Love you just the way you are.
—Skrillex
17.
The Part Where the Bad Guy Gloats
My childhood was mostly an epic bummer, but one of my few consistent sources of contentment and wonderment was going to Old Pine Movies, located in downtown Nacogdoches. Most people referred to it simply as the dollar movie because that was not only the price of entry, but that included a double feature and a large popcorn. A drink cost an additional dollar and the free popcorn was extremely salty. A hotdog was also a dollar and so were any of the assorted candies.
I saw several key movies there: The Breakfast Club, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Aliens, Top Gun, Gremlins. To say my experience in that theater was formative would be an understatement. I can still feel the anticipation and surge of excitement as the maroon curtains slowly parted and revealed previews of future obsessions.
I also went on my first date in that theater. I sloppily attempted my first kiss up in the back of the balcony while the mote-filled light of the projector fired off above my head.
In the early 90’s the owner died of a heart attack and his German wife moved away. Shortly thereafter, a Carmike movie theatre moved into town. Nine screens. Dolby sound. Out with the old, in with the new. The old theater just sat there abandoned for decades. Perhaps most tragically, the final movie shown on that screen was Hook, so for years it remained on the marquee, until some asshole stole the K and an O. By the time of the Y2K scare, the roof began to collapse and people quit bothering to paint over the graffiti on the brick walls.
Now you are probably thinking this anecdote is yet another metaphor meant to reinforce my personal degradation. A nostalgic callback like people in an old folk’s home weeping over home movies.
I wish.
I opened my eyes and realized I was knee-deep in putrid, stagnant water. I was seated in a cushioned chair that had rotted down to the springs and my arms were tied behind me with nylon rope that wrapped around the back of the chair. My ankles were tied together as well. I was gagged with a cloth that tasted like motor oil.
The theatre was in even worse shape than I’d have imagined. I always hope that things out of my sight remain equivalent to my memories of them, but they never are.
The maroon curtains were open, but the screen had ripped in several places and was covered with a thick layer of black mold. The white-faced man was seated in the center of the front row, several rows in front of me—stoically staring at the screen like he was reliving the Goonies.
“This is your fault,” a voice to my left said. I turned and watched as Chod waded over to me and sat down in the deteriorated seat right beside me. “You did this to yourself. You don’t know how to make things easy on yourself, do you?”
I shook my head, unable to speak even if I’d wanted to. The truth is, the only thing keeping me from falling on my face and drowning in that brackish water was the ropes that bound me. My entire body was ravaged by pain that was so intense I could barely even feel it anymore—like water that is so hot that it eventually just feels cold. I was dying. Correction, I’d been dying since this story began, but now I was quickly dying. My life force was seeping into the festering filth around me.
“I would have assimilated you,” Chod said. “You could have been part of the solution. Then you refused me in my office. That’s when it started to feel personal. Even after all that I would have killed you quickly. The real miscreant is Bogart.” She reached out and shook my head. “Do you hear me?”
I nodded.
“Good. Your real mistake was in killing one of my supplicants. I’d invested substantial energy into that body. That was when you went way over the line. I say this, not as your therapist, but as a silent observer: you are a self-destructive mother fucker. No sense of self-preservation at all. I’ve watched countless species of creatures like you go extinct.”
I nodded.
“It wasn’t a question,” Chod snapped. “It’s personal now, so you are going to pay a personal price. Maleki is going to stay here with you until your brain fully atrophies or you starve to death, whichever comes first.”
I nodded.
“While you are dying I’ll be assimilating your daughter. She’s put up a good fight, but I’ve already planted the seed—it won’t be long now.”
I pulled against my restraints, but they were far too tight.
Chod laughed. “Now I’ve got your attention. Once your daughter is assimilated she’s going back home to mommy. A tearful reunion, I’m sure. Once mommy falls asleep that night Shadow is going to take a kitchen knife and slice open her throat. Slow enough that she has time to wake and realize how she’s dying and who’s doing it.”
I shook my head.
“That’s my idea of personal,” Chod said. “And I don’t even really dislike you—in some ways I almost pity you. I wanted Bogart, and true to form, the coward betrayed you and escaped me yet again. Even that is a small inconvenience in the big picture. He will wake soon. He must, the noise is deafening. Radio. Television. Facebook. Twitter. Everyone is screaming. Everyone has a voice but nobody is saying anything of real worth. The end is inevitable, but I have a plan that will speed up the inevitability. I have figured out a way for an Elder to quickly assimilate a town. And what better place to start than the oldest town in Texas? Once I’ve proven my plan’s worth, it will be the gold standard for my peers.”
I nodded.
Chod shook her head. “You are too lost in your own pain to hear me. Once our numbers have properly swelled we will take it up a notch and initiate a third World War so that the inane din from the chattel can be accompanied by the screams of their death and destruction. It will be so easy to do, we’ve had Kim Jong-un since his early childhood and Trump is almost fully assimilated. But enough of that, you won’t be around to see it.”
Chod stood and walked toward the exit, but before she left she turned back to me and said, “You did this. You.”
I’m holdin’ on your rope
Got me ten feet off the ground.
I’m hearing what you say
But I just can’t make a sound.
You tell me that you need me,
Then you go and cut me down
But wait.
You tell me that you’re sorry,
Didn’t think I’d turn around
And say:
That it’s too late to apologize.
It’s too late.
I said it’s too late to apologize.
It’s too late.
—One Republic
18.
Trust is a Four-Letter Word
It’s hard for me to relate how much time passed in the abandoned theater because I went in and out of consciousness as the waves of pain crashed and receded. I was often lost in strange thoughts and fever dreams, and distorted memories fought for my attention. The one constant, like a red cork floating on a turbulent sea, was the white-faced man who Chod had referred to as Maleki. He remained seated with his back to me and his gaze fixed on the screen.
Even now I don’t know what Maleki truly was. He seemed to have some sort of consciousness, but he might have just been a meat puppet.
I was lost in a drunken memory from my college years, when I met a blonde sorority type girl at a bar and after some smooth talking and several shots of Goldschlager we ended up at her dorm room. As I fumbled at her bra straps I suddenly vomited on her bed and she slapped me and called me a “loser.” That’s how thin the line is between Heaven and Hell.
What snapped me out of my dark recollection was an oddly shaped creature steadily moving toward me. Its large head hovered just above the top of the water. It appeared to be doggy paddling.
Dante.
I waited for Maleki to react, but he didn’t seem to notice the gentle sloshing. Dante crawled up into my lap and licked my face, then hopped over the back of my seat. I could feel the tug of him chewing at the ropes that bound my hands behind me.
I wondered if I was halluci
nating.
Dante chewed at my ropes for what seemed like a long time. He gave up and crawled back into my lap and stared into my eyes. The poor guy looked like he’d been crying, but all English bulldogs look that way. Dante leaned in and put his flat muzzle against my head. It felt good to have something warm pressed up against me.
Even beneath a mountain of pain I felt the gentle tickle in my ear.
I blacked out.
Wake up, kid.
Bogart?
Yeah, kid. I’m back. I’m sorry I had to jet earlier. I hope you understand.
Of course, I do. You did the right thing.
When I opened my eyes, Maleki was no longer seated in front of the screen.
You better go, Bogart. He’s coming.
Not again. This time I’m willing to go down with the ship.
Dante scrambled out of my lap and gently swam away.
Why, Bogart? I’m not worth it.
You’re wrong. I know you better than you know yourself. You constantly put yourself down, but you’re the best person I’ve ever bonded with . . . and there have been hundreds. I love you, kid.
You do?
Not in a gay way, but yeah. I do.
Before I could relish that one sweet moment, I saw Maleki coming toward me. He was holding the kukri in one hand and a blowtorch in the other.
It was at least a bit comforting to know that I wasn’t going to die alone.
That was when the exit door flew open and a man dressed in what appeared to be a beekeeper suit came stumbling in. He was holding a familiar homemade flamethrower.
Maleki turned and strode toward the new arrival, kukri raised high.
A small flame danced at the tip of the nozzle and when Maleki was less than ten feet away the beekeeper squeezed down on the trigger and a shockingly large swathe of flame leapt out, engulfing Maleki.
I was several rows away, but the wave of heat from the flames washed upon me and forced my eyes shut.
I heard an inhuman scream like an enormous insect from one of those 50’s era horror films. The scream was interrupted by an explosion. I forced open my eyes.
Maleki’s blowtorch had exploded and his entire body was awash with flames. He danced and swung wildly in the air for several moments, then mercifully crumpled to his knees while the flames consumed him. He fell face first into the water and was still.
I could smell barbeque pork and the thought sickened me, but not so much that my stomach didn’t rumble.
I waited for a monstrous creature to pour out of his prone body, but it never did.
The beekeeper continued to burn the crumpled body long after it was obviously dead and when he finally stopped he walked wide of the burnt husk as he came to me.
He pulled off a helmet that looked like he was preparing to go fencing. It was Creek. “Are you okay?”
I nodded.
He took the gag out of my mouth and untied me. I was still in agonizing pain, but Bogart was working overtime on me and I was already strong enough to stand. “You came back for me,” I mumbled. “I thought you had betrayed me.”
Creek shook his head sadly. “Unfortunately, you are right on both counts. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to do it, but . . . Did you ever wonder why Carrion-Six-Toes let me live?”
“Why?”
“Because I was in a unique position to help her. You aren’t the first person with a symbiote that has come to me.”
That mother fucker.
“What did you do?” I asked.
“The price for living is I had to turn anybody I discovered that had a symbiote in them over to Carrion-Six-Toes. I did it . . . several times. That’s the reason for the fake garlic water and why your buddy’s flamethrower didn’t work. I’m sorry.”
“So why did you come back for me?” I asked.
“It all went to shit back there,” Creek said. “I didn’t know you had that gun . . . you were pretty smooth. I made a mistake and it got a host killed. I know Carrion-Six-Toes won’t forgive that. Forgiveness isn’t in an Elder’s vocabulary.”
“I still don’t get why you came back for me?”
“I need your help,” Creek said.
“Doing what?”
“We have to kill Carrion-Six-Toes. Can you walk?”
“I think so.” I followed Creek out of the theater and as we moved past Maleki I glanced down at the burnt husk. It was still smoking even though it was almost fully submerged in the brackish water.
We moved through the exit door and the light temporarily blinded me. The alleyway behind the theater was deserted now, but long ago it had served as a parking lot for the patrons. A beat-up F-150 truck from the 80’s had been parked next to the door. “Is that yours?” I asked Creek.
“Yeah,” Creek replied. “I risked my life going home and getting it, but Carrion-Six-Toes hadn’t made it there yet. I was also able to grab some necessary supplies.” He stripped out of his stiff jumpsuit and stuffed it into the bed of the truck along with the flamethrower, several unmarked metal boxes, and three five-gallon red gasoline cans.
Dante strolled up to me and I opened the passenger door and helped lift him into the front seat. He promptly curled into a ball and began snoring.
Bogart, what should I do? Can we trust this guy?
Trust him? No way, kid. Bay-bay is trustworthy, but even he can’t predict what Creek is liable to do moment to moment. Unfortunately, our options are very limited if we are going to fight Carrion-Six-Toes. Right now, we have no choice other than to run, which I realize you aren’t going to do. We are going to save your daughter, but the only way to do that is to kill that pesky Elder.
I climbed into the front seat and sat down next to Dante. A moment later, Creek climbed into the driver’s seat. I stared at Creek. “Your garlic necklace is gone.”
“That’s right. I had no choice, it was the only way to find you. Bayonet directed me right to your symbiote and so far he’s remained mostly silent. Maybe he’s learned his lesson. I knew you’d help me. You are the only person I know who is more fucked than I am.”
“What do you mean by more fucked?”
“Ripley, the cops found your mother-in-law’s body last night. You left the gun there next to her decapitated head. Chod probably cleaned up any evidence of the symbiote before they came so it looked . . . really bad.”
“Jesus,” I said. “Dare bought me that gun.” I fumbled around in my pockets and realized I didn’t have my cellphone any longer. Dare must have been worried sick.
“And the cops think you have your daughter,” Creek said.
“Yeah. I could see that.”
“And apparently they found a body at your house as well.”
“The pool house,” I corrected. “I left a corpse in the swimming pool. That one wasn’t my fault.”
“Well either way I think it’s best if you aren’t spotted. You are the talk of the town right now.”
“I know I’m fucked,” I said. “Even if we kill Carrion-Six-Toes my best-case scenario is life in prison. I just want to save my daughter first.”
“Then our goals are aligned, just as I’d hoped.”
“I guess so,” I said. “Do we know how to kill Carrion-Six-Toes? Do we even know how to find her?”
“I’ve taken people out to Carrion-Six-Toes before,” Creek said. “I’m not proud of it, but it’s true. The Elder is less than ten miles outside of town. I can get us there. It will be the last thing Carrion-Six-Toes expects out of a coward like me. As far as killing it? Hell, I don’t know. Maybe? Probably not. That thing in the movie theatre wasn’t a pimple on Carrion-Six-Toes’ ass.”
“You sound confident,” I said.
“When you only have one choice it’s both your best and worst one.”
“Do we have to kill all of the hosts?” I asked. “Or is there a primary one?”
The Elder itself can only inhabit one body, the others are tendrils. If the Elder dies they also die.
“I don’t know,” Creek said. “
We’ve taken two of them out already. It might be that Carrion-Six-Toes is down to the last one. Assuming your daughter . . . I’m sure there’s only one host left. Reach into the glove compartment, I’ve got a present for you in there.”
I opened the glove compartment and pulled out a silver 1911 handgun with a black grip. “Is this actually loaded?”
“It is,” Creek said. “Now duck your head down so we can get out of town.”
Bogart, thanks. You didn’t have to stick with me, but you have.
Until the bitter end, kid.
I don’t mind telling this whole wide world
Someone’s doin’ me wrong.
I don’t be able to catch on yet,
But they gonna get catched for long.
Now whoever this someone may be,
Take a little tip from me:
Stay away from my chicken house, boys,
If you figure your life’s worthwhile.
—Gene Autry
19.
Beneath a Calm Façade
We arrived outside of Chod’s property just as the sun was crouching behind the pine trees and everything was awash in a bloody haze. Like everything else in my life, it was located at the end of a dirt road in the middle of nowhere. We hadn’t seen another house or even a run-down trailer in more than four miles and the red dirt of the narrow road brought up a crimson cloud behind us that seemed to promise we were moving beyond the pale.
Creek pulled his truck off the bumpy road and parked it behind a dense thicket of trees so that it would not be easily spotted. Creek turned to me and said, “The house is about a quarter mile up the road, but we need to be sneaky about this.”
I frowned. “You mean we aren’t going to go up to the front door like last time?”
“That doesn’t seem like a good idea,” Creek said. “In a perfect world we catch it sleeping . . . if they sleep. I’m going to completely fill my tank, so we can burn down half of East Texas if need be. I still don’t know if that will be enough.”
Bogart?
Elders don’t sleep, they consider this reality to be the dream that needs to end. As far as killing Carrion-Six Toes . . . it’s possible, but I’ve only ever heard of one Elder dying and that was in Hiroshima.
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