He held up a ball of cash and said, “Since you say beer don’t do nothin’ for ya, I’ll bet you fifty bucks you can't drink as much as my man, Chuck, over there!"
JB followed the man’s eyes and saw Chuck, who acknowledged him with a nod. He was standing over at the bar and seemed to be eagerly looking forward to the challenge. Chuck was as wide as he was tall and had an predatory expression on his face. He was looking directly at JB as John Deere t-shirt pressed JB for an answer.
“Well… What about it? Are you down? Or was that jus’ some bullshit?”
JB’s first impulse was to refuse the bet, mainly because he didn't want to advertise his ability.
"I really shouldn't do that," JB said lamely.
"I knew it! Total Bullshit!" the man loudly shouted so his friends at the bar could hear. "How 'bout seventy dollars? Give ya seventy bucks if you can outdrink my man, Chuck!"
The two factors that decided JB, were one: John Deere wouldn't shut up unless he agreed, and two: He could use the money.
JB said, “Alright. Y'all are on, provided the loser buys the beer."
The man was delighted with JB's answer. “It’s a deal! Let’s go then!” he crowed as he wobbled back over to his stool at the bar.
JB turned to LuAnne. "Be right back, seventy bucks richer."
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” she asked.
He held his hands palms up and said, “I don’t see why not?” and walked back over to the lounge.
As JB walked up to the bar, patrons stood aside, leaving two of the bar stools in the center of the bar unoccupied. As JB and Chuck seated them selves there, some of the other men in the room were already placing bets amongst themselves.
"This here's Earl," John Deere T-shirt said, gesturing to the bartender. "He'll hold our money. Oh, an' my name is Rodger. That there's Chuck, who can drink more than any man in the county!" He gleefully handed his wadded fistful of cash to Earl, and JB did the same.
"Line 'em up, Earl!" shouted Rodger, slurring every word and smiling broadly, completely confident of the outcome.
At that instant, JB had the distinct feeling that this scenario was a familiar one to the crowd. Not only did it offer entertainment value and a chance to wager, but it was probably Chuck's favorite way to drink for free. To JB’s eye, he looked well-practiced, not that it mattered, but his body mass alone was enough to slow the effects of alcohol… And judging from the expression on Chuck’s face, he didn’t expect to lose.
Not surprisingly, the betting pool was well-organized and efficient suggesting that JB had guessed right… They had run this little game many times before. There were various odds on how many beers JB would be able to finish without passing out or throwing up. Earl, the bartender, warned that whoever messed up the floor would have to clean it up. He looked at JB and asked, “Mister, are you sure you’re up for this? I ain’t seen anybody ever out-drink Chuck.”
“Ya’ll know, there’s always a first time,” JB replied with an innocent smile.
Earl shook his head in disagreement as he poured the first two beers. “Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”
The drinking began in earnest, and as fast as both men threw back their beers, Earl served up more. He kept pouring beer after beer, shoving the empty pint glasses on the bar along side each contestant, providing a visual running total. JB and Chuck knocked back the tall servings almost as fast as they were served while everyone in the bar was cheering them on.
Chuck was a formidable opponent, confidently guzzling every beer with a sly smirk. He considered himself to be a local legend, and he was defending his reputation with self-assured gusto. With every pour, Rodger clapped Chuck’s back encouragingly and looked like he was already counting his money. Rodger probably got the bigger share for lining up the suckers, while Chuck got to drink for free. JB figured they were both positive that he would soon be puking his guts out on the floor.
Around the time that beer number fourteen had been served, several things began to change. Chuck's sly smirk became more of a shit-eating grin and his red, watering eyes were beginning to glaze over. While Chuck had excused himself a few times to the bathroom, JB hadn’t left the bar once, which in itself elicited a few comments. It was at this point that the small crowd of observers began to notice, that despite the impressive amount of alcohol he was guzzling down, JB remained seemingly unaffected. He was standing casually at the bar, clear-eyed and clear-headed, while Chuck, seated on a bar stool, was beginning to noticeably sway.
A few more beers later, the mood of the crowd changed, as it dawned on them that their bets might not pay off this time.
"How the hell are you managin' that!" demanded Rodger angrily, pissed at the prospect of losing what he thought was a sure thing.
"What? Drinkin' beer? Comes natural like," JB replied, intentionally sidestepping the real question, which of course, only added to Rodger's frustration and confusion.
JB was halfway through beer number twenty, while Chuck, having slowed down appreciably, was near the bottom of his nineteenth. The big man emptied his glass and set it down on the bar when all of the color suddenly drained from his face and his eyes began to roll up into his head. He tried to take a step off of the stool, and would have fallen if not for several men on either side of him who had reached in and grabbed his arms before he could hit the floor. They held him up on his feet while he tried to steady himself.
Rodger came up to Chuck and grabbed him by his shirt, clearly not ready to give up. "Come on, Chuckie boy, you can do it! You can do it, damnit!“ His “encouragement” sounded more frantic than he intended, but he was desperate to win.
Chuck looked up at him in response, smiled weakly and unleashed a torrent of vomit that struck Rodger squarely in the face, causing the entire room to groan at once.
"Guess I win? Right, Earl?" JB said to the bartender, who like everyone else was marveling at the outcome.
Earl handed over the cash, if somewhat reluctantly. Chuck had never lost before, nor had anyone been able to drink so many beers at one sitting as JB had done. Of course, the silver lining for Earl, was that he had easily tripled his typical morning bar sales.
JB returned to the table and saw that LuAnne had been paying little attention to the goings on at the bar. Still concentrating on the phone, she ignored the chaos that was still going on in the bar. Rodger was sputtering and wiping himself off while yelling uselessly at Chuck, who was now completely unconscious and lying on the floor.
“I hated to do that," JB said taking his seat. "But, the cash is sure gonna come in handy."
“Oh, I’m sure you hated every minute,” she remarked sarcastically. “Anyway, while you were screwing around with those guys, I found out that the mandatory meeting email was sent by Harvey Matthews, my aunt's boss… The guy in the video.”
“Can't say nothin' about him, but right before the building blew up, I saw two guys in masks and camo gear drivin’ away in a white SUV, the same kind that was chasing us last night on the road. Now, I’m thinkin' jus’ maybe CronLab ain’t doin’ all of this. I mean, why would they destroy their own building an' kill their employees?”
LuAnne leaned over the table and whispered, “So, you think it was the government?”
JB shook his head, and gave her a doubtful look. “I reckon they do all kinds o’ shit, but I don't see them getting mixed in somthin' like this. Too messy, for one thing, and what would they gain? 'Sides, if they wanted the alien's body, they would have just marched in an' grabbed it."
"What about all the witnesses?" LuAnne protested. "They would be a problem."
"Y'all kiddin'? They'd do what they always do, jus' lie about it an' go about their business. 'An if anybody argued with that, they'd likely say it was folks talkin' crazy. That's how they roll. Least ways, they wouldn't need to go around killin' folk."
"So, who then?"
JB was about to answer when Roy walked into the diner and over to where they were sitting.
"Alright!
" he said brightly. "Yer truck is all done. I gottcha a new windshield… Took a bit of doin' but you're all set."
He noticed the commotion over at the bar and said, "Chuck n' Rodger, up to their old tricks again I see.” His perennial smile grew even broader and he added, “Hope you didn’t lose too much money.”
JB returned the smile and replied affably, ”I don't think it went the way they expected.”
Roy shot JB a quizzical look but said nothing as he led them out of the diner and back to the garage where the truck was parked. The salvaged windshield looked serviceable, even if it wasn't an exact fit. A thick, wide bead of silicon caulk along the chipped edges of the glass made up for the difference in size and shape. JB didn't think much of the look, but it would do for now. Even a crappy windshield would attract less attention than driving around without one.
He paid Roy the balance he owed from his winnings at the bar, and allowed the mechanic to up sell him on a replacement sideview mirror from the junkyard. Further diminishing his cash, he filled up both of Ol' Blue's twenty-six gallon gas tanks. Roy generously threw in a roll of duct tape so JB could make secure the glass on the back window.
Though he appeared relaxed, JB was eager to leave before any of the men at the bar sobered enough to start asking questions. Such as, exactly how he managed to keep upright after twenty beers, not to mention never having to use the restroom. So, he declined Roy's offer to install the mirror and instead had him box the part and put it in the truck bed. As soon as Roy made change for the gas, JB and LuAnne roared out of Douglass, even though they had no idea of where they were headed next.
As the bright, lavender colored buildings receded behind them, LuAnne repeated the same question she had asked JB before Roy had interrupted her at the diner.
"So, who do ya think is doin' all this?"
"I was thinkin' maybe y’all is right, an’ we should start with the guy in the video," JB replied. “Y’all said he sent the email that got everybody over to CronLab before it blew up, right?”
“Yeah, but maybe it’s got nothing to do with him, an’ maybe he's dead too."
“Could be. Or, maybe he was sure not to show up for the meeting… Either way, I say we should find out."
CHAPTER EIGHT
War on the Road
LUANNE SEARCHED THROUGH the contacts on her aunt's phone and was easily able to find Harvey's home address. He lived about ten miles south of where CronLab used to be, about seventy miles from Douglass. Wary of both the local authorities and any white, late model SUVs, they carefully planned their route to keep to the more lightly traveled back roads.
They used the navigation app on the cellphone to select a series of rural highways that would get them close to where they needed to go, although there was one leg of their route that unavoidably would take them through a busy portion of the interstate. Since there was no alternative that wouldn't involve an extremely long detour, they decided it was worth the risk. By the time they had reached that section of the interstate, it was early evening.
"Okay, here goes," said JB, as he accelerated onto the four-lane highway. As the words left his lips, he was hoping they wouldn't run into any more trouble.
Rows of tall trees lined both sides of the busy highway, revealing little of the marshes just beyond them. The highway was as dark as their apprehensive mood, and JB found that he was holding his breath every time a new set of headlights appeared behind them.
They were more than halfway to the next leg of their route when a state trooper's sedan shot past them. JB was about to say something like, “That was close”, when the patrol car slowed to get behind them. Instead he said, “Get down in your seat and stay low.”
Less than a minute later, the trooper lit him up and herded him over onto the side of the road.
"Get out of your vehicle, please," ordered a female voice over the bullhorn on the roof of the trooper's car. The words echoed eerily through the otherwise still night.
JB’s mind was sorting through all of the possible scenarios and courses of action. Distracted by his own thoughts, he slowly stepped out of the truck without turning off the engine. He opened his hands, palms forward and made sure the trooper could clearly see that he was cooperating and unarmed. He closed the door of the truck behind him, and stood there waiting for several minutes more while the officer presumably ran his license plate. His registration was current, but there was a chance that a search on the Virginia DMV might bring up his outstanding criminal warrant in North Carolina. That concern only added to his unease.
Finally, the trooper, a tall, lean woman with short, black hair carefully exited her car. Keeping one hand on the butt of her weapon, she cautiously approached until she stood within arms length.
"Sir, driver's license and registration, please," she demanded impatiently. There was an asthmatic, wheezing quality to her voice when she spoke, as if she was short of breath.
"Yes, officer. Registration is in the truck," JB replied as respectfully as he could, pulling his wallet out of his jeans.
"The license will do for now," she replied, watching him closely.
"Jus' wonderin' why y'all pulled me over," he asked as he handed her his driver's license, knowing his Sawbonites were working overtime getting a handle on his flight or fight hormones.
The trooper ignored his question and instead pulled an aluminum flashlight from her belt and shined it directly in JB's face.
"This doesn't look like you," she said suspiciously, working the flashlight back and forth between his face and his ID.
He thought fast and said, "I lost some weight, and got some dental work done." When she gave him a disbelieving look, he added with a smile, "Lottery money."
"Wait here," she demanded stone-faced, still breathing heavily.
Without taking her eyes off JB she took several steps backwards, and then without any warning or pause, the trooper swiftly unholstered her gun and fired three times.
It happened so fast and unexpectedly that JB had no time to react. The nine millimeter, hollow-point bullets ripped through the center of his chest, leaving bigger holes in his back going out than they did going in.
Even as he even fell to the ground, his Sawbonites were re-routing his major arteries while they rebuilt his shattered heart and fabricated replacement tissue with unimaginable speed. He should have died instantly, but instead, he only lost consciousness for several seconds, a precaution induced by his alien medical tech to prevent brain damage until his blood flow could be temporarily rerouted.
The trooper, confident of her kill, stood over him for a few moments before she advanced quickly to the passenger side of the truck. Her gun poised and ready to fire, she jerked open the passenger-side door and almost pulled the trigger before discovering the cab was empty.
Puzzled, the trooper became even more cautious because she was certain there had been someone else in the truck. She maintained her shooting stance, carefully checking under and around the vehicle holding her gun with both hands as she moved slowly over to the front of the truck and stopped there, looking around and watching for movement.
Alerted by the sudden sound of grinding gears behind her, she whirled around just as the discolored steel spikes emerged and the truck lurched forward. The sudden and forward motion of the truck struck with enough force to deeply impale the trooper on the push plate, perforating her body in dozens of places.
JB had regained consciousness and was already back on his feet when his truck hit the trooper. He spared only a quick glance at the mangled mess as he rounded the front of the truck and addressed LuAnne through the open, driver’s side window.
"Y'all okay?"
LuAnne nodded mutely in reply, her eyes staring vacantly ahead as she witnessed the impossible. The trooper, stuck to the spikes on the push plate, had suddenly come back to life, helplessly thrashing around in an attempt to free herself. Her struggles caused the sharp spikes to dig deeper into her flesh, but there were no screams, only loud, wet sucking soun
ds. More curiously, there was no blood flowing from her wounds, and the woman's body had begun to flicker like a broken fluorescent light. A moment later, the flickering stopped and the body of the trooper was gone, replaced with another form. One that clearly wasn't human.
Trapped and held fast by the spikes, the alien was still clinging to life. The sucking noises were coming from the gill-like slits on the side of its neck that rapidly opened and closed as it gasped for air. JB guessed its Sawbonites were in overdrive trying to save it, but he had other ideas. He pulled the reciprocating saw out of the toolbox, and separated the head from its torso. Once it was dead, there was an uncanny silence for a long while before the usual night-time sounds of the swamp started up once more.
The dead alien was one that JB had never seen before. Its body was thin, a factor which may have spared it from dying instantly on the spikes. It didn't appear to be clothed, instead the slender body was covered in a fine, yellowish fur. It had three rope-like "legs" and six long appendages attached to its upper body, that each ended in small hands with seven fingers apiece. The head, if you could call it that, was large and elongated, with a wide slash for a mouth and three, cat-like eyes spaced equally apart.
As he approached the corpse, the alien's Sawbonites became immediately aware of him, drawn as if moths to a flame. They left the ruined alien corpse by the hundreds of millions, deliberately seeking him out. Seconds later, they had slipped between the molecules of JB's skin and into his circulatory system.
What JB couldn't know, was that his Sawbonites were cannibalizing the newcomers for parts, energy, and other resources that had been depleted by the severity of their frequent repairs to his body. This was another function that the alien tech was never designed to perform. However, inside JB's system the artificial intelligence of his Sawbonites had evolved to levels that their off-world creators would have considered impossible. They were constantly reprogramming themselves, not only to adapt… But to thrive.
Alien Roadkill-Dealbreaker Page 7
