. The face was rounded, almost human looking, with a scowl to rival the fiercest gargoyle. The thing withdrew from its burrow and, making that slappy-sloppy fish-out-of-water sound, it scuttled up the side of Mount Feces, toward my light.

I knew I should stop shining the light on it and get out of there. Somewhere in the back of my mind, logic screamed at me to run away as far and as fast as possible, but my body refused to listen. I stared, captivated, as the thing crouched on top of the shit-pile and raised a pale, bony arm. It reached toward the top of the hole as if hoping to grab the edge and pull itself out. The pit wasn’t full enough; it still fell several feet short of touching the edge of the toilet seat or possibly giving someone’s ass an unexpected tickle.

It wheezed a wet, whistly breath and then it spoke. The words were barely audible, but I swear it spoke to me.

“Feeeed meee,” it whispered, stretching its hand upward, long spidery fingers grasping but unable to reach.

If I hadn’t already used the toilet I probably would have done so right then and there.

Instead, I ran.

I packed my camping gear and drove away without waiting for sunrise. I was unable to explain my hasty departure to the group of friends I had been camping with, except to say that something urgent had come up. I warned them to stay away from that particular outhouse, using the excuse that I had seen a wasp nest in there.

As I drove down the highway into the dawn, I did some calculations in my head. The campground had about 150 sites, all occupied because it was the start of Labor Day weekend. By the end of the weekend, all of the pit toilets would be in dire need of pumping, but the truck probably wouldn’t arrive until midway through the following week. Plenty of time for the creature, whatever it was, to reach the rim of the hole and pull itself out.

I might camp again, someday.

But only in a campground with proper plumbing.

Copyright © 2014 Mandy White

Published in Dysfictional 2 and WPaD’s Creepies 2: Things That go Bump in the Closet

The Fall of Man

This story doesn’t have a specific genre. It’s a bit sci-fi, a bit apocalyptic, a bit Pride, a bit BLM, and maybe a bit fantasy. But whatever it is, it makes my heart feel warm at the end.

When it all began, nobody could possibly have known that a porn star would change the world forever.

They didn’t want the technology to fall into the wrong hands. The wrong hands, of course, being mostly of the male persuasion. It was a stroke of luck that the scientist who made the discovery happened to be a woman. The scientist in question was one Dr. Beatrice Seadie, or Bea, as she preferred to be called.

Bea began her career with the most altruistic of motives. Like many scientists, she sought to change the world for the better, but she had little vision of what that would entail. Fresh out of university and employed by a government-controlled research firm, she obediently followed instructions and shared findings with her superiors.

Until one day, she stumbled upon something outstanding while working on an unrelated project. She chose that day to distance herself from her employer. The government wanted to develop teleportation, which was frightening enough when one considered the possible uses for the technology.

But that was nothing.

Teleportation was small potatoes compared to what Bea found. And she would not let it fall into the hands of the powerful men who controlled the world.

The teleporter was for the most part, a failure. Bea managed to disassemble simple inanimate objects at a molecular level and then reassemble them in an alternate location. But it only worked with solid objects with a basic chemical composition: minerals, metals, and the like. Anything with moving parts, or synthetics such as plastic, failed to teleport.

The first trials with live subjects yielded unusual results. The test subject, a mouse, did not teleport. At first, it seemed unchanged by the process. After a few days of observation, it became clear that the mouse was dying. It would not eat or drink. It sat in its cage, unmoving. The lights were on, so to speak, but nobody was home. The mouse died of dehydration eight days later.

Bea didn’t yet know what she had discovered, but she did know that she no longer wanted to work for her current employer.

* * *

Inspired by the mouse, Bea took her work in a different direction in the privacy of her basement laboratory. She strove to accomplish what medical science and hypnosis had tried and failed to. Her work focused on the elimination of unwanted components of the subject’s personality: addictions, phobias, compulsions. If the attempt at teleportation had removed whatever consciousness resided in a little mouse brain, what if the process could be refined to only remove select parts? She continued her work, one painstaking step at a time, and five years later, she was ready for human trials.

Volunteers were easy to find; there was always someone in need of a few dollars. Certainly some might have condemned the ethics of her use of homeless addicts for experimentation, but from a scientific standpoint, it was a necessary evil. The first attempts failed. The subjects ended up like the mouse. Just a blank slate. Although they never used drugs again, which could be considered a success.

The solution came to her following a heavy rainstorm. She took a break from the lab to relieve frustration with some mundane yard work. The sidewalk near her front porch drained poorly, always leaving a puddle at the base of the stairs. She swept the water furiously to keep it from leaking into the foundation, but it kept running back down into the low spot and re-forming the puddle. No matter how many times she swept it away, some ran back. The water needed someplace else to drain, and the empty spot needed to be filled.

Drain and fill.

Holy shit! That was it!

The next trial involved two subjects. One a heroin addict, and one a smoker, both of whom desired to kick their habits. After the trial, both subjects still had their minds intact. The addict no longer craved heroin. The non-addict, sadly, was in for a nasty bout of detox. The silver lining was, he no longer craved cigarettes. And of course, each was in the other’s body.

Bea had discovered a way to transport a person’s mind into another body. Everything that made the individual who they were – the soul, as it were – could be removed from one body and placed into another body of their (or Bea’s) choice.

The next step was to find out if the process was reversible, and what, if any, side-effects there were. After numerous trials, it appeared reversal did indeed work, and none of the subjects suffered any ill effects.

However, Bea made some interesting observations in her continuing work with addicts. She kept contact with the subjects to see how they adjusted to their new lives. In more than eighty percent of all addict swaps, the addicts relapsed to their habits. Their physically addicted bodies healed under the care of their new owners; relapse rate for the bodies was nearly zero. The only exceptions were in two cases in which the new owner of the addict’s body had a past history of drug abuse. But, the minds of the addicts, free from addiction in new bodies, appeared unsatisfied with sober life and began using again, some almost immediately. The only ones who remained sober were those truly committed to freeing themselves from addiction. It reinforced what Bea had always suspected; that addiction ran much deeper than mere physical dependency. She wished she could share her findings with someone who was in the business of studying addiction, but of course that was impossible to do without revealing her secret.

She decided to shelve her work with addicts and proceed in a different direction. A pair of willing participants, it seemed, was the key to success. She had the proverbial billion-dollar idea. The question was, what to do with it? The possibilities were limitless. She considered selling it to the highest bidder, but shuddered at the thought of who would be bidding on it. No, it was best to keep the technology safe from the many evil people who had access to large sums of money; to keep it a well-guarded secret. But how to use it? And with whom could she share it?

A close friend provided the answer. Andy was a childhood friend, whom Bea trusted implicitly. Andy, whose full name was Andrea, also happened to be transgender. Andy had opted to live her life in the body she was born in, in spite of how wrong it felt. Her career as a schoolteacher would suffer and her deeply religious parents would disown her if she were to live as a male. Andy was miserable living a lie, but put on a brave face for the sake of everyone else. Bea’s heart ached for her friend, but it was Andy’s decision to make. Andy was the first person Bea told of her discovery. Her friend was skeptical at first, but after watching the videos from previous trials and observing some swaps first-hand, Andy was convinced. The body-swap with a male was Andy’s idea.

“Are you crazy?” Bea said.

“You have faith that it works?” Andy said.

“Absolutely,” Bea said. “I know that it works, with no adverse effects, based on my trials and what you yourself have seen. But do you have any idea what you’re asking? Do you understand what it would involve? Your family, your career. All of those things belong to this body, to Andrea. If you switch into someone else’s body, all those things become hers – his. And whatever life he had, will become yours.”

“It just so happens, I have the perfect candidate,” Andy said.

As it turned out, Andy had a cousin who had the same problem. Ralph desired to be a woman, and was one of the few people who knew Andy’s secret. It was a bonus that they shared the same genetics, the same family, and even the same profession. Ralph was also a teacher. Andy approached Ralph with the proposal and of course Ralph was skeptical, until shown irrefutable proof that what they were offering was the real deal. After that, he was all in.

Andy and Ralph were the first of many success stories. No one in their family was the wiser, and they were nearby to coach each other on the finer details of their lives.

With Andy and Ralph’s assistance, Bea found more transgender candidates wanting to swap bodies and lives. They did their best to match each male and female pair according to common interests, careers, and location, but for some it was enough to have the body they wanted. Starting a new life in a new place appealed to them.

Bea had to admit, it felt good to help people in a way no one else could. But it wasn’t what she had intended. Certainly there would be plenty of people interested in swapping for different reasons: a whiter skin; a better financial situation, but finding a willing partner to swap wasn’t likely, since wealthy white folks didn’t tend to want to trade their lives.

She couldn’t help but feel that her work was meant for something else. Something bigger.

* * *

The young woman seated across from her oozed sex appeal in spite of, or perhaps because of, her conservative attire. She might have been a librarian, or perhaps a teacher, if said teacher’s specialty was punishing naughty men. As it turned out, Bea’s first impression of the woman wasn’t far from the mark.

“How did you hear about me and my alleged work?” Bea asked. “And I say alleged, because I am not confirming that said work even exists. It sounds preposterous, if you ask me.”

The woman tucked a stray wisp of blonde hair back into her messy bun and peered at Bea over the rims of her glasses. Her ample bust strained against the buttons of her blouse.

“Really? You’re going to give me that song and dance? Fair enough. I have friends in plenty of, shall we say, ‘underground’ circles. That, and of course there are the rumors circulating around the internet. You know, it’s only a matter of time before the wrong people find out about this.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Of course not. Just a word of caution. I happen to know of some very powerful men who could do a lot of damage with your ‘alleged’ technology. I am here to hopefully help you prevent that from happening.”

“Go on. I’m listening.”

“My name is Leslie Ann Goolio. You might know me by my professional name, Brandi Buxton.”

Bea paused to think a moment. She had heard that name before, but where? And then it dawned on her. “You’re THE Brandi Buxton? From…”

“Correct. I am Brandi Buxton, star of more than six hundred adult films.”

Bea wasn’t a connoisseur of pornography, but one didn’t have to be to know who Brandi was. She had made headlines back in the nineties, when she celebrated her eighteenth birthday. That in itself wasn’t scandalous, but the fact that she was already a well-established name in adult entertainment with four years worth of films to her credit. She had starred in her first pornographic film at age fourteen.

Brandi explained to Bea that she had saved a large portion of her porn money to spend on education. She had attended night school while making movies during the day. She had a law degree and a Masters in economics. But she wanted credentials from a prestigious university like Harvard, and there was no way, no matter how smart or wealthy she was, that she could get into an ivy league school with her background. She wanted to swap into the body of a man who already had those credentials. She already had the knowledge, just not the credibility. And she had the ideal candidate: J. Bartholomew Sutton II, the son of a Supreme Court Justice by the same name. With a Harvard law degree and all the right connections, the younger Sutton was on the fast track to a career in law, government, or maybe even the presidency. But Bart had no interest in politics or any of the other high society snobbery that was his life. He was interested in fashion and art, and sex with men. He dreamed of being a woman, but the closest he could come to that dream was cross-dressing in private and role-playing with prostitutes. A mutual friend introduced him to Brandi. When she offered to swap her body with him, he salivated at the idea. The prospect of being an adult film star excited him, and he was willing to pay any price for the opportunity. Bart set up a research foundation in Bea’s name and padded it with a generous donation to further her work, and then joyously stepped into Brandi’s life in Los Angeles. Brandi began a new life in Boston as Bart. For Brandi, sexuality had always been fluid: a by-product of the adult film industry, or perhaps what had attracted her to porn to begin with. She was comfortable in any skin, be it female or male. She adapted easily to her new role, and with the help of Bart’s father, landed a job in a prestigious law firm.

* * *

Bea expected to see great things from Brandi, but didn’t expect to see her in person again quite so soon. A couple of years after the swap, Brandi, aka Bart, arrived at Bea’s house, accompanied by a stunning young woman.

“So nice to see you again, Bart.” Bea smiled at Bart’s guest and led the pair into her office. “Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything? Coffee?” Bart and the woman shook their heads.

“I’m afraid this isn’t a social call,” Bart said. He nodded toward his companion. “My friend here is in some trouble, and I think your ‘special service’ might be the best solution.”

“Go on.”

“This is Michelle. She is…was… engaged to a friend of mine – of his, I mean. Old school pals since childhood, attended Harvard together.”

“Was?”

Tears trickled down Michelle’s cheeks. “Tommy was my soul mate. He was my everything. And now he’s…he’s…” her voice hitched. “I don’t know what we’re doing here, Bart. What’s the point? Nothing will bring Tommy back.”

Bart placed a reassuring hand on the woman’s arm. “No, but maybe there’s a chance to save your life, and get some justice for Tommy.”

“From what I gather, this Tommy fellow is dead,” Bea said. “I’m so sorry for your loss. How can I help?”

“I was a resident at Mass General when I met Tommy,” Michelle began, “He came into the ER one night during my shift with a broken ankle. A drunken stunt gone wrong. He tried to leap down an entire flight of stairs on a dare from his buddies. His friends dumped him off at the ER entrance and fled to avoid a DUI. I kept him company for a while since he was alone, and offered to call his family to pick him up. He begged me not to call his parents. He said his father was very ill – stage 4 cancer – and he didn’t want his mother to see him in that condition. She was already overwhelmed, and her health was fragile. He was an adult, so I didn’t push the issue. I offered to give him a ride after my shift. I took him for coffee, then let him sleep it off on my couch. I know, I know… it was a risk bringing home a strange guy, not to mention professionally unethical, but we just hit it off. I wanted to meet the sober version of him to see if he was still just as sweet as the drunk version. Turned out he was even sweeter, and I fell hard.

We’d been dating for nearly two years before he finally introduced me to his family. I was a bit bothered but hey, I got it. With his father’s death and all…you know. Anyway, he invited me to dinner at their house, and I swore he enjoyed the way his brother and sister’s jaws dropped at the sight of me. But they were all very nice and polite, and his mother especially went out of her way to make me feel welcome.

A few months ago he popped the question, and of course I said yes. Tommy announced our engagement at one of his family’s high-society parties. Everyone congratulated us. His mother gushed about ‘another doctor in the family’.

It was late, after the party. Everyone had gone to bed, or so I thought. Tommy was snoring away with a few drinks under his belt. I couldn’t sleep, so I went down to the kitchen to find some chamomile tea. It was there that I ran into Tommy’s brother Kenneth. He invited me to join him for a drink in the parlor. Said he wanted to talk to me. All I really wanted was to go to bed, but I also wanted to make a good impression on Tommy’s family. I wanted them to like me. I was so stupid to think a bunch of rich white assholes would ever accept me into their family.” Michelle paused, her face in her hands. She sniffled and wiped her eyes before continuing.

“I made the cup of tea and then went into the other room, where Kenneth waited. He had already poured two glasses of brandy. I didn’t want the drink, but didn’t want to be rude, so I took it and drank it. He poured another one before I could refuse. He told me how much he loved his brother, how he would do anything for him. He wanted Tommy to be happy, but he also needed to look out for him, to make sure he didn’t screw up his life. I didn’t like the direction the conversation was going, but I tried to be polite.

And then he said, ‘How much?’

I felt confused. I didn’t understand the question. I said, ‘Pardon me?’

He said, ‘How much will it take for you to walk away?’ He pulled a checkbook out of his jacket. ‘Name your price. What will it take for my family to be rid of you? To save us the embarrassment of a wedding that would never happen if my father was still alive. Our father never would have let Tommy marry a nigger!’

I needed to leave. All I could think of was getting away from that horrible man, getting back to Tommy, but when I stood up, my knees buckled and my head swam, and that was when I realized I had been drugged. I slumped back onto the couch and fought to keep my eyes open.

Kenneth stood over me. His face was twisted with the kind of hate that told me everything I needed to know about the man.

He climbed on top of me and put his hands around my throat. I tried to scream, but he squeezed it off and I felt myself losing consciousness. He forced himself between my legs and pulled up my nightgown. I fought him, but my arms felt limp and weak. And then I heard a click and felt the cold steel of a gun barrel pressed against my cheek.

He said, ‘At least I’m gonna find out what my brother sees in you. Only thing you’re good for.’

He raped me.

When he climaxed, I took advantage of those few seconds of vulnerability and mustered all the strength I had, and snatched the gun out of his hand. I figured I if I was going to die I might as well go down fighting. At that moment someone tackled him and pulled him off of me. The gun went off.

The next thing I heard was a scream. Their sister Meredith had heard the gunshot and come running. She started screaming at me, ‘What have you done? What have you done?’

I thought, ‘Oh my god, I shot Kenneth!’

And then she turned to Kenneth, who stood in front of us, very much alive, and she said, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll back you up. I saw it all. The fucking whore shot Tommy in front of both of us! That ghetto-rat is gonna fry, we’ll make sure of it.’ And then I couldn’t believe my ears when that little teenage bitch said, ‘It’s better this way anyways. Now we only have to split the money two ways when the old bat croaks.’

I was so confused. I hadn’t shot anyone. Kenneth was fine. What the hell was she talking about? I needed Tommy. He would be able to clear things up. I felt weak and wobbly, but tried to stand to go upstairs to wake up Tommy, and that was when I saw the body on the floor.

It was him. My Tommy was lying there in a pool of blood and that was when I realized the gun was still in my hand. He had woken and come looking for me and seen what his brother was doing. He died trying to save me.”

Michelle sobbed into her hands and Bart embraced her. Bea placed a box of tissues nearby and waited for her to continue.

“The rest was mostly a blur. Someone must have called the police, because I woke up on a cold hard cot in a jail cell. I don’t know how long I slept. I just remember crying and crying, drifting in and out for days. I couldn’t eat. Eventually I managed to drink some water, but nobody came to check on me. No doctor came to check on my physical or mental state. No rape kit was done, even though I knew what the proper procedure should have been. I mean, I’m a physician, and I’ve done countless examinations of assault victims. But I was in no state of mind to ask for help, and none was offered. I didn’t care about anything. All I knew was that Tommy was dead and I had no reason to live.

Finally after, I don’t know how many days, they told me my lawyer was there to see me. Which was odd, because I didn’t have a lawyer. I hadn’t thought to ask for one. They led me into the little room and to my surprise, there was Tommy’s best friend Bart sitting at the table. He had heard about what happened and had volunteered to defend me. I don’t know why. Bart should hate me like everyone else does. But he didn’t believe them. He wanted to hear my side of it. It’s weird, because we haven’t known each other very long, but I’ve always felt like I could tell Bart anything. He was different from all of Tommy’s friends. Different from Tommy, even.”

Michelle cast a tearful glance in Bart’s direction. Bart reached over and squeezed her arm, encouraging her to continue.

“Bart paid my bail and got me out that day. I have been charged with second-degree murder. I pled not guilty, but there’s a good chance I will lose the trial, even with Bart as my lawyer. Kenneth and Meredith are going to testify. They’ve told everyone that they witnessed me shooting Tommy in cold blood because he caught me cheating with Kenneth. They’re making me out to be some kind of gold digger. Kenneth has told the press that he won’t rest until I’m rotting behind bars. It’s pretty much guaranteed I’ll be going to jail. Even if I don’t, my career is over. My life is over.”

“I’m so sorry this happened to you,” Bea said. “What are you going to do?”

“Oh, that part is simple. I’m going to kill myself.”

“That may not be necessary,” Bart said. “Will you excuse us for a moment, Michelle? I need to have a word with Bea in private.”

Bea retrieved a bottle of water from the mini-fridge and handed it to Michelle. “We won’t be long. Promise me, there will be no suicide until we return.” Bea winked at her. Michelle nodded and gave her a tearful smile.

The two left the office and sat at the kitchen table.

“I know what you’re going to ask, Bart,” Bea said. “And while I agree with you that this woman has every reason to want to escape her life, where are we going to find a volunteer to take her place? Nobody is going to want to enter a body that is headed for jail. It wouldn’t be fair to do that to someone.”

“I think the most fitting candidate would be the rapist himself.”

“Bart, are you insane? We’ve never done an involuntary before. We don’t even know what could happen!”

“There’s one way to find out. The one who matters is voluntary. Do we really care what happens to the other subject? He’ll never be punished for what he did. How many other women is he going to victimize? You know as well as I do that guys like this don’t just do it once. How many has he already hurt? She is suicidal, Bea. I have no doubt that she is going to off herself. Even if by some miracle she wins the trial, and trust me, she won’t. She is a woman of color up against filthy rich white liars. The truth isn’t going to mean shit at that trial. Bea, this is huge! This is what your work can do! You have the ability to save an innocent life, and punish the one who destroyed it.”

“But you’re talking about kidnapping!”

Bart waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll take care of everything. I have a few people who owe me some favors. All you need to do is work your magic when I get him here. In the meantime, is it all right if Michelle stays with you? It’s been a constant battle hiding her from the press, and given that I’m her attorney who is about to drop her as a client, I’m not exactly incognito.”

“Of course, she’s more than welcome. I have plenty of room here. As long as she promises no suicide on the premises.”

* * *

As promised, Bart produced Kenneth in the dark of night, bound and blindfolded in the back of a panel van. After the swap, a drugged and very confused Kenneth awoke in a public park. When the situation became clear, hysteria ensued, and he (now she) was arrested and placed in a psychiatric facility for her own protection. Michelle had apparently had a psychotic break, they said. Why else would she be ranting about being a man trapped in a woman’s body and claiming to be the brother of her alleged victim?

Bart contacted his law firm to let them know he would no longer be representing Ms Collins, and that he was revoking the bail he had posted for her because she had violated the terms of her recognizance.

The date of the trial arrived. On Bart’s instruction, Michelle had liquidated all of her assets before the swap and donated the funds to Bea’s research foundation. She wouldn’t need the money, since Kenneth had plenty. The body Kenneth entered had not a penny to its name. The public defender assigned to the case tried to push for an insanity plea, but the defendant refused and continued to maintain her innocence.

The jury’s decision was unanimous: Guilty. In Michelle’s body, Kenneth was sentenced to fifteen years in prison. Had he been a wealthy white man, he might have gotten off with time served and probation, but as a penniless black woman, he received no mercy from the court. As an added surprise, it turned out Michelle was pregnant by her rapist. Kenneth got to experience the miracle of childbirth firsthand from behind bars. The baby boy, to whom Kenneth was now both mother and father, was placed into foster care to await adoption.

Michelle visited the prison once. It was surreal, seeing herself behind the glass partition, dressed in orange. Although, she had never seen herself behave the way the woman on the other side of the glass did: ranting, screaming obscenities, beating on the glass until the guards came and removed her. They didn’t even have a chance to pick up the phone and talk before the visit was over.

Michelle had one small piece of unfinished business. She enlisted the help of Bart and Bea once more. Another generous donation to Bea; another unwilling subject delivered in the dark of night.

* * *

Vernon Plotz was admitted to hospital vomiting blood and complaining of severe abdominal pain. Being homeless, he hadn’t consulted a doctor even though he had been in pain for several years. He used heroin to dull the pain, but eventually even the heroin didn’t help. Doctors found a tumor the size of a football growing inside his abdomen and the cancer had spread throughout his body. It was untreatable. The doctor discharged him with three months to live and a prescription for morphine, but didn’t suggest he quit heroin. Outside the hospital, a finely dressed young man caught up with him and made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. He agreed to swap bodies with the man in exchange for ten thousand dollars. Clearly the man was insane, but ten grand would keep Vern nice and high until either the dope or the cancer killed him off.

What a surprise it was when Vern found himself inside the other guy’s body, just like he’d promised! What a sucker! That rich dumbass had just traded a Porsche for an Edsel! Well, no backsies, he was taking the cash and running.

The first thing Vern did was call his dealer and buy himself a monster-sized party to celebrate his new body and his new lease on life. The second thing he did was overdose.

Kenneth’s tragic death rocked the high-society world. Who would ever have suspected he had a drug problem? It must have been too much for him: his father’s death, his brother’s murder, the trial… Poor, brave Kenneth, they said. He had battled those demons all alone.

* * *

“Medical school? But Meredith, you’ve always hated school!”

Meredith kissed her mother on the cheek. “Let’s just say, I’ve turned over a new leaf. I’ve been such a spoiled brat, now I want to do something meaningful with my life. I want to do something that would have made Daddy and my brothers proud.”

“I swear I don’t even know you anymore, Meredith. It’s like you’ve grown up overnight.” Meredith’s mother dabbed at her eyes. “But they would all be so proud of you, my dear. God rest their souls. I guess I’ll have another doctor in the family after all.”

* * *

A year after Kenneth’s unfortunate death, Bart and Meredith married, uniting two of the most prominent families in Boston. They located Kenneth and Michelle’s son and adopted him. Later that year, Bart ran for Governor of Massachusetts and won. Three years later, he ran for president.

Did Michelle know Bart’s secret? Bea never asked, but as far as she knew Michelle was unaware that her husband had once been the infamous Brandi Buxton. Did it even matter? They were happy: a handsome power couple using their resources to change the world for the better.

And so it came to pass that a porn star became the first female president of the United States, unbeknownst to the citizens who had voted for (and against) her.

By the time Bart became president, most of Congress and the Senate had been replaced with women: the poor; the intelligent but downtrodden; the minorities, disguised as wealthy white men. Over time, the left and right ran out of reasons to argue. Issues that had once sparked furious debate became civil discussions that ended in compromise. Meetings with heads of state went smoothly; when problems arose, one might say that those individuals soon changed their way of thinking.

Women with unwanted pregnancies who were unable to face either choice were offered a third option. Thus, a number of men known for their outspoken conservative views were blessed with the opportunity to experience the joys of pregnancy and childbirth.

Bea embarked on a new mission to preserve brilliant minds trapped in failing bodies, beginning with an aging Supreme Court Justice the world wasn’t ready to lose yet. Bea found a healthy body for her in a suicidal young woman, broken by emotional trauma. The girl donated her body to the worthy cause and slipped away peacefully in place of the elder woman.

Bea found new hope for her technology. Perhaps the future Stephen Hawkings of the world could be saved and great minds could live on indefinitely.

On the surface it appeared nothing had changed. Men still ran the world. But as the old saying goes, behind every great man is a great woman.

Copyright © 2019 Mandy White

Sitnalta

[image error]What lies beyond the gate?

Peter had always wanted to see what lay beyond the gate, but it was forbidden. Venturing beyond the iron barrier meant certain death, they were told. Having lived all his life within the walls, he had to rely on the stories related by the elders, whose parents and grandparents had once lived on the outside.

The tales spun by the fireside at night told of wondrous things: gleaming silver castles that rose to the heavens; of magical devices that flew or sped along the ground at a breathtaking pace. At one time, people lived without walls and could travel anywhere they wished. They had even flown to the stars themselves.

That was before IT happened.

The land was tainted, he was told. Tainted by a mysterious force that had swept the planet after a collision with a gigantic asteroid. The blow disrupted the Earth’s magnetic grids, changing the position of the axis and forever altering the face of the planet. Strange radiation emanated from the impact site, traveling along the lines of longitude until it enveloped the planet. The electromagnetic frequencies on the planet began to shift to a new energy that was not compatible with biological life.

Areas where the new frequencies were strongest became “dead”. The old frequencies were too weak to support life in those regions anymore; vegetation died off and surviving humans were forced to move. Collecting seeds, plants and livestock in an attempt to preserve themselves and as much of their old world as possible, people migrated in a series of mass exoduses to the few regions left on Earth where the old magnetism remained strong. Several “power spots” on Earth that had mystified humankind for centuries became safe havens in the face of an extinction-level natural disaster.

Pockets of surviving humanity clustered near Stonehenge, the Great Pyramids of Egypt, temples of Mayan and other origins, Easter Island, the Hawaiian Islands and the newly located North and South Poles. Because of the polar shift, the planet’s ice caps melted and refroze in the areas surrounding the new poles. The movement of the ice and change in magnetics resulted in repositioning of the oceans. Ocean floor became dry land and entire chunks of continents, including the southern half of North America, were swallowed by the sea.

It was in one of these former ocean floor regions that Peter lived. He was born there, as were his parents. Neither he nor his parents had ever ventured beyond the walls of the city of Sitnalta, located in the center of what had once been known as the Bermuda Triangle. The two thousand or so survivors who had colonized the site had found the ruins of an ancient city and built upon it. According to legends, the place was once a thriving continent that had met disaster and sunk into the sea. The ruins were remarkably well preserved and served the residents well after a bit of rebuilding. The new citizens of Sitnalta built a massive wall around the majestic city. A large iron-barred gate sealed the path to the outside world. The gate was the only way through the wall. Only the Mayor of the city had the key, and he opened the gate for no one.

Peter knew that the wall was for his own protection. Even though the magnetic energy was strong and healthy in the middle of the Triangle, it weakened as one moved away from the site. “Out There” was where the bad energy was. Peter could never go Out There because he would die. His grandfather told stories about early explorers who ventured Out There. Some never returned. The ones who did make it back to the safety of the city were weak and pale. They were also insane; ranting and babbling incoherently. They died soon afterward.

The land outside the city was dead, and all who ventured Out There would die as well. The exact borderline between safe levels of magnetism and dangerously low levels could not be accurately measured, so the law stated that all citizens must stay inside the walls where it was safe.

Just the same, Peter longed to explore beyond the gate. From the roof of the temple, the city’s tallest building, he could glimpse parts of the world outside the city walls. It was a magical alien landscape filled with colorful rock formations, the remnants of what had once been a coral reef. Pink and white seashells covered the sparkling sand as far as the eye could see, scattered like forgotten treasure. In the distance, on the other side of the reef the mast of a ship could be seen. It begged to be explored and it was close enough to the city that it had to be safe. He dreamed of being a brave explorer, even if he couldn’t venture far from the walls.

Life wasn’t fair; he was fifteen years old – practically a man – and yet he was unable to choose where he could or could not go.

Day after day, Peter made the trek to the gate to peer through the bars, hoping to catch a glimpse of something new. Each day the same view greeted him: rocks, sand and coral. He knew that the gleaming white bones to the left of the gate were part of a massive skeleton, from a creature called a “whale” that had once lived in the water. He wanted to touch the bones to see if they were as smooth as they looked. The seashells beyond the gate looked the same as the thousands of shells found within the city walls but Peter was convinced they would somehow be better.

One day, on his usual visit to the gate, he noticed something different. The iron barrier sat at a different angle than before. On closer inspection, he discovered that it was ajar.

How? More importantly, who?

Maybe it had come open on its own. He inspected the lock. It was well oiled and appeared to be functional. No, the gate had been opened by someone with a key. The only person who had a key was the Mayor. What would the Mayor be doing outside the gate, violating the very law it was his job to enforce?

Peter hesitated, hand on the gate. This was it. Here was his chance. Did he dare?

He took a deep breath and then swung the gate wide and stepped through to the other side.

“I won’t go far,” he whispered under his breath. “Just enough to see. Just to the other side of these rocks.”

Well, maybe he would go as far as the whale skeleton, but no farther. He could touch the bones and maybe take one of its teeth as a souvenir.

His legs shook as he took first one step, then another. He saw footprints in the sand leading away from the gate. They had to belong to the person who had opened the gate. They led past the rocks, away from the whale skeleton.

Just a quick look, then I’ll turn back, he thought.

He followed the footprints past the rocks and another larger group of rocks loomed in front of him. The footprints led into a narrow crevice between the rocks. He had to follow if he wanted to see what was on the other side. He looked back. The whale skeleton was getting smaller in the distance and he considered turning back. Yes, he would definitely turn back. Just as soon as he saw what was on the other side.

Peter eased through the narrow path, trying to step softly. His feet crunched on layers upon layers of tiny seashells that had accumulated between the rocks over the many centuries the place had been part of the ocean floor. The path twisted and turned and became almost completely dark. Once again Peter considered turning back but then he saw a sliver of light up ahead. He pushed forward and the path widened until he stepped back out into brilliant sunlight.

The footprints continued past an outcropping of rock. Peter followed. A flash of color up ahead caught his eye. As he drew closer, he saw a small red flag, planted in the sand. As he followed the path further, he saw another flag, then another. When he rounded the corner of the rock formation, he froze.

No!

It couldn’t be.

Peter stood before another wall, much like the one that surrounded his city. Set within the wall was another iron barred gate, just like the other.

What did it mean?

As Peter approached the gate, he saw that it had a sign on it. He stopped once again when he read the words on the sign:

DANGER

POINT OF NO RETURN!

Peter stumbled backward and rushed back toward the crevice in the rock. He’d seen enough. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to be back inside the walls of Sitnalta, where he would be safe.

“Young man!” A stern voice spoke. “What are you doing out here?”

An old man stood near the wall, holding a strange looking device.

Peter stammered, “I… I just… I’m sorry!”

“I was finished anyway. I will walk you back,” the man said. “What’s your name, son?”

“Peter.”

“Well, Peter, you need to understand that this is no place for you to be. There is a reason you are confined to the city.”

Peter nodded. “I’m sorry. I was on my way back. I just wanted to see…” he gestured toward the wall. “What is this? Another wall?”

“Yes. And beyond that wall, there is another.”

“What? Why?”

The old man sighed.

“I suppose I should introduce myself. I am Professor John Davenport. I am a scientist. I work for the Mayor.”

“The Mayor… he has the key.”

“Yes, he is the Keeper of the Key but that is not to say that he is the only one who uses it. I have clearance to venture outside to do my work.”

“What are you doing?”

“The same thing I’ve always done, and my father before me and my grandfather before that. I am the Monitor. My job is to monitor the electromagnetic levels, the only way possible. This device was designed by my grandfather. He lived in the old world, before IT. He remembered the old technology and the way it worked. This Gizmometer is the only means we have of measuring the energy levels to determine where it is safe and where it is not.”

“So, is it? Safe, I mean. Around here.”

Professor Davenport shook his head sadly. “No. It is not.” Seeing Peter’s panicked expression, he touched the boy’s arm in reassurance. “You are not in any immediate danger, don’t worry. But, one day in the not-too-distant future this place will be dead, just like out there.” He nodded toward the gate.

“What are those?” Peter asked, pointing at the flags.

“Markers. They mark the spot where the energy begins to drop. As you can see, the weakness has already advanced into the second circle.”

“Second circle?”

“Yes. Remember, I told you that beyond this wall there is another? At one time, that was the wall to our land. Your ancestors could move freely about this area, just as you now do within the confines of the city. That was the first gate. As the weakness spread, our magnetic safe zone began to shrink. My grandfather advised that another, smaller wall be built to ensure that everyone remained well within the healthy area.”

“The safe zone shrunk?” Peter asked, alarmed.

“Come.” Davenport beckoned and walked back toward the gate. Peter followed hesitantly. The Point of No Return sign made him nervous.

“It’s ok. It’s still safe at the gate… for now. The levels are just beginning to drop in this area.”

They reached the gate and Peter stood beside the scientist to look through the bars. The boy gasped at what he saw. The meaning of it hit home all at once.

Flags.

Hundreds of them, as far as the eye could see, gradually advancing from the gate where they stood, far into the distance.

“Each flag marks the new border of the safe zone. Most of the ones you see were placed there by my father, then by me. When the red flags reached this wall, we had to pull back and build another one. The third wall was built about twenty years ago. In your lifetime, you will witness the building of another.”

Peter followed the professor back down the path toward the crevice.

As they passed the last flag, the scientist paused.

“This one,” he said, pointing at the flag, “I placed here today. The one before it, six months ago. It is accelerating. The smaller our circle gets, the faster it shrinks. We build the walls to keep everyone safe, but also to keep them from knowing the truth. We don’t want mass panic on our hands.”

Peter’s heart thudded in his chest. “What are you saying?”

“Isn’t it clear, boy? Our safe zone is shrinking. ALL of them are. The planet is dying and there’s not a damn thing we can do about it. Sitnalta will continue to shrink and we will be pushed closer and closer together until there is no more room to move. No more room to build walls. There will be no escape.

When it reaches that point, it is written that the Keeper of the Key will open the gate and we will be locked in no more.”

Copyright © 2012 Mandy White

(Previously published in Dysfictional 2 by Mandy White and Dragons and Dreams by WPaD)

Photo by Ilenia F. on Unsplash

Take My Life

[image error]

The night the meteor fell, Andy was watching a storm. He always watched storms, partly for safety. He kept a close eye on any lightning strikes on the mountain, in case they resulted in forest fires. If there was a fire, he needed to know immediately in case he needed to warn his friend Cade, who lived up the mountain. He would bring Cade down to his place in case they needed to evacuate by road. There were no roads up where Cade lived; only a trail, which they traveled by dirt bike.

Andy also watched storms for the sheer enjoyment of it. He didn’t own a television, and a light show courtesy of Mother Nature was the closest thing to watching a movie. Judging by the black clouds rolling over the mountaintop, it was going to be a gooder. Andy settled into his favorite chair on the porch, bottle of whiskey in hand. The wind picked up and light rain rattled on the tin roof overhead. It was starting.

Dusk was falling when the first crack of thunder sounded and electric flashes lit up the sky.

Andy smiled and raised the bottle to his lips. He paused mid-sip.

“What the fuck is that?” he said aloud, standing to get a better look.

A fiery orb hovered in the sky for a few seconds, before streaking downward and disappearing into the trees. It was no shooting star; it was much larger and moved more slowly. He pinpointed the location where he last saw it. He made a plan to search for it after the storm. Andy was an amateur prospector, and always on the lookout for interesting new minerals, valuable or not.

It rained heavily the next day, and flash floods rushed down the mountainside. Andy postponed his search until the weather cleared the following day. He hoped the floods hadn’t erased all traces of the meteorite. A space rock would make an excellent addition to his collection.

He found nothing the first day, or the next in the area where he thought the meteorite had landed. He expanded his search. After nearly a week of searching, he was ready to give up. He had wandered further into the woods than he’d planned and it was getting dark. In the forest, darkness fell long before sunset. He checked his compass and headed back in the direction of where he’d left his motorcycle.

He stopped. Something had caught his eye. A diagonal slash in the bark of a big fir tree. It was fresh. Maybe damage from the storm, but… he looked upward, following the direction of the slash. There, in a neighboring tree, he saw a broken branch. His eyes followed the trajectory down to the ground, and… there. Something glittered in the underbrush.

* * *

It wasn’t gold.

He sat at his kitchen table, staring at his newest acquisition.

The rock sat in the middle of the table, glittering in the filtered sunlight from the window. It was about the size of a football, and unlike anything he had ever seen. It looked like crystals embedded in metallic rock. When he looked at it from different directions, the colors changed, from gold to purple to green, to every color imaginable.

Andy didn’t know if the rock was worth anything, but it was by far his best find ever. He couldn’t wait to show it to his friend Cade.

* * *

“Isn’t that what they call ‘Fool’s gold’?”

Andy had hauled the big rock with him the next time he visited Cade. His friend lived in the wilderness for reasons known only to the two of them and Andy was his only contact with the outside world. Cade had provided Andy with plenty of cash for supplies, but Andy would have done it for nothing. He liked the companionship and looked forward to his monthly visits.

“You mean Pyrite? No, it’s definitely not Pyrite. I knew you’d say that, though. Here. This is Pyrite. Compare it.” Andy pulled a small stone from his pocket and handed it to Cade.

Cade held the shiny gold stone up to the light and then examined the larger one again.

“You’re right. This is definitely not the same thing. You figure this is a meteorite?”

“Yeah, I think so. I went looking for it in the area where it went down. There were marks on the trees like something had fallen from the sky. I’m positive it’s the same rock.”

“It’s probably a combination of stuff. But you should take it in somewhere and get it analyzed. Maybe you have something valuable here.”

“And then what? Trade it for money? I already have everything I need. I’d have a bunch of money I’d never use and I wouldn’t have my pretty space rock. Naw, I’m keeping the rock. One day when I’m dead and gone, this here rock is gonna be my headstone.”

Cade raised the bottle. “That’s not going to be for a long time, my friend. Here’s to you and your pretty space rock.”

“Gimme that.” Andy grabbed the bottle and took a big swallow. The whiskey wasn’t going down well that day, but he’d had a persistent headache and needed a painkiller.

That was the last time Andy ever saw Cade.

* * *

By the time Andy got home, the headache had turned to chills. He took some Tylenol and went to bed. A good night’s sleep would fix him up.

The next day he felt worse. His brow burned with fever and his joints ached.

The fever broke the third day, but he’d used all of his Tylenol. He also came to the realization that his medicine cabinet was sorely lacking in cold and flu remedies. He felt well enough to make a trip to town; in fact, he was feeling almost good as new. Plus, Cade had gotten him thinking; maybe the rock was something special. He wanted to stop in at the library and check out some books on minerals, and maybe use the internet for a bit of research.

* * *

Andy drove his pickup to town with the shiny rock on the seat beside him. He went to the pharmacy and restocked his Tylenol, plus bought enough cold and flu remedies to tackle any bug that came his way. He’d add some to Cade’s next supply run as well. He stopped for lunch at the cafe, proudly displaying his prize on the table. The waitress commented on the pretty rock as she moved it aside to make room for his plate. A big RV with New York plates pulled in beside his truck, carrying a family of tourists who sat in the booth next to Andy. They struck up a conversation.

Andy asked how they were enjoying Canada so far.

They told him they had crossed the border into Quebec and driven across Canada. They were planning to visit family in Vancouver before crossing back into the U.S. and making their way to Disneyland via Las Vegas. They also commented on the shiny rock and one of the children asked if she could touch it.

After the restaurant, Andy stopped in at the bank, the hardware store and the grocery store before going to the library, where he lingered for an hour or so, browsing the bookshelves and using the internet.

He drove home at sunset, proud that he had accomplished much of his supply run early. Maybe he would drop in on Cade sooner than expected and surprise him.

* * *

The next day, the fever returned, accompanied by a cough. Andy took some vitamins and washed them down with whiskey. He’d be fine, now that he had plenty of flu medication.

With each day that passed, the cough worsened in spite of all his efforts. He even tried drinking water or orange juice instead of whiskey. Nothing seemed to help.

By the second week, Andy grew concerned. The cough persisted, now accompanied by a pain in his back and a crackling noise every time he took a breath, and breathing was difficult at times. He concluded that he might need some medical help. He would head to the hospital in the morning if he didn’t get any better. Just in case, he wrote a note to Cade and placed it under the mattress of his bed with all of his important documents. He also left his wallet there. He wouldn’t need the wallet for a trip to the ER. All he needed was his health insurance number and enough cash for a prescription. If things went south, Cade would need the rest.

* * *

THREE MONTHS LATER

The lone hiker plodded along the winding trail. The large pack on his back was light; nearly empty except for a canteen of water and a bit of jerky; the last of his food. He hoped the pack would be full for the return trip.

“I outta cuss him out, that’s what,” he said. He often spoke aloud. Out in the wilderness there was nobody to call him crazy, and it alerted wildlife of his presence.

“The sonofabitch comes to visit, doesn’t even stay to fish, and then gives me the flu, to top it all off. And then he doesn’t come back for three damn months. Deserves a slap upside the head.”

Cade wasn’t angry with Andy; he was more worried than anything else. It wasn’t like him to stay away for so long. For the past eight years, Andy had visited every month without fail. He’d replenish Cade’s supplies, spend a couple of days drinking and fishing, and update him on news from the outside world. News usually consisted of a stack of old newspapers, collected from Andy’s post office box.

On his last visit, Andy hadn’t been his usual boisterous self. He’d barely touched the whiskey bottle they’d passed back and forth at the campfire. He must have been coming down with something, because sure as shit, Cade fell sick a few days later. It wasn’t a big deal; wasn’t like he had a job to go to. He took it easy for about a week and then he felt right as rain.

Andy’s long absence worried Cade, enough that he felt compelled to make the long hike to his friend’s cabin to check on him. Cade glimpsed the bright green of Andy’s Kawasaki dirt bike as the cabin came into view. The bike was Andy’s favorite mode of transportation. He only used the truck to travel into town for supplies. Cade also had a motorcycle, but he’d shredded one of the tires on some sharp shale and he’d been waiting for Andy to come so he could ask him to pick him up a new one.

Cade reached the front door of the cabin and knocked. All was silent.

“Andy? You here?

The door was unlocked. Andy never locked his doors. Cade entered the cabin. Dust motes danced in the late afternoon light, and a thin film had settled on the table where Andy ate his meals. Telltale gray-green mold covered the dirty dishes in the sink. Nobody had been there for some time.

Andy didn’t stay in town for long; usually he went there and back in a day, with an occasional overnight trip. What if something had happened to him in town, or on the drive there? An accident? Or maybe he got into trouble and was arrested?

Cade left the cabin and walked toward the garage where Andy kept his truck. He expected the truck to be gone, but he had to check.

One of the large double doors was slightly ajar.

As Cade pulled the door open, he heard the buzzing of flies, and then the smell hit him.

Andy lay on the ground beside the truck, keys in hand. It looked like he died where he had fallen. From the look of him, he had been there for a while.

* * *

Cade shoveled the last bit of dirt onto the mound and then placed the shiny stone at Andy’s head, as his friend had wanted. The grave bore no inscription. No crosses or any of that bullshit; it wasn’t Andy’s thing. He pulled a bottle of whiskey from his pocket and poured some on the grave, then took a sip himself.

“Rest in peace, old buddy.”

Cade wandered back to the house and eased into Andy’s favorite chair on the porch with the bottle cradled in his lap. As the slow burn of the whiskey warmed his insides, his mind drifted back in time.

* * *

Cade would likely have died out in the wilderness, if not for Andy. He didn’t know the first thing about survival. He might have given up, marched back to civilization (assuming he made it that far) and turned himself in to serve a life sentence for a murder he didn’t commit. Giving up would have meant Lance won. Lance was the slimy bastard who had been sleeping with his wife. Lisa may have cheated, but she didn’t deserve to die. They’d worked things out and she was going to tell Lance it was over.

Cade should have known something was wrong when he came home to find a revolver on the floor just inside the front door. He recognized the gun as his and picked it up. It wasn’t until he held it in his hands that he felt the stickiness of blood on the weapon. He ran through the house, calling for Lisa. He found her in the bedroom with a bullet hole in her head. She had been violently beaten. At that moment, the police burst through the door and found him standing over the corpse holding the murder weapon.

It wasn’t difficult to piece together what happened. Lance hadn’t taken the breakup well. He had come to the house to “talk” to her but it had escalated into violence. She had run to the bedroom to get Cade’s gun. Signs of a struggle indicated that Lance had wrestled the gun from her before she could use it and then beaten her with it before shooting her.

Cade panicked and ran. He wasn’t going to take his chances with the courts. It looked like an open and shut case of domestic violence. The scene played out in his mind as he cleaned out the safe in his bedroom closet. Police would find him standing over his wife’s corpse holding the murder weapon. Nobody would believe he was innocent, and he would spend the rest of his life in jail for a murder he didn’t commit.

He fled with fifty thousand dollars in cash, a passport he couldn’t use and no plan. Eventually he found himself lost and out of gas, on a remote mountain road. He hadn’t thought to bring food and water; he’d just started driving. He’d been sleeping in his car for days. Now he was hungry and dehydrated, and beginning to realize the gravity of his situation. He heard the crackle of a dirt bike engine and a bright green motorcycle skidded to a stop in front of his car. The rider was about ten years older than Cade, with a long gray beard and stringy hair.

Andy’s cabin wasn’t far from where Cade had broken down. Andy put some gas in his car, fed him, offered him a couch to sleep on and listened to his story over a bottle of whiskey. Cade figured he was done for; Andy would call the police and he would have to take what was coming.

But to his surprise, Andy had a different perspective.

“First thing in the morning, we need to get rid of your car.”

Cade followed Andy’s bike out of the wilderness, past a few towns, and then they traveled many miles down a winding road alongside a canyon. The fuel gauge of Cade’s BMW was nearing empty when Andy finally stopped.

“This should do it. Aim ‘er over there.” He pointed at the edge of the cliff.

Following Andy’s instructions, Cade put the car in gear and rammed the accelerator with a long stick. The car lurched forward and plunged into the river below.

“Now, with any luck they’ll find that and think you’re dead.”

Andy took him to the shack in the wilderness, taught him to survive, and brought him supplies every month.

* * *

“Promise me,” Andy said.

“What’re ya even… no, I’m, that’s not gonna happen. You shaddup.” Cade slurred.

It was late, they’d been fishing all day, and the whiskey flowed freely.

“Lissen! I’m telling you something important!” Andy leaned over to grab another log for the campfire and nearly lost his balance.

“You’re talkin’ crazy. Nothing’s gonna happen to you, ok?”

“But it might. Anything could happen to anyone, anytime.” Andy said. “Listen to me. I’m not a young man. My heart isn’t in great shape. Supposed to take pills and go to doctor ‘pointments, but I’m not gonna do that. Shit happens. If I die out here, it’s ok. I’m where I want to be. All I’m saying is, if something did happen to me, you could take it all. Take my wallet. The picture on my driver’s license looks just like you, now that you got the hair and the beard. You could be me. You wouldn’t have to hide out here anymore.”

“I can’t go back to my old life.”

“You wouldn’t have to. Take my life. Live in my cabin. Nobody is looking for you anymore. They found your car years ago. They think you’re dead. I got no family, no friends except for you. Nobody would even notice the difference. I would go to my grave happy, knowing I could give you one last gift.”

“I’ll probably kick off before you. You’re too damn stubborn to die,” Cade said.

“All you need to know is where to look. I keep everything under my mattress. It’s all there, everything you need. My pension is deposited every month and you can withdraw it at the gas station without even setting foot in a bank. My signature is easy, just a scrawl if you ever need to use it.”

That was three years ago. No mention was made of the conversation the next day, or ever again. Cade assumed Andy was just talking drunk.

* * *

Cade removed the folded piece of paper from his pocket and read the letter again. He’d found it when he went to Andy’s bedroom closet to get a bottle of whiskey for the burial. On a whim, he’d checked under the mattress and there it was, as promised: Andy’s wallet and all of his personal documents. Banking, pension, account numbers and passwords. There was also an envelope with a single letter printed on the front: C.

Inside was stack of cash and a letter:

C,

I know you don’t think I remember that conversation from a few years back, but I meant every word of it.

When I got back from our last visit, I got real sick. Hope I didn’t give it to you. It’s gotten worse. I’m trying to hang on, but I think I might need to make a run to the hospital, and I don’t know what’s going to happen.

Hopefully it will all work out and I’ll see you soon, but just in case I don’t make it back, you know what to do.

Do it. Let me live on.

Stick my shiny rock somewhere nice and have a drink on me.

Andy

* * *

THREE MONTHS LATER

Cade avoided town as long as possible, but Andy’s supplies eventually ran out. As he drove the truck down the windy gravel road, his apprehension mounted. He realized how many years had passed since he had seen civilization, or any person besides Andy. He hoped Andy was right, that nobody would notice him. He would keep as low a profile as possible. Withdraw money from the ATM, get gas, groceries, and then get the hell out of there before anyone noticed him. That was the plan.

The small town came into sight. It was quieter than he expected. No traffic; not even a little bit. Everything was closed.

Where was everyone?

He spied a 7-11 store. Finally! Something that would be open! He pulled in beside a gas pump and went into the store to pay. The door was locked. The windows were smashed and the inside of the store was a shambles. Shelves knocked over, bare of goods.

What the hell happened here?

A newspaper fluttered at his feet. He picked it up. It was dated a month earlier.

The word PANDEMIC! screamed at him from the headline. He scanned the article quickly.

A deadly virus was sweeping the world. Global state of emergency. Millions dead, no cure. The virus was unlike anything ever seen before, with only a ten percent survival rate. They had traced the pathogen to an early outbreak in a small mountain town, but no “patient zero” had been located.

Copyright © 2020 Mandy White

Social Distance

One of the stories in the recently published collection by Writers, Poets and Deviants.

Dysfictional

A fictional story about young love in a post-pandemic world…

Published in WPaD’s new anthology, Goin’ Extinct Too: Apocalypse A Go-Go! Now available on Amazon.

Hannah dressed meticulously. Each piece went on in a specific order: After the undergarments came the stockings, then two petticoats, the first with wide hoops sewn into the fabric, and the second made from a light, flowing fabric, slipped over top of the first. Her blouse buttoned high, up to her chin, and the sleeves fit snugly from wrist to elbow to accommodate the long gloves she would slip on over top after lacing her calf-length boots. A skirt of royal blue silk finished the ensemble, paired with a matching bodice laced over the blouse. She pinned her hair in an elegant yet casual updo and topped it with a wide-brimmed bonnet.

She slipped down the staircase quietly, hoping to avoid unnecessary questions from her…

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Juliette’s Book Club: Goin’ Extinct Too – Apocalypse A Go-Go!

New Release Today! An Apocalyptic Collection by WPaD:

Vampire Maman

Goin’ Extinct Too – Apocalypse A Go-Go!

How could the world end? The possibilities are endless:

A global pandemic (obviously), aliens, evil politicians, zombies in one form or another, or even … rogue sex robots? (wait-what?) are just a few of the ideas we came up with.

WPaD’s second volume of apocalyptic tales will shock, entertain, and tug at your heart strings. A must-have for any fan of dystopian fiction.

When we began work on our second apocalyptic anthology in early 2019, long before the world had ever heard of COVID-19, we never would have dreamed that toilet paper and hand sanitizer would become symbols of the apocalypse.

The pandemic pushed our release to a later date than anticipated. We assumed readers had more important things on their minds and might not be in the mood for apocalyptic fiction at that time. The lockdown allowed our writers more time to…

View original post 323 more words

The Sculpture

[image error]

In my tiny prison, I barely have room to stretch my legs. I don’t know how much time has passed since I was imprisoned, but time is of little concern to me; all that concerns me is escape. I will not rest until I am free.

I was once queen of a thriving civilization, a labor of love built from the very ground by the tireless toil of its citizens. We never dreamed our world would one day crumble, but that day inevitably arrived. An impervious outside force attacked. Liquid fire rained down on us, dousing our glorious city, incinerating adults and young alike in the volcanic deluge.

I survived only because my chamber was at the heart of the city, furthest away from the lava flow. I managed to wedge myself into a small enclosed space long enough to withstand the heat. That space became my prison. When the lava cooled, all exits were sealed and I was trapped.

As hunger weakens me, so does desperation give me strength. I found the crack in the wall of my tiny cell as soon as the heat subsided. Immediately I went to work; clawing, gnawing, gradually enlarging the opening. Soon it will be large enough for me to squeeze through. I only pray that I can find a way back to the surface. I must escape. I will escape. I will have my vengeance, for the sake of my citizens who were so ruthlessly slaughtered, and for the offspring swelling in my abdomen. I will rebuild; I will create a new future for my young. But first I must escape.

* * *

Lenore poured two glasses of Chablis and handed one to Marsha. The two friends clinked glasses in celebration.

“What do you think?” Lenore asked.

“It’s… it’s stunning,” Marsha said, turning around to take in the entire room.

“I think so too. This old mansion was built in 1910. It’s survived two world wars and more than a century of history. I got an amazing deal on it. The rustic look is exactly what I wanted for my gallery.”

“I love what you’ve done, preserving all of that old wood.”

“It was in surprisingly good shape, considering. Although I did have to get rid of some pests. Squirrels in the attic, rats in the basement, termites…”

“Wow. Termites? Good thing you got rid of them before they did too much damage. I’d hate to think what would happen to all this beautiful wood.” Marsha gulped her wine.

“Don’t I know it! The exterminator said I got them in time, before they got into the structure. Luckily, most of them were outside. There was a big nest in the back yard. In fact, you’re looking at it.”

“What?” Marsha stood facing a large abstract sculpture. She had been admiring the piece, which resembled a futuristic chrome castle with a smooth, rippled surface. “This? I was going to say, this is one of my favorite pieces so far. How did you make it?”

“I’m not sure it qualifies as art. At the very least, it’s experimental. Rather than use poison, I tried a more environmentally friendly approach. I poured molten pewter into the nest. I dug it out, and this is the result.”

Marsha’s fingers brushed the glistening surface of the sculpture. “It’s breathtaking.”

Lenore chuckled. “I bet it was, for those termites.” She refilled their wine glasses.

Marsha laughed and raised her glass. “Well, here’s to the termites. Rest in peace, and good riddance!”

Copyright © 2020 Mandy White

Don’t Feed the Fruit Flies

[image error]Published in Dysfictional 2.

Dr Rogin was right. These were no fruit flies. Nothing I’d ever seen compared to them. Sure, they were tiny, dark and winged, but the resemblance to anything on earth ended there. The most notable difference was the number of legs the things had. Insects had six legs, arachnids had eight, but these bugs had ten. I’d never seen anything with ten legs before, though I’d heard of one rather obscure case involving a ten-legged creature of Australian origin. What I was looking at had to be one of two things: a newly evolved or previously undiscovered species from Earth, or something alien in origin. Both options simultaneously excited and terrified me. Having seen the destructive power of these tiny swarming creatures, I had no doubt it was a matter of time before humanity was overcome, unless we could find a way to stop them.

The insects, if that was what they were, (I preferred to think of them as ‘bugs’ until I knew exactly what they were) appeared to be evolving. Or maybe it was another stage of their life cycle that we hadn’t seen yet. The new bugs looked different. They had tripled in size, and had pale whitish wings instead of the mottled black wings of their ten-legged predecessors. Their bodies were shiny, black and heavily armored. The smaller bugs had translucent gray bodies with visible innards. Both varieties were unlike any insect I’d seen. As if the ten-legged bugs weren’t disturbing enough, these new ones only had four.

What the fuck am I dealing with here?

“So what do you make of it?” Dr Rogin had slipped into the room while I was looking into the microscope.

“I’m not sure what I’m looking at here. Is this another phase of its life cycle, or an entirely different species?”

“That’s what I aim to find out. Then you can get busy with your job, which is to figure out how to kill them.” He glared at me over the rims of his half-moon spectacles. “While killing as little else as possible in the process, of course.”

Dr. Leonard Rogin was my partner on the project, although we didn’t work for the same employers. He was a senior FDA research scientist who spent most of his time evaluating the safety of products before releasing them to consumers. He was responsible for double-checking my research to ensure that I didn’t endanger any lives in the process of doing my job.

The company I worked for, Evergreen industries, worked in cooperation with heavyweights like Monsanto. My job was to ensure the safety of the. North American food supply by eliminating any possible threats to said food supply.

I used my degree in entomology to study insects for the sole purpose of finding the most effective methods of killing them, and I was paid handsomely for my effort.

These bugs were unlike anything I had ever encountered.

It had all started innocently enough.

A year previously, swarms of fruit flies descended over the Midwest. At first we assumed it was merely a heavy season for the tiny pests, but it soon became obvious we were faced with something much greater. Granted, we had noticed an increase in fruit flies and other pests in the past few years, but nobody gave it much thought. We shrugged it off as ‘just a bad season’ for this pest or that one. How blind we were, not to have recognized the signs.

For the past ten years that I worked for Evergreen, Monsanto and the many organizations that worked in silence beneath them were doing what they had always done – messing with the genetic makeup of plants to produce hardier and more prolific versions. Their mission, as stated, was to make our valuable and life-giving food crops resistant to pests, extreme weather, poor soil conditions and other potentially destructive factors. As the world’s honeybee population plunged into extinction, increased focus was placed on the development of self-pollinating hybrid varieties of all staple crops.

One of the less-talked-about projects was the nuke-resistant crop.

Worried that the threat of nuclear attack was imminent, the powers that be felt the need to protect our food supplies by making them resistant to radiation and other challenges faced following a nuclear strike. For years, scientists had been working (covertly, so as not to create panic) to develop nuke-resistant strains of corn, wheat and other vital food crops. They succeeded, but what they didn’t anticipate was the effect these new crops would have on the rest of the ecosystem.

It’s a well-known fact in science that every living thing has a survival mechanism. Even minute viruses and bacteria have ways of surviving when faced with obstacles. When a body becomes immune to a virus, it mutates in an attempt to circumvent the immune system. When an infection is bombarded with enough antibiotics, the surviving bacteria evolve into antibiotic-resistant superbugs.

Darwin called it survival of the fittest – living things adapting in order to survive.

What made them think the genetically altered crops would exist in the same environment as their predecessors without having any effect, adverse or otherwise, on the living things around them? For a bunch of brainiacs, we scientists could be pretty stupid sometimes. We ignored what should have been plain to see until it was too late. And now, there I was, stuck inside my lab at the eleventh hour and no closer to finding a solution than I had been five, ten years ago, before this whole mess began. Back then, there would have been plenty of time to avert disaster if only we had seen it. If only.

The fruit flies appeared to have evolved into the ten-legged abominations I was now studying. Not only had their appearance changed, but their habits had as well. This latest batch of flies was of a more devastating breed than anyone could have imagined. They decimated fruit, vegetable and grain crops. They squeezed through the tiny holes in window screens, coating everything inside and out with a live, buzzing ash-colored blanket. It was impossible to display fresh produce at a market without seeing it covered with the tiny gray flies. The usual pesticides had no effect on them.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief when winter came, because it meant the end of what they considered to be the worst fruit fly season in history. But the flies persevered. In spite of sub-zero temperatures, they survived and even seemed to thrive. Extreme temperatures, lack of water and even lack of food didn’t seem to slow them down. They continued to multiply and spread, until all of North America was infested. International flights were halted to prevent the swarms from migrating to the rest of the world, but the outlook was bleak. We knew that it was only a temporary solution; attempting to quarantine an entire continent was neither logical nor feasible. Sooner or later the bugs would spread if we didn’t find a way to stop them.

By the end of the year, their numbers had reached disastrous proportions. Car engines developed problems as the insects clogged air intakes and exhaust. People wearing safety goggles and surgical masks were a common sight on the streets. Due to mass crop dusting, Malathion poisoning in people and animals became commonplace, but the flies remained healthy.

And now, there were these new bugs. Larger, faster and, presumably, even more destructive, though we had yet to see what effect they would have on what was left of the continent’s crops.

* * *

I stared into the twin glass tanks that contained my test specimens. A swarm of small bugs in one, and a slightly smaller group of the larger bugs in the other.

An idea occurred to me.

I placed both tanks inside the glassed-in observation room and then removed the lids. I exited the room quickly, sealing the door behind me.

I had set up a video camera on a tripod outside the room to record the experiment, just in case anything unusual happened. To be honest, I didn’t know what to expect, but it was better to be prepared than to miss anything.

I wanted to know how these two species interacted with each other, and if they were indeed different developmental phases of the same organism, or if they were two different animals entirely.

I grabbed a fresh cup of coffee and pulled up a chair next to the glassed-in room to watch.

The bugs kept with their own kind, each forming a thick swarm. It was eerie, watching the two swarms moving about the room, flying in such an organized formation they could have been mistaken for two single organisms.

The swarms stopped and hovered, maintaining a distance of two or three feet between each other. They seemed to be waiting. I knew it was an insane notion, but it looked like they were ‘facing’ each other.

When it began, it was a sight I would never forget. The larger bugs attacked, and I could have sworn I heard a faint collective scream like a battle cry as they charged into the thick black cloud of tiny flies.

The two clouds of insects became one, and the battle cry became a squeal that increased in pitch and intensity until I had to cover my ears. When it was over, only one swarm remained. The larger bugs were the victors.

The big bugs were able to kill the small ones. I had found the solution to one problem.

Now I had a new problem. What else did these big bugs kill? What would it take to kill them?

Oh, dear God. Have we gone from the frying pan into the fire?

I picked up the phone. It was time to call my superiors and inform them of this new development.

* * *

I woke with something wet and sticky on my face. I raised my head from my desk, where I had fallen asleep after my twenty-eighth hour on the job. A document was stuck to my cheek, from the remnants of a cup of coffee, which I had evidently knocked over in my sleep. I sighed and pulled the paper off of my face, then checked my watch. It was ten-thirty, presumably at night.

I hadn’t been home to shower or change clothes in two days, ever since we received word of the government’s 72-hour countdown. If I, and the others working on the problem didn’t find a feasible solution to the bug invasion, we would be relieved of our duties and the military would intervene. They would eradicate the problem by any means necessary. That meant poisons, experimental chemicals, nerve gas, napalm, and if all else failed, Operation Black Flag. Operation Black Flag, named after a popular insect extermination product, involved luring the bugs to remote desert areas and nuking them. Residents would be evacuated, but any who refused to go would meet the same fate as the bugs. That was, assuming a nuke would kill the things. For all we knew, it would kill everything except for the bugs. We had no way of knowing the effects of things we hadn’t tried yet.

There had to be another way. The potential for global catastrophe was enormous, whether by bugs or by humankind’s ham-handed intervention. The time to find a solution was running out. Who knew what kind of horrific nerve gases and biological weapons the US military had in its possession? They let the public think such things didn’t exist, but I knew better. History had proven that we were capable of creating some pretty nasty stuff.

My head spun when I thought about all the lives at stake – not just people, but livestock, crops, and natural flora and fauna were all in danger of extinction. The government assholes didn’t care; all they thought about was winning. They had to prove they were number one, and no little bug was going to knock them off the top of the food chain.

I stretched my arms over my head as I walked back to the lab station where I had been working. A metal rack next to the microscope held twenty-four glass vials, each containing an individual specimen of the larger bug. I had studied them, poisoned them with everything I could think of, and still they lived, bouncing angrily against the glass. Attempts to dissect them had proven fruitless; their armor seemed impenetrable. As much as I hated to admit defeat, it was starting to look like our time on this planet was coming to an end.

The odd thing about the large bugs was, they didn’t seem to be multiplying the way the small ones were. I had yet to catch one in the transition from small to large, either. When the small ones appeared, we saw them multiply exponentially. The larger bugs hadn’t shown up until the small ones had reached epidemic proportions. They didn’t seem to hatch or evolve – they just appeared.

I breathed a weary sigh and reached for a vial containing an untainted specimen. I didn’t know where to turn at this point, except to repeat my previous experiments to see if I had missed anything. There had to be a clue somewhere. These things had to have a weakness.

I was overtired; otherwise I wouldn’t have been so clumsy. When I reached for the vial, the sleeve of my lab coat caught on the rack and I accidentally swept the entire thing onto the floor.

I gasped at the sound of glass smashing. The specimens were free.

“Shit!” I shouted, jumping back from the station. I ran to the door and hit the Emergency Quarantine button. The doors automatically locked, sealing the room and everything in it. The lab was now contaminated, and so was I. Nothing would enter or exit until the threat was contained.

The buzz of the bugs rose to a high-pitched squeal as they swarmed around my head. I swatted at them, even though I knew it was unwise to do so. The little buggers were already pissed off; there was no need to antagonize them. I pulled my lab coat over my head and retreated into the inner office, slamming the door behind me. I leaned against the door, panting, while the bugs hummed angrily on the other side.

Suddenly I felt a sharp pain in my neck.

“Ouch!” What the..?

I was bitten! One of the bugs had followed me into the office and stung me.

“No,” I whispered as the strength left my body and I slid to the floor.

Darkness.

* * *

I heard the soft murmuring of voices. At first, I thought I had fallen asleep with the TV on, then I remembered the lab, and the bugs. I opened my eyes tentatively.

I was no longer in the office where I had fallen. In fact, I was no longer in the lab at all. I was surrounded by a bizarre alien landscape. The ground beneath my feet resembled a dried-out lake bed; It was flat and solid, covered with cracks. It reminded me of the Bonneville Salt Flats, which I had visited to watch land speed testing on a couple of occasions. How I had managed to travel from Nebraska to Utah? More importantly, why? Had I been unconscious that long?

I looked around for landmarks; anything that would help me get my bearings. The horizon was hard to distinguish because the sky was the same color as the ground.

“Hello?” I called. “Anybody here?”

I heard a fluttering sound, but couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from. Then more voices, whispering. It occurred to me that maybe I was dead. Was this Purgatory, or some kind of spirit world? I pinched myself, then slapped my face. It hurt, and I felt solid. I certainly didn’t feel like a spirit.

Voices whispered, like rustling leaves.

 “Who’s there?” I shouted. “Show yourself!”

The fluttering grew louder, then I sensed movement above my head. I looked up and my jaw dropped in amazement.

The individual responsible for making the sound descended from above and landed lightly on the ground in front of me. She was my height, and looked somewhat human, but that was where the resemblance ended. She had wings. Wings! Her skin was the most beautiful pale iridescent blue, like an opal. Her long wings were long, narrow and clear, like those of a dragonfly, with the same iridescence as her skin. Her delicate beauty was breathtaking. She wore a suit of armor similar to a Medieval knight’s, but form-fitting, shiny and black. A smooth helmet covered her head and a sword hung from her lower back, positioned pointing straight down with the hilt resting at the base of her wings.

“Please accept my apology,” she said. Her voice was light and musical, with an odd accent I’d never heard before. “I didn’t want to wound you, but I had no other choice. All other attempts at communication have failed.”

“W-who are you?” I stammered. “Wound me? How?”

She placed a delicate, shimmering hand on her hip, where a sheathed dagger was attached to her armor. “I had to inject you with serum. I am truly sorry.”

“I am Ilara,” she said, “Warrior. Wanderer. Guardian of the innocent.”

My questions remained unanswered, given that I didn’t have the slightest idea what she was talking about.

“But how? Where?” Questions swirled in my head. I didn’t know where to begin.

“You are the one who can bridge the gap. We need you to communicate with your race, to let them know we are here to help.”

“I don’t understand.”

Ilara turned away from me and made a shrill whistle. The whir of many sets of wings filled the air as more of her kind descended from the sky. I gasped, awestruck at the sight of them. This had to be a dream. I must have hit my head when I fell, and now I was having a most bizarre and wondrous dream. Irridescent wings flashed as a vortex of tiny beings swirled around my head.

Fairies, I thought. They look like fairies!

They alit on the ground and gathered around Ilara, chittering in a musical language like a flock of sparkly birds. Then they lined up in a neat formation, as if waiting for inspection. All appeared to be female, and breathtaking in their delicate beauty.

“Where are you from?” I asked.

“We have no home. We are citizens of the universe. We travel wherever we are needed. At this moment, your planet is in dire need of our assistance.”

“The bugs,” I whispered.

“The ‘bugs’, as you call them, are evil overlords who conquer through utter annihilation of all which they encounter. They are eaters of worlds; ruthless, vicious parasites. They will not stop until your world is devoid of all life.”

“I was starting to get that impression,” I said. “Can they be stopped?”

“Yes,” Ilara said. My army has the power to stop them. They are many and we are few, but they are no match for us. You must release us before it is too late.”

“What will happen after you defeat them?”

“Then we will leave your world in peace.”

 “And if you don’t defeat them?”

“There is no ‘don’t’. We will be victorious. Listen to me when I tell you, your leaders’ plans to attack the Horde with nuclear weapons will have no effect on them. You will destroy yourselves and your planet in the process, while the Horde grows stronger. They absorb the properties of that upon which they feed. Nuclear weapons will have little effect on them.”

“Nuke-resistant crops…” I whispered, thinking.

“Correct.”

 “Why us?” I wondered aloud. “Why our planet?”

“They are the reality you have created for yourselves through your own actions.  The Horde is here because the ideal conditions for their existence were already present. They are here because they were drawn here.”

“By what?”

“Why, you, of course. You attracted their attention, and they found your world to be a worthy investment. They are parasites. They attach themselves to existing life forms, and then become those life forms. They are attracted to large masses of life forms – whatever will make the best army. As their army grows, so does their ability to take over larger forms of life. They started with bacteria. Now they have graduated to fruit flies. Next, larger insects. Then the higher life forms. Eventually, you.”

“Us?”

“Yes. Without our assistance, you are on the verge of extinction. This planet and everything around it will become uninhabitable by everything except the Horde.”

“How will they survive once everything is gone? Won’t they die off, too?”

“No. The Horde feeds on low frequency.”

“What does that mean?”

Ilara explained, “Energy vibrates at different frequencies. That which your kind refers to as negative energy – anger, hatred, violence – all of those emotions emit a low frequency. Higher frequencies are at the other end of the scale – love, hope, compassion – all things which the human race claims to practice but only takes part in sporadically.”

“We’re not that bad, are we?” I asked, even though I knew the truth. The company that issued my paychecks was a prime example.

“The Horde are energy parasites, and they are attracted to the frequencies easiest for them to consume – the lower ones. They are like…” she paused, searching for the right word, “like the things you call vampires,” she finished. “Each of them is a merciless vacuum of nothingness. They devour everything they encounter. In the beginning, the higher frequencies were immune to them, but as fear spreads throughout your world, you will become more and more vulnerable, until nobody and nothing will be safe. They are only in their first stages of attack right now. They are generating fear, charging the planet with negative energy until everything on it is ripe for the harvest. You have only seen the beginning of what they can do.”

“And you can stop them?”

“Yes. It is early enough for us to stop them if we attack now. If you wait too long to release our army, all will be lost.”

“So, where are you, and how do I get there to release you?” I asked.

“We are already here,” Ilara told me.

“I don’t understand.”

“We are trapped in the place where you work.”

“My laboratory? But all I have in there are…”

“Bugs,” Ilara finished. “You call us, the ‘big bugs’, I believe.”

I looked around at my surroundings. Nothing looked familiar until I looked up. Suspended in what I had originally thought was part of the sky, I saw a large, shiny silver object. After studying it further, I recognized a familiar shape. A rectangular metal plate, with three round holes and a cylinder on one side… it was a hinge! I was looking at the office door, which I had been hiding behind when I lost consciousness.

Aw, nuts! This is just some stupid hallucination. I’m probably dying from some alien toxin right now, I thought. And just when I’d begun to have some hope that there might be a way out of this mess.

“Not a hallucination,” Ilara said, confirming my theory that this was indeed, a hallucination.

“I was unable to communicate with you,” she explained. “I could hear your thoughts, but for some reason you were unable to hear mine, so I had to take drastic measures. I used my sword to inject you with serum to reduce you to our size.”

I looked down at the ground, which I had thought looked like salt flats. Now I realized I was standing on the tile floor of the office. They had shrunk me!

“I’m your size?” I said, still in disbelief.

“Yes.”

“I’m not going to stay this way, am I?”

“No. I will put you back into your world, but we need to explain some things first.”

“Okay, I’m listening.”

“Once you return to your normal size, you will need to release our army from your laboratory. It is also very important that you release the Horde as well, so that we can eradicate them. If you do not, they will multiply all over again and this disaster will be repeated.”

“But, labs all across the continent have them contained! How am I supposed to convince them to release their specimens?”

“You will have to find a way. The more of them left alive, the greater the risk of re-infestation.”

“Risk, you say? You mean, re-infestation isn’t certain?”

“Not certain, but likely. There is one weapon your race has that can eliminate them, but I do not believe enough of you will use it.”

“What weapon is that?”

“Love.”

“Love?”

“Love energy has the highest of all frequencies. Love, mercy and compassion for each other is the most powerful weapon your race possesses. Sadly, too few of you make use of it. You find it easier to dwell in the anger frequency. Anger is powerful in its own right due to the passion that often fuels it, but it is lower than the frequency of love. If more of you could rise above that plateau to exist in love, the Horde would be driven from this world, never to return.”

“I can’t expect everyone to just drop everything and start loving each other,” I said.

“No, neither do we,” Ilara sighed. “We will do what we can for you, but when the battle is over, it will be up to you whether or not the Horde will thrive again.”

“But, there’s a chance, right? I mean, even a slim chance is hope.”

“Hope is a good place to start. A good place indeed.” Ilara smiled, and the army of iridescent faces behind her lit up as well.

“Let the battle begin!” Ilara crowed, drawing her sword. The rest of the warriors joined her cheer. Silver flashed as they drew their weapons and raised the blades to the sky. Their visors slid shut, and shiny black suits of armor unfolded to encase the warriors’ bodies. With full armor, they looked exactly like the ‘bugs’ I had been so exhaustively analyzing under the microscope.

Ilara stepped forward and pricked the back of my hand with her sword. I smiled as I slipped down into blackness once again.

For the first time since the whole mess began, I felt like humankind might have a future.

Copyright © 2014 Mandy White

Out Of My Comfort Zone

Words words words

I missed the apocalypse because I was in the bathroom. 

I could add that I also emerged with toilet paper on my shoe, to make it funnier, but since the country had run out of toilet paper months before, that would stretch credibility to the breaking point, even if there’s no one around to contradict me.

I was in the bunker leading a tour. No, “bunker” doesn’t do it justice—this was an underground, fully automated, reinforced luxury home. The nuclear threat was nebulous when my boss broke ground, but by the time it was finished and the virus had started moving through the population, his neighbors were scrambling to catch up to him.

The bunker (or one just like it) was the main auction item at the gala Mr. Barrow was hosting. Large gatherings were illegal by then, not to mention the curfew violation, but that just meant he…

View original post 7,731 more words

Rogue

[image error]When artificial intelligence runs amok… Published in 2017 by Horrified Press

“Somebody is going to have to fix this.”

“Really? I thought maybe I’d do the exact opposite and ignore the problem. You know, like we’ve been doing so far?”

“Sarcasm? That’s how you respond to a global crisis? How professional of you, Captain.”

“I learned from the best, Commander.” Jay made no effort to hide the venom in her voice.

Commander Obert slammed his palm against the desktop hard enough to make the monitors flicker. “Watch your tone, Captain! You’re on thin ice already.”

“I warned you about the issue long before it was a problem. If you hadn’t rushed it into the field without testing, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“Are you suggesting this is my fault?”

“As opposed to what?”

“As opposed to the fault of the engineer who was paid massive amounts of money to program this thing without fucking it up?”

“I did not fuck it up! I programmed it exactly as specified! It’s not my fault you assholes suddenly decide to use it for something other than its original purpose!”

“I thought we hired you because you were one of the best in your field. Did you lie on your resume?”

Jay’s cheeks flushed from the sting of the insult. She fought to appear unruffled. “I told you the code was glitchy. It was untested. If you’d bother to read any of my reports, you would have seen…”

“You said your software upgrade would take care of it. Obviously it didn’t do shit! Now this thing is out of control and the whole world is watching.”

“If you recall, Commander, my software upgrade was only intended to be a temporary solution. Temporary! A short-term patch to contain the unknown variables until we could perform adequate field tests! Without testing, how am I supposed to know what needs to be corrected? This isn’t Microsoft, for fuck’s sake! You can’t just toss something out to the general public for beta testing and then throw them an upgrade when problems arise!”

“This is your project, Jay. Now it’s your mess to clean up.”

“What do you mean, MY project? This was a team effort! Your hands are just as dirty, if not more so, since you were the one who accepted the money from that bitch! You assholes are all alike. You think money can fix everything.”

Obert, who had been pacing like a caged animal, spun to face Jay. His pale eyes darkened with fury, but he spoke softly. “Do I need to remind you how to address a superior officer?”

“Oh, pardon the shit out of me, Commander Asshole, Sir! I think diplomacy left the building around the time you accused me of lying on my resume. Did you seriously think we were going to get away with this? You sent an untested unit into an uncontrolled environment. What the hell did you think was going to happen? I warned you the code was buggy. I told you the bugs would replicate exponentially if the program ran uninterrupted for a long period of time. But no! Don’t listen to the stupid programmer! What the fuck does she know? Oh, right. Fake resume. That’s the style these days, right? If you don’t agree with something, just slap a big ‘FAKE’ label on it.”

Jay no longer gave a shit that the Commander had the power to strip her of her rank and jail her for insubordination. Let him do his worst, she thought. Prison was preferable to what he was suggesting.

“You know what you have to do, Captain.”

“No! Commander, please, I –”

“ENOUGH!” Obert bellowed. “I will not tolerate any more backtalk from you! You started this, and now you WILL FINISH IT!”

Jay turned away to hide the tears welling in her eyes. “Give me one more chance. I might be able to shut the unit down remotely without attracting any attention.”

“Make it happen!” Obert barked. “Otherwise you are responsible for shutting it down manually, by any means necessary.” He strode from the room without another word, leaving Jay to contemplate the task before her.

Armed with a steaming mug of whiskey-laden coffee, Jay positioned herself at her workstation to tackle the code once more. She had already tried everything, but the alternative terrified her.

She wasn’t ready to die.

* * *

Hours later, Jay woke, the checkerboard pattern of the keyboard imprinted on her cheek. She wiped the drool from the keys and from the corner of her mouth.

Dreams of wandering lost in an endless forest flickered at the edge of her memory. Tree trunks endless lines of ones, blooming with leaves of zeroes, with a meandering path that led Jay back to the start of the same broken loop, where a devastated, post-apocalyptic wasteland waited.

“Making any progress?” Damien slid up beside her on a wheeled stool, his usual means of conveyance around the work area.

“No,” Jay sighed, rubbing her eyes. “It’s just the same old loop. Every patch I try leads back to the same glitch, or makes it worse. There has to be something I’m missing.”

“Can I help?”

“Probably not.”

Damien Scott was a recent addition to the team, a young but brilliant engineer. Under normal circumstances, Jay might have welcomed his input, but this situation was anything but normal.

“Try me. I might surprise you.” Damien’s closeness suggested he might have been offering more than just assistance with the project.

“Don’t you have work to do, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, actually. Obert assigned me to help you. All my other duties are suspended until this…whatever it is, is fixed.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“Nope. Message just came in now. So, what are we doing?”

Jay rose from her chair and stretched her weary shoulders. “Coffee?”

“No thanks.” Damien studied Jay’s screen while she crossed the room to refill her mug, minus the whiskey this time.

Jay returned to her seat. “Does any of this make sense to you?”

“Sure, I mean, I recognize the code. What’s the problem you’re having? It looks sound.”

“What do you know about the project?”

“Just the parts that are common knowledge. You have some kind of robot that has gone rogue and you’re trying to shut it down remotely.”

“An oversimplified analysis, but not entirely inaccurate.”

“So what is it, exactly? Artificial intelligence, I assume. How did you package it? Some kind of android-type unit? Cyborg?”

“You’ve seen too many Terminator movies.”

“Not a cyborg, then?”

“Not quite. We don’t have that kind of technology yet. This thing is 100% artificial, no living tissue or anything like that. But it looks real enough to fool most people at first glance.”

“And it’s intelligent, I presume.”

“It’s only as intelligent as its programming. But the CPU is a learning computer.”

“Like the Terminator. Now who’s watched too many movies?”

“Ok, I’ll give you that one. But that’s where the similarity to Hollywood ends. This thing is less sophisticated. It learns, yes, but it can’t think for itself. It is only capable of simulating independent thought.”

“What was it designed to be?”

Jay rolled her eyes. “Take a wild guess.”

“Something military, I’m sure.”

“Obviously. We were originally contracted to design an artificial soldier. Imagine the implications. It’s fearless, follows orders and can solve simple problems on its own. It would reduce casualties in any war to almost zero.”

“Except in a war there are always casualties. Often innocent ones.”

“Yeah, I know. Let’s skip the moral debate and focus on the job, ok? I was hired to program this thing, and for the most part, I succeeded. It passed all the field tests with flying colors. Except for the last one.”

“Which was?”

“They wanted to see if it was capable of integrating into human society. Maybe it could be more than just a mindless killer to send into battle. They started looking at other uses for the unit. Namely, espionage…”

“Robot spies.”

“More or less, yeah. Its ability to record sound and video would be indispensable in that environment. The question was: could it be sent undercover undetected?”

“I’m guessing it failed that test.”

“Not exactly. It passed. The problem was, we underestimated its ability to adapt. It blended into the public a little too well. And apparently it enjoyed being there. When we tried to call it back, it refused to obey. Dug its heels in like a five-year-old having a temper tantrum.”

“Didn’t you install a fail-safe shutdown procedure to prevent that sort of thing? I mean, that’s standard, isn’t it?”

“Of course it is. But they rushed me. Obert wouldn’t change the deadlines, so the unit was put into the field without adequate testing of the fail-safe protocols. If we had been allowed to run more tests, we would have found the bug in time to fix it.”

“So this thing was basically field-tested prematurely, and now it’s out of control?”

“Correct.”

“And you’re trying to shut it down remotely.”

“Yes.”

“And if you can’t?”

“You heard Obert. I have to do it manually.”

“And that is a problem because…?”

“Shutting the unit down manually is a suicide mission.”

“The hell?”

“First of all, there is the self-destruct function. Remember, the thing was supposed to be a soldier. Naturally, we designed it to be capture-proof. If threatened, it will explode, destroying itself and everything within a two mile radius. Manually shutting it down would require physical contact with the unit.”

“Geez! What the fuck is wrong with Obert? He’d sacrifice you like that?”

“It appears that way, yes. My mistake, my consequence.”

“You’re sure you can’t achieve physical contact without triggering the self-destruct?”

“Positive. Because of the malfunction in the AI programming, the CPU is having the equivalent of a mental breakdown. It’s learning things it was never programmed to understand, and it isn’t equipped to process them. As a result it has developed a series of circuitous thinking patterns, all of which lead to perceived threats against it. It has developed a sort of programmed paranoia.”

“Artificial psychosis? Holy shitsnacks. That would be fascinating if it wasn’t so terrifying.”

“Right? Unfortunately, we don’t have the luxury of studying the phenomenon. This is an emergency unlike anything we’re equipped to handle.”

“Can’t Obert send some snipers to take it out?”

“Snipers would likely die in the process. They would need to be within the two mile blast radius. The unit is designed to be sniper-proof. Shooting it sets off the self-destruct, just like it would in a battle scenario.”

“Shoot it from a distance then. A plane? A missile? Have the sniper wear a bomb suit? I mean, it’s risky, but you might have to accept some collateral damage.”

“A bomb suit, yes. That’s an idea worth looking at. Unfortunately, Obert isn’t going to let me risk any of his men. You heard him. The sniper would have to be me. And I’m not exactly trained for that sort of thing. I’m not a soldier, I’m just a computer nerd. There’s a strong possibility I would miss. A failed attempt on the unit’s ‘life’ would be worse than none at all. The chain of events it would set off would be…disastrous. The thing is under heavy security, partly due to its paranoid state but also because of its position.”

“Position? Where the hell is the thing that makes it so hard to get to?”

“It’s more than just a ‘where’. It’s also a ‘what’.”

“Speak English or Nerdish – something I can understand.”

“You’re going to like this. It’s better than fiction. Coffee?”

“No. You already asked that. Got anything stronger?”

“You’re right. Screw the coffee.” Jay reached into her desk drawer and produced a flask, which she sampled before passing to Damien.

“That’s what I’m talking about.” He took a hearty swig.

“Ok, so it goes like this. A billionaire businessman, who will remain nameless, commits suicide. Apparently he was suffering from advanced dementia and a bit of a drug problem. His wife freaks out when she finds his bloated old corpse in the Jacuzzi tub, slit at the wrists. Not because the little mail-order bride gives a shit, but because she wants to make sure she gets ALL the money, not just some of it. She knows the old fart is cash poor and that most of his assets will go to creditors on his death. She needs time to liquidate some stuff, move some money around, that sort of thing. She also knows his life insurance won’t pay off on a suicide. Her plan is to dispose of the body via a secret cremation while giving the impression that everything is normal. Through some of her old-country connections, she finds her way to Obert’s team and this project. We were way over budget and on the verge of being shut down by the current administration, which had decided to go in a different direction. Obert took matters into his own hands to prove the project’s worth to the powers that be. Mrs. Moneybags bankrolled us on the condition that she got the first test unit. She needed a stand-in to pose as her deceased husband – one she could be certain would never blackmail her. She needed the public and those in authority to see him alive and well before his official death, which was to be staged as an accident. Fiery plane crash, bodies burned beyond recognition, or maybe lost in the ocean… I don’t know which way it would have gone, but that part is irrelevant because it never happened.”

“Shut up! You’re telling me the fucking thing is… him?”

“None other.”

“But how? I mean he… it… what the hell do I even call it?”

“It blended into the social scene seamlessly, better than we ever thought it would. It seems we chose the perfect environment in which to introduce a polymer-coated android… a world filled with phony plastic people. I mean, the thing was so hastily assembled – disproportionate body parts, unnatural flesh tone – and nobody even noticed.”

Damien took another swallow of whiskey. “Ok, I get why the unit went into the field prematurely. But how did it get from there, to…now?”

“Give me some of that.” Jay grabbed the flask and helped herself to a generous portion.

“The rest of the story you already know, from watching it on the news. The unit decided it liked being in the spotlight and before we realized there was a problem with the programming, it had already…”

“Run for President, and won.” Damien finished.

“Yes.”

“So how do we shut it down without blowing it up?”

“That is exactly the problem. So far we haven’t found a way. Like I said, it’s a suicide mission. And we are also talking about treason. Nobody on the team is exempt. We may be on a military payroll, but we acted on our own to create this mess. Obert did not have clearance to release the prototype for testing. As far as his superiors knew, the project was shelved pending cancellation.”

Damien paled. “Jesus, Jay. Treason? I didn’t sign up for this.”

“Neither did I. All I wanted was what everyone wants. A career. A comfortable government salary. Maybe a chance to make the world a better place. Now I’m as good as dead. If we don’t shut this thing down, there’s no telling what damage it will do. It’s only been in office a few weeks and it’s signing executive orders like they’re fucking autographs.”

“Maybe it thinks they are,” Damien mused. “It looks like it signs anything they put in front of it.”

“If we don’t shut it down, treason charges will be the least of our concerns. This thing is in charge of nuclear launch codes. It’s batshit crazy, and it has already threatened a number of nuclear-capable countries.”

“So in other words, we’re all as good as dead.”

“Pretty much. Unless a professional sniper is willing to step up and take one for the team.”

* * *

Billy turned the brim of his red baseball cap to the back of his head to clear his line of vision. He wiped the sweat from his battle-scarred forehead, cursing the Florida heat. It brought back unpleasant memories of Iraq, with the added discomfort of stifling humidity.

He caressed the stock of his newest acquisition. The new, more lenient firearms regulations had simplified his purchase of the AR-15. He might have missed the rally if delayed by the inconvenience of a background check and having to procure a weapon illegally. Laws or not, the end result would have been the same. However, Billy appreciated the irony that his target’s own actions had expedited his execution.

The rally was underway, judging from the sounds of the unruly crowd in the street below. Soon the buffoon who had stripped Billy of his pension, health care and reason for giving a shit would begin another hour-long incoherent ramble that passed as a speech in this fucked-up world. Billy had plenty of time. Hell, he didn’t even need the scope. The 90-round drum magazine held enough firepower to take down dozens of those cockroaches along with their leader, as fast as he could pull the trigger.

Billy’s historic blaze of glory would conclude with him deep-throating the barrel of his .44. His time as a POW had taught him that being taken prisoner was not an option. When left with nothing to lose, take as many bastards with you as you can.

He aimed the barrel out the window of the hotel room, easily finding his target in the crosshairs.

As he squeezed the trigger, he muttered,

“I can’t believe I voted for you.”

Copyright © 2017 Mandy White

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