by William Bebb
He stared at his hand, saw the more familiar skin tone and sighed with a smile. He looked down as the third bug walked off his hand and all three lined up on the counter facing him.
A strong bright white light rapidly flashed into his eyes and he heard clearly a voice begin to speak. “You will not remember anything unusual happening this evening. You simply had a splinter. Your hand hurt for a while and that is all you will remember.” There were some unintelligible whispers before the message continued. “And you will never again approach another roach or any other bug. Go back to your normal existence. That is all.”
The bright flashing lights winked out and the small roaches remained motionless as Charles rubbed his eyes, yawned, and went to the refrigerator for a beer while briefly wondering why his hand tingled slightly. He had just popped the top off his beer and was taking a sip when Barbara started to yell.
“You goddamned idiot! Look! More roaches and you standing there swilling beer!” She brought down the cutting board on the three scurrying bugs with both flabby arms swinging it. It was a heavy one, made of beautiful oak, which had been passed down from generation to generation; never to be passed down again.
People for thirty miles around heard the explosion. Houses within half a mile of the blast site, formerly known as Charles and Barbara's house, caught fire from the blast wave and windows were shattered for several miles around. Twenty people were struck temporarily blind from the flash of brilliant white light. The radiation levels were never revealed to the public, but dozens of people died within a few days of the blast. The FBI, Homeland Security, CIA, and several large black vans filled with men in odd looking uniforms with masks and respirators cordoned off the approximately fifteen miles around the explosion site.
The only public explanation theorized was that apparently terrorists had been experimenting and were trying to build a nuclear weapon when it, presumably, accidentally detonated. After all, why would anyone nuke a town of 1,800 people in rural Northern Alabama? One member of The International Nuclear Regulatory Commission summed up the town's fate this way on TV.
“The only things that will be able to live around the immediate blast site here in Palmerdale for the next two hundred years are roaches.”
CHAPTER TWO: Sugar and spice
The sun was setting as a limping possum trundled slowly across and through a thicket of leafy green kudzu. It wiggled its nose and peered at the clearing ahead. Sniffing the air intensely, it was unsure if its eyesight or nose was to blame for the confusion. It smelled no people in the area, but a human girl was sprawled in the kudzu plants only a few feet away. Deciding to trust its nose, it continued to move slowly forward. It moved cautiously but fell over on its side and remained motionless as the girl began to speak.
“Hello. I am Betty White. I have come here to visit my relatives. I am twelve years old.” The girl spoke in a normal tone of voice but her eyes did not blink, nor did any part of her body move except her mouth.
A squirrel stopped climbing a nearby tree looked down at the girl and remained still as she spoke. It had seen the girl, gradually increasing in size, over the last few weeks and thought it slightly curious but otherwise held no particular opinion on the matter.
The girl's body grew larger every couple of days. Each time it grew, a large silvery ball descended from the sky the night before.
The squirrel didn't like the sounds the ball made and would leave the area whenever it came. When the diminutive woodland creature came back the first time, after the ball left, it found a girl's head on the ground cushioned by the leafy kudzu plants. Every time the ball came and left the girl's body was larger. Its growth seemed odd to the squirrel but only in a passing way. It had more important things to consider. Fall was here, winter was coming, and nuts didn't collect themselves.
The girl turned her head toward the prone body of the possum and her eyes opened slightly wider. She sat upright and then stood. Wearing a black short sleeved shirt and shorts, she squatted down and poked the possum gently with her index finger. “You are not dead. You are pretending to be dead so I will not harm you, but you have nothing to fear from me. I will neither eat nor hurt you,” she said then leaned back in the underbrush and opened her mouth wide. A blue butterfly fluttered to a stop inside her mouth.
The squirrel lost interest and wandered away.
The girl remained motionless and eventually the possum quietly limped away as a small roach climbed up and sat on the girl's forehead.
For an hour nothing changed, except the setting sun.
A robin landed on a tree branch overhead and looked down. It spotted the tasty looking roach and swooped down. Using its beak, it attempted to bite the insect in half. The roach's body flashed a brilliant blue-white light and the robin slid off of the girls face and fell to the ground dead.
As the last rays of the sun left the sky a silver ball, about two feet in diameter, descended from somewhere far above the Earth. It settled into the kudzu plants just in front of her and a small dark rectangle opened on its surface. Five roaches, two ladybugs and a canary emerged. They moved to the girl’s outstretched hand and remained motionless there for nearly another hour.
A crow, with smoke singed feathers and a missing wing, hopped from under the weeds and entered the silver ball. The dark rectangle closed and the butterfly flew rapidly into the sky heading south. The roach that had been sitting on her forehead climbed into the girl's mouth while the other insects and canary went off in different directions.
She turned toward the distant sounds of yelling and music and started to walk in toward them.
*****
“Run! Run, damn it!” Coach Waldrip yelled, holding a clipboard in his big sweaty hands. He swore and threw the clipboard at the bench without looking.
Freshman Tommy Owens had taken off his helmet just seconds earlier to drink some water. The thrown clipboard connected solidly with his forehead, surprising the teenager and causing him to fall backward off of the bench.
Jake Carver looked down at his stunned teammate and laughed. But looking up at the scoreboard his laugh quickly died. It was the fourth quarter with five minutes left on the clock.
His team, The Fighting Possums, trailed The Rebels twenty-nine to twenty-three. He watched the game for a few seconds then turned and watched Amy Lynn leading the other cheerleaders. The squad was gyrating rhythmically to the marching band's music. He smelled the popcorn drifting over from the stands as some of the crowd began to leave, apparently trying to avoid the heavy traffic after the game.
Amy was on top of an impressive pyramid of teenage girls cheering loudly.
From his vantage point he could see up her small skirt and smiled.
A sudden whack to the side of his helmet made him turn to face the red faced coach Waldrip.
“You, Carver! Get your mind right! Get in there and run the Jethro plays! I'll signal which ones, now get your ass out there!” The coach yelled, as spittle flew from his lips.
You better calm down coach or you'll have a heart attack, Jake thought, as he ran onto the field to his teammates.
“Coming onto the field is number twenty-two, Jake Carver,” the announcer said, in an over the top excited voice. “While they're huddling up, let me remind everyone that Sonny James Used Cars is proud to bring you live coverage of this exciting game tonight on WRAG FM; The voice of Ragland.
Remember that tomorrow is free hot dog day at Sonny James so bring the kids, bring the dogs, heck why not slap the dust and cobwebs off of the mother-in-law and haul her along too?
It’s first down at the Rebel's forty yard line, with three minutes and twenty five seconds left in the game. The Possums have lined up for the snap. Carver fades back. But no one's open. He feints left and then sprints down the center and- Oh baby, he's been dog piled at the thirty-four yard line.”
The announcer continued to ramble, but all Jake heard was a repetitive series of hollow thumping sounds as he lay motionless on the field.
/> He awoke on his back when the coach (never trained in proper medical procedures) judiciously threw a cup of icy cold water in his face. Jake felt woozy as he sat up and tried to decipher what the coach was screaming at him. His ears felt like they were stuffed with cotton as he shook his head.
“Jake, wake up! Can you hear me? The team needs you, boy! Come on, suck it up! Get out there! Do it for the school!” Waldrip yelled, bending over him.
Jake noticed the sweat stained armpits of the coach’s shirt and smelled a hint of whiskey trying to hide under the aroma of chewing tobacco as he looked up. His hearing and vision cleared at the same moment the coach said, “Do it for the school.”
The boy nodded and his fellow players helped him stand up. He glanced at the scoreboard. Fourth down? How long was I out? He wondered, trotting back onto the field.
As the teams lined up for the last play of the game, a young blonde haired girl wearing a black short sleeved shirt and shorts stood silently watching from the Rebel's end zone. The girl glanced briefly at the stands, watching the people yelling, and then looked back as Jake shouted “Hike!”
“Carver has the ball!” The announcer shouted over the public address system and for all the listeners on WRAG radio. “He's under pressure. He's swinging left and running hard. He's at the twenty… the ten… Touchdown Possums!
With twenty seconds left in the game, and the score tied at twenty-nine, Waldrip calls for his last time out.
Just a friendly reminder folks; Sonny James has just received a dozen, that's right twelve, like new used cars this afternoon. All of them come with low mileage and all are protected by the Sonny James personal guarantee. Sonny wants you and your family to come on down tomorrow, enjoy some free hotdogs, and with every purchase receive a free brand new AM-FM radio.
I was just handed a note to remind everyone, if you'd like to donate to help out the people in Palmerdale, the Red Cross blood mobile is in the parking lot. And stay tuned to WRAG after the game for the best in classic rock and roll.”
Jake watched, from the sidelines, as Tommy Owens kicked the field goal. It was good and the remaining crowd cheered wildly. After the ball sailed through the goal very few people saw the little girl reach up and catch it one-handed. Jake saw the catch and the girl staring back at him as he cheered along with the rest of the team. When the cheerleaders and players blocked his view of the girl he felt an odd desire to go talk to her.
Tommy was grinning like he'd just won the lottery as Amy Lynn gave him a big hug.
The marching band was playing, and the milling crowd made it hard for Jake to think clearly as he worked his way through the knots of people until he saw the goal posts and past the end-zone where the girl had been standing. He didn't see her in the small groups of people heading toward the parking lot. Trotting over to where she had been standing, he looked around but she was gone.
He unsnapped his helmet and slid it off. Sweat dripped down his face and the back of his neck as he looked down at the football or what remained of it. He bent down and picked up the deflated ball. There were four small holes running along its length. Poking his finger inside one of the holes, Jake looked confused as the announcer wrapped up his broadcast. “Ladies and gentlemen, and those of you who aren't quite sure, it is official the Ragland Fighting Possums have beaten the Rebels thirty to twenty-nine. Coach Waldrip certainly has a lot to be thankful for tonight. If you'd like to show a little thankfulness don't forget the Red Cross bloodmobile will be taking donations in the parking lot for another hour.
Drive carefully on your way home and don't forget tomorrow there's going to be all the free hot dogs you can eat at Sonny James Used Cars, where they treat you like family.
We now return you to our regular programming.”
Thomas McGee slowed his old truck to a crawl and then stopped as his wife shouted at him. “Pull over you old coot. That poor little girl looks lost,” Sally said unrolling the passenger side window and called to a girl watching the cars go past. “Girl, where are your shoes?”
The blonde girl dressed in black shorts and shirt looked at the old lady in the car saying, “I have no shoes.” Then tilted her head very slightly and added, “Ma'am.”
The old lady said something to the driver of the truck and then opened her door. Sally was nearly ninety years old, but she moved with amazing speed as she walked over to the young girl. They were nearly the same height and the girl looked at the old woman as she came closer.
“Where are your folks, sweetie? Why don't you have shoes? Are you lost? You look lost.”
“I,” the girl said then paused for a moment before continuing. “I have no folk’s ma'am. In that, I have no parents to speak of. I did not know footwear was required. Is it a law? As to being lost, I know precisely where I am. I am in Ragland Alabama.” She paused again before adding, My name is Betty White. It is nice to meet you.”
“My mamma always used to say All God's children got shoes. I believe we have some in one of the closets at home that would fit you,” Sally said, and waited a few seconds for the girl to respond.
The girl didn't say anything.
“You say your name is Betty, eh? That's a right pretty name. I bet you haven't had anything to eat tonight, have you Betty?” Sally continued, looking at how skinny the girl was. “If you need a meal you can come home with Thomas, my husband, and me. I won't be able to sleep at all tonight if you don't come along,” Sally said, reaching out and taking the girl's hand.
“I do not wish you to lose sleep. It is vital for good health and at your apparent advanced age. You should not lose any rest. If my coming along will make you feel better and rest more comfortably I will accompany you,” Betty said, allowing the old lady to lead her to the rumbling truck.
The girl climbed in slowly (as if she'd never been in a car before) and sat quietly looking out the windshield as the old lady climbed in after her and closed the door.
“Tom, this here is Betty White. She's gonna be coming along for supper and you're gonna be happy about it. Right?” Sally said and gave her husband a look he knew all too well.
Slipping the truck into gear, he said, “Yes, dear.”
They rode along in silence for a few seconds before the girl spoke up from the dimly lit cab of the truck.
“Your hand is squeezing my leg. Why are you doing that?” Betty asked.
“Thomas, you old horny goat! Get your filthy paws off of this little girl before I skin you alive with a dull potato peeler!” Sally screeched.
“Oops sorry. My hand slipped,” Thomas said smiling, as the truck rumbled through town.
“You have an odd accent Betty. You don't sound like you're from around here. If I was to bet, which I never do, I'd say you're from somewhere up north,” Sally said, keeping an eye on her husband as they headed home.
The girl continued to silently look out the windshield as the truck passed a few fast food restaurants and a gas station.
“Is something ailing you? You sure don't talk much. You don't have to worry about Tom, if that's what has you so hushed up. He's just a touch senile. He don't mean no harm.”
Tom shot his wife a dirty look as the truck slowed for the turnoff to their driveway.
Though it was unpaved and full of potholes, with decades of practice, he drove around them with ease. Rounding a curve in the driveway the headlights flashed across an old white two story house.
“Be it ever so humble this here's our home, Miss Betty. I think you'll like it,” Sally said, as the old man parked the truck near a large oak tree.
A wooden porch encircled the front of the house and dozens of hanging plants adorned it. A large cat stood up and stretched on the porch. As Sally got out she said, “That's my cat, Mr. Sawyer. I named him after the boy in that book, Tom Sawyer. Have you ever read it?”
“Tom Sawyer was written by Mr. Samuel Clements in the nineteenth century. I am familiar with many books on a wide variety of topics,” Betty said, stepping out of the truck.
Sally was looking at the girl and missed the cat's reaction to the new arrival. It stared at the girl and hissed as its fur puffed out. After another second the cat turned and ran into the house.
“You might know a lot about books, young lady, but Tom Sawyer was written by Mr. Mark Twain,” Sally said, leading the girl by the hand up the porch steps.
Tom sat behind the wheel of the truck and wasn't paying attention to the girl's rambling about pen names. As he watched her walk up the steps a big slightly disturbing grin spread over his face. “Mm, so sweet,” he whispered, thinking about all the fun he could have later with his house guest.
*****
The county deputy was both disgusted and tired. He continued to wonder just how stupid people were as he used a flashlight to wave oncoming traffic to turn around and go back where they came from.
The road into Pinson, the town adjacent to Palmerdale, was closed to all traffic and quarantined. There were signs and big military trucks blocking the road behind him, yet more cars seemed to come every day. An enormous black RV with two small satellite dishes on top stopped and an old man with wispy white hair dressed in a tweed jacket came out. He walked quickly over to the deputy and presented a red laminated card.
“Stay put. I have to call this in for verification,” the deputy said.
The old man nodded and looked at the line of cars snaking behind them down the road for as far as he could see. Within seconds the deputy came over and gave him back his red card saying, “Dr. Anniston, you have been given clearance. The site director wants you to stop in at the restaurant on top of the hill. It's just through the intersection.”
