by Nina Post
“The staining I did on the stool samples,” Taffy said, “turned up a spore-based system.”
“What? What does that mean?” Eric said.
“Just, the bacterial spore could’ve been used as a protective delivery vehicle for the spirit molecules.” Taffy said. “Or maybe it wasn’t a substrate,” she said to herself, gazing away. “Maybe the spore coat was used as a protein display …”
Nathan nervously tinkered with a microscope without looking into it. “That makes sense. DZ’s enchanters would have to imbue the commerce spirits into the spores.”
Eric sighed and watched Nathan for a moment. “Is there anything else you want to do with this?” he asked Taffy. “Because I should go.”
“Definitely,” Taffy said. “Did you know that endospores can allow bacterium to survive in dormant conditions for thousands, even millions of years?”
Rex coughed.
“Mm?” Eric said to Rex.
“I might have mentioned roughly how old I am, right?” Rex said.
Eric sketched a doodle of an amoeba, a T Rex, then a tiny computer, separated by ellipses. He raised a brow as though to indicate ‘somewhere in this timeline.’
“I was dormant for a while, then revived,” Rex said.
“That explains a lot about your behavior,” Eric said.
“Whose behavior, mine?” Taffy said.
“No, not yours,” Eric said.
“Mine?” Nathan said.
Eric made a face that said ‘never mind.’
Taffy leaned over a dish on the lab table. “I want to give the spores a high-grade liquid lunch, then wait for them to rehydrate and wake up.”
Rex snorted.
“Oh, no you’re not,” Eric said.
“Dad!”
“No! Are you kidding me, Taffy? For the love of Daniel Webster, I’m not going to let you work here by yourself and give the commerce poltergeists LUNCH and then wait for them to WAKE UP and POSSESS YOU.”
“Fine.” Taffy crossed her arms. “Then we’ll just notify the health department and wait two weeks for an outbreak investigation to even start.”
Eric hesitated. “Really? That long?”
“Probably. So why don’t you just let me allow the spores to germinate so we can destroy them.”
“Okay. You keep working. I’ll take angry guy and track down DZ.”
“Angry guy?” Nathan tilted his head. “Is that me? Hmm. I guess I am pretty angry.”
“Where would he go?” Eric said almost to himself as he stepped into the bus and sat behind the wheel. He didn’t think the schools were another decoy. The trucks had partially unloaded and then left while he was looking for Taffy in the cafeteria.
“Wow, this is where you live?” Nathan wandered through the bus toward the back.
“Rub it in.”
“Hey guys!” Josh waved from the back, where he was straightening a photo of Eric, Willa, and Taffy during one of Willa’s birthdays.
“You feeling okay?” Eric asked.
“Top-notch!” Josh said.
“No, it’s great,” Nathan said to Eric. “You have a kitchen, and a bathroom, and a – a shower … I think.”
“You must have seen it from your surveillance footage,” Eric pointed out.
“That was DZ’s thing,” Nathan returned to the front to sit in the passenger side seat.
“Hey, I’m sitting here.” Rex phased out the door in indignation.
“I was kind of busy making sure we kept operating,” Nathan said.
“Oh, then you had nothing to do with it.”
“You’re right, I should have stopped him. I was just so irritated and frustrated and tired.” Nathan ran his hand through his hair. “And I didn’t think it would work. I didn’t think setting up the contest to be unwinnable, with the glyphs and everything, would work. I didn’t think the nano-whatever stuff he was talking about with the enchanters would work. DZ always thinks everything he does is going to work out great, and I’ve been burned by that over and over. So I didn’t pay much attention.”
Eric pulled up his mapping software. He didn’t look at Nathan. “Tell me more about that competitive salary.”
At the next closest school, Eric could tell that they were in the wrong place. He looked at the location for the next one. Nathan flipped through the Flxible Metro Maintenance Manual that he found under the seat. “If I know DZ,” Nathan said, “he went to Nidus Monolithics to rub his plan in his father’s face. And he’s going to deploy more Nidus trucks from there.”
He held open the book with a hand and looked sideways at Eric. “And, I bet you anything, he’s going to use the enchanters to embed more spirits in his family’s pudding – their perennial cash cow. Then he’ll anonymously tip the FDA to prompt a recall, causing a public relations nightmare.”
Eric leaned on the steering wheel, his arms folded on top of it.
“Well?” Nathan said.
“Shouldn’t we hurry?” Rex said from the floor, where he was reading a magazine. Josh was splayed out on the bed, snoring.
“Why aren’t we going? It’s not that far,” Nathan said.
Eric thought Nathan was sincere, that he really did think DZ would go to his father’s company and do this. And maybe a version of that notion was in DZ’s plan for later, but not now.
“Because that’s not where DZ is,” Eric said. “He’s doing something worse than we thought. I know how to find him and defuse the boxes – but I have a few calls to make first.”
THE DIXON HOUSEHOLD
He Who Cleans House was shredding a report card, bleaching lipstick off a collar, and was still on hold with the credit card company about Mrs. Dixon’s huge bill from Saks when the call came in on his personal phone.
“Within the hour?” The sprite had a desperate tinge to his voice. “I still have to iron the sheets, snake the shower drains, refill the spice jars, and vacuum the sofa.”
“They still don’t know about you, do they?” Eric said.
“No.”
“I know about you, and we need you.”
“I’m in.”
“Meet us at the I-80 truck stop in an hour, then wait for instructions. Bring the Brownie, too.”
“If he even wakes up in time,” the sprite said.
THE GUTBUCKET PUB
He Who Digs In skittered up the bartender, who barely noticed. The talon, contrary to common belief, was capable of a light touch. It was just that most of the time, he felt very emotional and liked to connect with people a little too viscerally and painfully. He jumped off onto the bar and skittered down part of its length before hearing his phone ring in the distance. He hopped onto a fat man in a thick denim jacket, who didn’t feel the talon dig into his arm or thigh before it jumped to the floor and scuttled to the phone.
“[Scratching noise]”
“It’s Eric, from the group. Can you be at the I-80 truck stop in an hour?”
“[One long scratch].”
“Uh, great. Hope to see you then.”
THE JAMESVILLE SPIRACLE QUARTET
He Who Squeaks sat in a chair like a long beanbag, squeaking through his abdominal spiracles in perfect tune with a group of four. He blushed red when his phone rang, and apologized in a wheezing half-squeak.
“[One squeak that started low and ended high, followed by a two-second long ‘pfthhht’].”
“It’s Eric Snackerge, from the support group. I need your skills.”
“[Two and a half short squeaks].”
“Be at the I-80 truck stop in an hour and wait for instructions.”
MASON’S AQUACULTURE RANCH
He Who Eats Mucous didn’t stop cleaning the mucous and algae off a bullfrog as he answered his phone.
“I’m busy!”
“Then why’d you answer?” Eric said.
“I’m expecting a call from an important out-of-town client, I’m right in the middle of removing the mucous from this bullfrog, and I’ve got nine customers waiting.”
“So I’m working for a bullfrog farmer, cleaning his bullfrogs. Maybe it’s not the most dignified job in the world, but I’m good at it, and I’m not possessing anyone!”
“I’ll see that you’re reimbursed for your lost wages if you’re at the I-80 truck stop in an hour and wait there for further instructions.”
“I don’t appreciate your sarcasm.” There was a pause. “Maybe Christmas Past can give me a ride?”
YE OLDE JAMESVILLE CHRISTMAS SHOPPE
Customers ran out the door, sobbing.
The Ghost of Christmas Past took his phone out of an inside pocket of his overly large coat.
“Yeeess,” he said in a ponderous tone.
“Your assistance is needed at the I-80 truck stop in an hour. Are you in?” Eric said.
“Yeeess.”
“Can you give a ride to He Who Eats Mucous?”
“Yeeess.”
“What was my favorite Christmas gift in 1987?”
“Laser Tag.”
“That’s so creepy, but I love it.”
5 ½ JUBILEE LANE
He Who Reclines, the man-sized orange ladybug, had his feet up on the recliner, a tiny hand on the remote, and a tiny hand in the bowl on his left. The phone was on the table with the lamp or he wouldn’t have bothered.
“Yello.”
“What are you doing?” Eric said.
“Is this a crank call?”
“It’s Eric, the human from group. One of the humans from group.”
“Look, I’m getting my House Hunters International on, and I’ve got a bowl of gorgonzola crackers. If you must know. Ain’t possessing anyone, if you’re checking up on me.”
“Can you meet us at I-80 truck stop in an hour? I need your help to save the world.”
He Who Reclines sighed.
“Please.”
“All right, human. But I want a pizza out of the deal.”
MRS. GILHOOLEY’S HOUSE
A police scanner blurted out a dispatch, interrupting the low volume of a talk show. The percolator bubbled. In the pantry, a phone rang.
“Yo,” said He Who is Delicious.
“What are you wearing?” Eric said.
“Brine. You?”
“Same. If you’re not busy, and if you’re interested in helping me out –”
“Sure.”
“ – could you meet me and some others from the group –”
“Yes.”
“ – in about an hour at the I-80 truck stop and wait for instructions?”
“I already said yes. Hey, will there be anyone I can possess? I’m itching to –”
“No. Call your sponsor.”
Eric couldn’t reach He Who Dances for Ladies. Maybe the others would think of it and have better luck.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Eric pulled some business cards from his wallet, all of which belonged to unhappy Nidus truckers. Then while Nathan took a walk around the bus, Eric called the Nidus Director of Transportation and told him that DZ was keeping two Nidus reefer trucks at his residence. The director was incredulous, then confused, then combustive with anger by the end of the call.
Next, Eric called the Nidus Monolithics commissary, a high-tech food plant that manufactured and packaged various categories including dairy, refrigerated, and frozen foods. They also manufactured and packaged for Quantal Foods. Eric told the operations manager that Quantal had a particularly nasty foodborne pathogen in all of its Quantal Organic Yogurts. Then he called back the five members of the group.
“I know this is a support group for spirits who are trying to not possess people and accept that you’re good enough on your own,” Eric said, “but I need each of you to possess a truck driver before you get to your location. I can give you the GPS coordinates for each truck.”
After the excitement died down, Eric said, “I think you’re strong enough to de-possess the drivers when you get to the truck stop, so don’t disappoint me.”
Rex tapped on the keyboard of Eric’s laptop while Eric made one last call.
“Are you looking at the Nidus control center?” Eric asked Rex.
“I’m watching an adorable Japanese cat play with a box,” Rex said. “Look at these ears. They’re folded over.”
Eric glanced over. “Adorable. I need you to look at the Nidus online control center. The login and password are written on that piece of paper on the table.”
Rex turned the paper over. “‘Shot boy: Call me! Melanie, 432 – ‘“
“Never mind that.” Eric rolled his eyes. “Nidus fleet vehicles are outfitted with a small unit that’s tracked by GPS and sends the data to the online control center. Get the locations for the five closest fleet vehicles.”
Rex gave Eric a beseeching look. “Why do the other members of the group get to possess people and drive semis?”
Eric sent the GPS coordinates and routes of five trucks to the spirits from the support group, along with instructions on what to do once they intercepted the trucks. Nathan opened the door and pulled himself back in to the passenger seat.
“So we’re not going to Nidus.” Nathan smoothed his pants over his thighs.
“Not exactly. But Nidus is coming to us.”
“You’ve turned into a real tricky bastard, you know that?” Rex smiled at Eric. “I’m kinda proud of you.”
Eric parked at the I-80 truck stop. He packed up his laptop and headed into a lounge area with Nathan and Rex.
“Gonna do some online shopping?” Rex said, glancing at the laptop.
“Let’s say we’re going to watch a local access show,” Eric said.
“We’re going to do what?” Nathan said, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.
“You’ll see.”
Eric started a video chat with Taffy.
“I’m still waiting for the spores to fully rehydrate,” she said. “But it could be soon.”
Taffy and Nathan watched Eric with curiosity as he tapped some keys. A grin spread across his face and he turned the laptop so Nathan and Rex could see the screen. They saw two giant semi trucks parked in front of a sprawling house.
“That’s DZ’s house.” Nathan was surprised. “He liked to have people over so he’s not alone. After a few visits, I realized that he didn’t actually like us or enjoy our company.” They kept their eyes focused on the screen as a tall, barrel-chested man with gray hair and the bearing of a military general approached the truck. Three men, whose biceps stretched out their red Nidus Monolithics Transportation polo shirts, followed.
Nathan continued. “The arcade, the gun room, the indoor swimming pool, the movie theater, the helicopter hangar with helipad – none of it was enough to keep him busy by himself, but he didn’t much like people, either.”
DZ came out the front door, his body language defensive. The man with the gray hair yelled and gestured, jabbed his finger at DZ, then the trucks, and sliced the air with his hand. The energy of the earth’s magma seemed to be funneling out through the crust and into this man.
“He’s really working him over,” Nathan said. “Who is that, his father?”
Rex laughed. “Oh, he’s in for it.”
Eric smiled. “DZ’s father gave him control over Quantal as a thing to play with, keep him gainfully busy. But DZ resented that, so he’s been using it as his chew toy.”
Nathan put up a hand. “Whoa, back up. You’re saying that DZ is in charge of Quantal? Quantal, as in our client, Cynosure’s client?”
“Cynosure was just a way for DZ to do that without anyone at Nidus figuring out what was going on,” Eric said.
Nathan fell back in his chair, stunned. “I can’t believe it. He’s been in charge of Quantal this whole time. Our client! And I didn’t even know!” He clapped his hands on his face like a tentacled creature was attacking him in a fifties horror movie.
DZ’s father gestured to the muscle, who got into the trucks a
nd backed them out. DZ went over to a sedate German sedan and kicked the door panel. His father gave him a last warning, got into the sedan, and drove away.
Eric closed the feed. “DZ was keeping those service trucks on his property for personal use.”
“And you let that information slip to DZ’s father,” Nathan said.
“To the director of transportation for Nidus, who told his boss.” Eric shrugged.
“After you installed a camera on DZ’s property.” The corners of Nathan’s lips curled up. “And he has some heavy security there.”
“Nice, Dad,” Taffy said.
Eric peered out the window to the front of the truck stop, watching for the other Nidus trucks to show up. They weren’t due for a few minutes.
“The spores are rehydrating already.” Taffy leaned in close to the screen.
Eric took in a breath. He didn’t want the spores to rehydrate quite yet. He was depending on the timing to work out just right. A honk drew Eric’s attention back to the window, and he was relieved to see five red Nidus trucks pull into the lot in a caravan.
Eric met the possessed truck drivers, otherwise known as the spirits from group, out by the restaurant.
“Driving a truck is so awesome,” one of the drivers said.
“Which one are you?’ Eric said.
“He Who Eats Mucous,” the driver said.
“You know you can’t stay in there,” Eric said, giving him a look.
He Who Eats Mucous phased out and back into his usual form as the other drivers gathered around Eric. The driver was dazed and held his head.
“Everyone else.” Eric made a winding motion. “Let them go. Remember group? Remember the badges? You work hard for those. Why? Because you want to stop possessing people.”
“Maybe we don’t,” one of the possessed drivers said, then held up a hand. “Uh, He Who is Delicious.”
“You do.” Eric was stern. “You don’t need to take over someone’s life to have one of your own.”
“Look, Snackerge-human, I’m a jar of pickles in a crabby old lady’s house. My reward for sitting there on a shelf, unopened, for a hundred years, was becoming a spirit. Yay,” he said with sarcasm. “Don’t you think I want to get out once in a while?”
