by N M Tatum
He dropped the pepper on the cart of rancid meat. “Now we just need a way to flush the ShimVens out of the service tunnels.”
“I can handle that,” Joel said. “I just need someone to watch my back while I get it set up.”
Reggie volunteered.
“All right, then,” Joel said. “Cue the ominous going of separate ways.”
“Stay on comms,” Reggie said to the team. To Cody and Sam, he directed, “You dump the lure in the killzone while we head down into the service tunnels. Then we’ll coordinate flushing our respective critters out of hiding, and rendezvous to wipe them out.”
They all nodded.
“Let the genocide commence,” Joel said, and the team split.
Reggie and Joel returned to the maintenance department. There were entrances to the service tunnels scattered throughout the park, but the entrance in that department dropped down closest to the central hub. The smaller the distance they needed to travel underground, the better. Plus, the maintenance department had all the components Joel needed. And some he didn’t necessarily need, but that would make this project spectacular.
What he found was mostly a machine shop. A greasy, smelly, dirty machine shop. Joel felt instantly at ease and immediately set about gathering everything he needed.
“Do you think Sam hates me?”
Reggie seemed surprised by the question. “No,” he answered without thinking. Then he thought about it. “Well, I mean…no. No, I don’t think so.” It seemed genuine, though not at all definitive. “She’s surly. Just because she snaps at you every now and then, that doesn’t mean she hates you.”
“Every now and then? Try all the time. I feel like I need to walk on eggshells around her or run the risk of getting decapitated.”
“She’s just been on edge because she’s—”
“Don’t say hungry,” Joel said. “Granted, her hangriness is pretty epic, but it isn’t that. This is something else. She’s been like this since the queen.”
Reggie shrugged. “So talk to her about it.”
Joel looked at him like he’d just thrown up on the floor. “Because she’s so open and available? Did you not just hear my concerns about decapitation?” He pushed aside some boxes that were stacked in the corner to reveal five decommissioned bumper cars.
Reggie helped push the cars into the center of the room.
“She just gave up her life, everything she knew, to join three dudes she barely knows to become an entrepreneur and kill bugs,” Reggie pointed out. “And possibly get caught up in an intergalactic corporate conspiracy. Jury’s still out. Anyway, she’s gone through a lot lately. A lot of change. She doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who does change well.”
Joel stared at him, his mouth hanging open, brows creased. “You’ve been listening to that old Oprah podcast archive, haven’t you?”
“We don’t have anything else to listen to besides the historic database, and Oprah is, like, thirty percent of it. Anyway, that doesn’t matter. You know I’m right. She’s having a hard time, and you’re being a jerk.”
Joel knelt next to the bumper car. “Whatever, man. Just let me build stuff.”
Reggie dropped the subject, knowing that he could only push Joel so far before he shut down. He assisted Joel, who spoke only when he needed something, for the next ten minutes.
Pushing the wagon of rancid meat was not the part of the plan that Cody had envisioned being responsible for. He was the brains behind the whole thing. He identified this new threat, then devised a way to pit two species against each other and grasp victory from the cold clutches of defeat. Someone else should have to push the rancid meat wagon.
“Of course,” Sam said when they arrived at the kill zone. “Of course, Joel would pick a place like this.”
The funhouse. A façade of groovy colors, murals of clowns and animals, all twisting like they were trapped in someone else’s nightmare. Lights flickered over the entrance, seeming more a warning than a welcome. Inside, there would be distorted mirrors and moving floors and cackling clowns, the soundtrack to Cody’s worst fears.
When Sam pointed out the funhouse being Joel’s obvious choice, Cody immediately began to question his entire relationship with Joel, dissecting memories and trying to determine whether his lifelong friend was a psychopath. Because who else would have an affinity for such a disturbing place?
But when Sam clarified with, “He can’t take anything seriously,” Cody felt bad for wandering even a few steps down that path.
“He can when he needs to,” he said.
Sam scoffed. “If he hasn’t found a need to be serious in anything we’ve been through so far, then I doubt there will ever be a situation where he does.”
Cody felt odd arguing on Joel’s behalf on the subject, seeing how he typically felt the same as Sam. But her tone conveyed a deeper irritation.
“Listen, I’m totally on the same page. Joel can be a pill. But he’s also one of the most loyal people I’ve ever known. We can talk to him when this is done. Get it sorted.”
Sam didn’t seem to share Cody’s optimism. Positivity was never something she had much of. It was never something that served her. She considered it a weakness, really, synonymous with naiveté.
To be honest, if pressed, she couldn’t say exactly why Joel was bothering her so much lately. He was no different than he was when they first met, and she’d found him tolerable then, if not slightly amusing. What had changed?
She would have to suss that out later. Right now, there were pests that needed killing.
“Where should we dump this stuff?” she said.
Cody brought up the specs for the funhouse. “The mirror room,” he said with displeasure. “It’s in the heart of the building, so it’ll be harder for them to get out. And the mirrors should confuse them.”
He looked up at the front of the building, at the nightmarish mural painted over the whole wall. A shiver ran up his spine. He lowered his head and pushed his meat wagon up the ramp and into the funhouse. They then spread the meat across the floor and left with the black pepper.
The central climate control for the park was housed in what was little more than a shed in the northwest corner. Cody and Sam didn’t speak as they traveled to it. Sam pretended to be preoccupied with scanning for threats. Cody occasionally checked his wristcom, making himself look busy.
She could talk it over with the guys all she wanted, but she already knew why what Joel had said bothered her. Because it was true. These three guys, her new business partners, roommates and friends, had lived a normal life full of normal experiences. Shared experiences.
She shared none of those. Not even tangentially. She had nothing to compare it with. Nothing that related to the life the guys led. She was an orphan who’d learned to survive on her own at a young age. She’d not only survived the brutality she’d faced, but she’d conquered it, adapted to it. She’d used it. She’d become brutal.
Parts of her had died, parts that flourished in most people who’d grown up the way the guys had. A love for people and things. Passion. These withered in Sam like untended flowers, and she’d cut away other parts that would have only hindered her ability to survive. Compassion. Empathy. Those things got people killed.
So when Joel had called her a robot, it rang too true. She’d spent her entire life trying to rid herself of the emotions that make people vulnerable.
“Here it is,” Cody said, gesturing to the ventilation shed.
He ducked inside, his scatterblaster at the ready just in case. The shed was clear. They hadn’t seen signs of any ShimVens or Rapoo since Sam blew the gift shop. Like the generators and maintenance department, the tech that comprised the ventilation systems was much newer and more advanced than the vintage look of the park would suggest.
It wasn’t state-of-the-art, but it rivaled the systems found in most commercial spaces. One central hub that pumped air through a series of ducts that connected the entire park. Modern builders loved to have everything conn
ected and controlled from one location. Limited the focus area and maximized control. But it also made the system more vulnerable. Say, if someone wanted to pump a buttload of black pepper into the air and give thousands of people a simultaneous sneezing fit.
“We’re ready on our end,” Cody said through comms.
There was no answer.
“Reggie? Joel? You guys there?” Cody’s voice tightened. Worry rattled in his chest like pneumonia.
Then the comm channel erupted with screaming and gunfire.
“Shitfuck!” Joel shouted. “We’re having a situation! Please hold!”
The line went dead.
Chapter Nine
There was no greater joy than bumper cars. Driving around, sitting behind the wheel of an individual little pod, was a sense of freedom that children didn’t often experience. And then slamming into some unsuspecting noob and watching his eyes rattle inside his skull.
The only greater joy was rigging five bumper cars with aerosol dispersal systems and then remote driving them through an interconnected series of underground tunnels to flush out a species of murderous space bug.
Once Joel figured out the specs for and built the first one, the others rolled off the assembly line in no time. As they did, Reggie pushed the bumper cars out of the maintenance department and parked them at the entrance to the service tunnels.
When all five were assembled and in position, Reggie opened the metal door that lay flat on the ground. He looked down the four feet by four feet opening and cast Joel a dark glance.
“Did you know that the only way down to the service tunnels was by ladder?”
“I did,” Joel answered. “Well, technically, there is an elevator on the other side of the park, but it was scheduled for maintenance before the park was evacuated, and that work order was never acted on, so here we are.”
“How are we supposed to get the cars down there?” Reggie squatted and squinted as he looked deeper into the tunnel. “It’s at least twenty feet down.”
Joel pointed to a spool of thick gauge cable sitting in the seat of one of the cars. “That’s why we brought that.”
Reggie stood like he was an old man, hinging slowly at the hip, hands pressing into his lower back. “You want me to lower them down? I just pushed them all the way over here! And each one weighs at least a hundred pounds.”
“Look who wore their whiny pants this morning. It’s not like I’m just going to sit back and watch… I’m going to sit back and offer moral support.” Joel sat in one of the cars and kicked his feet up. “I suggest rigging up some sort of pulley system.”
Reggie kicked Joel’s feet, knocking them back to the ground.
“You’re right,” Joel said. “I’m the smart one. I’ll rig up some sort of pulley system.” He leaned into the next car over. “Oh, wait—I already did.”
Reggie shook his head. “Why the theatrics?”
“To keep from getting bored.”
Reggie began unwinding the cable from the spool. “This is why Sam hates you.”
Joel froze, looking honestly pained. “Harsh.”
Reggie tipped the first car on its side as Joel fastened the cable around it. Joel then secured the cable to a lamppost. Reggie pushed the car into the opening, and Joel took the weight with the cable. Together, they lowered the first car into the service tunnels.
Joel looked expectantly at Reggie, but said nothing.
After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Reggie said, “I have to climb down there to untie the car, don’t I?”
Joel touched the end of his nose then did the same to Reggie. “Maybe I’m not the only smart one on this team.”
Reggie shined his flashlight into the tunnel, assuring himself that it was free of ShimVens. He climbed down until only his chest was above ground. “You definitely aren’t the only smart one. But you are the only one at risk of decapitation.” Reggie disappeared into the tunnel.
Joel liked to play it cool, make it seem like he didn’t care nearly as much as he did. But the truth was, he was a ball of worry. Especially in situations like this, when his friends—his family—were in danger. As soon as Reggie was down the ladder, Joel was on his feet, pistols out, ready to provide cover. Luckily, it wasn’t needed.
The cable went slack a minute later, and Joel pulled it up as Reggie climbed. They repeated this four more times without incident. Joel followed Reggie down after the last car. Now was the fun part.
Joel picked up the remote he’d rigged, retrieving it from the seat of one of the cars. It was a multi-frequency radio transmitter with digital display and cloning capability. He could control all five cars at once.
Envy shone in Reggie’s eyes.
“Sorry, pal,” Joel said. “You need to keep watch and make sure I don’t get mauled while I’m steering the cars. Who knows how the ShimVens will react once I start pumping the tunnels with aerosolized flour.”
Reggie cocked his head. “Wait, what?”
A smile crossed Joel’s face. “Genius, huh? It should make a nice explosion and will burn, but probably not hot enough to kill. However, it will help our strategy. I’m going to fill the air with an aerosol of flour. We’ll light this spot like a fuse, and it’ll run all the way out to each exit.
Reggie nodded. “Right, I get that. But once the tunnels start filling with flour, I can’t fire my weapon.”
“Oh, no way,” Joel said like that was obvious. “Not if you don’t want to blow us to hell.”
“So, if we do get swarmed, and I need to keep them off you…”
Joel’s smile faded. “I…may not have thought of that.”
Reggie let his semiautomatic hang at his back from its strap. Then he pulled from his belt the pair of pincers that he’d taken from a ShimVen on their first job, wielding them like daggers.
He wasn’t ignorant of the looks Cody and Joel gave him when he used the pincers. The sideglances they shot him like he was crazy, a soldier wearing a necklace made of ears. At first, Reggie viewed the weapons as a trophy, something shiny he’d earned by doing something difficult—killing a ShimVen with his bare hands. Later, he’d realized they were something else.
They were a comfort. He held them, and he felt in control. A swarm of bugs could come crashing out of a crack in the wall, but he knew he could weather it while those pincers hung from his belt. They were a way to take the fear that the swarm instilled in him, harness it, and turn it back on them.
They were his power in a powerless situation.
Joel flipped a switch on top of the remote, and the digital display lit up. Five small lights flashed on the map, one for each of the cars, bunched up at the intersection of the tunnels.
He looked to Reggie. “Once I release the flour, there’s no turning back. You ready?”
Reggie gripped the pincers tighter, felt the power in them, in him. “Yeah.”
The rig on each car was rudimentary, but effective. Joel wasn’t trying to win any design contests, just get a job done. A canister like a scuba tank was secured to the back of each car with metal brackets. The remote-control units were stuck on their fronts like hood ornaments.
Joel opened the valve on each canister and then sent the cars down their respective paths. Upon activation of his plan, he realized he should have done at least one test run. Steering five cars at once took some adjustment.
Car one slammed into the wall of its tunnel before getting a hundred meters. When Joel made to correct, the other cars veered off course. Frustration levels were at a maximum.
He stopped the cars, closed his eyes, and took a breath. “It’s Mario Kart,” he told himself. “It’s just Mario Kart.”
If he was controlling half the races, that was. But Joel did enjoy a challenge.
His eyes snapped open, and he shot all five cars forward. He didn’t blink. He didn’t think. He opened his mind completely, took in the environment, bypassed processing the information and jumped straight to action.
The cars reached the halfway poi
nt, the tunnels half-flooded with aerosol flour.
That’s when they heard the skittering. The tap tap tap of bug feet echoing down the concrete tunnels.
“I know that sound,” Joel said. “Launch a blue shell!”
Reggie knew what he meant. Reggie was the blue shell.
He scanned the area for signs of ShimVens. Nothing. Just noises in the dark. Echoes from a nightmare.
“They’re here, aren’t they?” Joel said, unblinking. He shook like he was having a seizure. “They’re crawling up my legs. I feel them in my pants. They’re in my pants!”
“They’re not in your pants,” Reggie snapped. “They’re—”
Before he could answer, a ShimVen dropped from the ceiling, just inches from Joel’s back. Like Joel, Reggie acted without thought. He was a bug-seeking missile.
He launched himself through the air and drove the pincers into the bug’s head. With a stifled shriek and a few twitches, the bug died. Reggie yanked the pincers free and got back to his feet, ready for more.
“Just keep driving,” Reggie said. “The sooner those cars reach the exit, the sooner we can climb out of this hole.”
Another ShimVen rushed out of the dark, this time targeting Reggie. He dodged to the side and slashed the bug as it passed him by. The creature fell forward and slid across the ground. Reggie stomped its head in.
He had no time to savor small victories. Half a dozen more ShimVens came scuttling out of the dark. Reggie rushed to Joel’s back. He swung in a wide arc, warning the bugs to stay back. When one dared to come too close, Reggie hacked its arm off. A second bug lunged at him on his downswing, and he shifted his weight, positioning his second pincer so that the bug impaled itself.
“How much longer?” he yelled over the snapping of jaws.
“Thirty seconds,” Joel answered.
Static rang in their ears, the sound preceding an incoming call.
“We’re ready on our end,” Cody reported.
Reggie slashed at two more ShimVens who dared step too close. He caught one across the thorax, drawing a stream of hot, green blood. The move drew him too far to the right, though, leaving Joel exposed on the left side.
