Genetic Abomination

by Dane Hatchell

  “Maybe. I hope so.” Tarik shrugged. “I’ve read a lot about human history. Humans had many undesirable qualities. I honestly don’t know if I could ever learn to like them like I have Nu-Mans. Nu-Mans are mostly honest and kind. Giving and loving.” He reached his left hand over and touched her arm. “Like you. If I met someone like you, there might be a chance for happiness.”

  Lixa smiled.

  Feeling like he was too forward, he retracted his hand. “But, my future, even though I’m going back into the past, is uncertain. I won’t know what the situation is really like until I get there. Happiness for me might just be a dream.”

  “Dreams can come true.”

  “So can nightmares.”

  “There’s no guarantees of happiness in your future. All we really have is the present, anyway.” She looked at him, her green eyes sparkling. “I’m going to lie down.”

  Tarik realized the time and thought he had finally worn out his welcome. “I’m sorry, I’ve kept you up too late.” He went to stand, but Lixa’s hand came over to his.

  “If you want happiness, you have to take the opportunities offered. My bed is large enough for two.”

  Genuinely shocked, Tarik could only stare for several moments. “Lixa, you are beautiful. In fact, you are the most beautiful Nu-Man I’ve ever met. I’m…I’m so different from you. How can you stand to…to think of me that way?”

  Lixa stood and took his hand, beckoning him to rise. “In the dark, we only see each other’s soul.”

  *

  Tarik closed the door to Lixa’s room. It was morning. A new morning. A morning different from any other morning before in his life.

  The night spent with Lixa was indescribable. The torrid emotions the two shared seemed otherworldly. He had been lost in passion—it genuinely felt like the two had become one. Even now moments from the night played over in his mind.

  But it was morning. The sun rose to shine its light over old-life. Today would be the day where either Tarik would leave this time and travel back to the past or die in the attempt.

  To Tarik, it was his first day on Earth, of sorts, with his new found perspective on life. Ironically, fate had deemed this his last day on Earth too.

  He went into the washroom and took care of his morning rituals.

  The mission now seemed like total madness. What chance did a team of nine have against the defenses of the Skink masters? Why squander lives only to gain nothing? Lixa would lose her father, and for what? And he, Tarik, would lose the new love of his life.

  The love of his life. His heart swelled at the thought. He now had an idea of the invading emotions that love had, which inspired men over the ages. The poems and songs that were written; the battles fought, all because of the mysterious power of love.

  Yes, he knew the death of the whole Nu-Man race was inevitable. But wasn’t death inevitable for all? What difference did it really make if Earth’s children died and the Skinks claimed sole owners of the planet? No one, not even him, would be around to care. Why not live life to the fullest to the last breath?

  He looked at the old mirror on the wall as he washed his hands. His face was distorted in the warped reflection. He thought of what had brought him here that day. How he would not have met Lixa if she hadn’t been part of the rebels’ plan. Many sacrifices had been made by Nu-Man males and females, including lives lost; all on behalf of Tarik and the mission dreamed.

  It would be incredibly selfish for him to abandon the mission now. It was as if he were on a levitation rail train and it was moving too fast for him to jump off. The destination was predetermined, just like his fate.

  Tarik dried his hands. All these errant thoughts clouded his resolve for the mission. He had built this love scenario in his mind with Lixa, and he didn’t even have a clue if she shared his feelings this morning.

  What if in the light of day, she would see him differently? He was just a puny human. Maybe she was lonely. Maybe she felt sorry for him. Dare he think it? Maybe she was just offering some sort of compensation for his sacrifice.

  Tarik’s head began to hurt. It was time to clear his mind and focus on the mission. For that, he needed hydration and nutrition. He would have to wait and see how Lixa treated him after she awoke.

  When Tarik left the washroom, Zax was in the kitchen getting himself something to eat. As he stepped by the table, Zax made no effort to look at him, although Tarik was certain the big guy knew he was there.

  The distance between them was palpable.

  Tarik heard Lixa’s door open, and then the door to the washroom close.

  Zax went to a cooler and took out two bottles of Vita-water. He turned and put both on the counter by the food. Looking up at Tarik, he said, “I’m not sure if I want to know.”

  Tarik stepped over and took a bottle of water, grabbed a food pouch, and said, “Then don’t ask.” He locked gazes with the Nu-Man. The expression on his face offered no apology.

  The Nu-Man shifted his lips around like he had a bad taste in his mouth. “Whatever.”

  Tarik placed the water and food pouch on the table and sat.

  “We’ll be leaving in a few hours,” Zax said. He grabbed his food pouch and water, walked around the kitchen counter, and sat at the end of the table, away from Tarik.

  Tarik had been peeling the wrapper from the container and momentarily hesitated. Should he share his thoughts about canceling the mission with his best friend? There was no way he felt like doing that right now. He shoved the food wrapper to the side and looked at his meal. “What is this? The package said it was ham.”

  “It is ham.”

  The concoction was square and about as thick as four slices of bread. “But it’s yellow. Ham is not yellow.”

  “It’s a blend of egg, cheese, and ham. It’s very nutritious. It’s a common breakfast food,” Zax said, sounding content to be making small talk rather than berating Tarik over his tryst with Lixa.

  “It wasn’t common on the base. I’ve never had this before.” He used his spork to shave off a slab, cut it in half, and put it in his mouth.

  The washroom door closed, and Lixa entered the kitchen. “Good morning.”

  Tarik hopped up still chewing half a mouthful of the ham mixture. He quickly swallowed and found himself cemented to the floor without a clue of how to greet her.

  Her soft gaze showed remnants of sleep refused to let go. She offered him a kind smile, leaned over and gave him a quick hug, of which he returned, and went over behind the kitchen counter near the cooler. “I see you two have started without me.” Lixa opened the cooler and got a bottle of water.

  His head turned and followed her, but Tarik remained standing.

  “You should sit and eat,” Zax said, wasting no time eliminating his breakfast.

  Lixa opened her water and fumbled through the food pouches.

  Tarik sat and went back to the task of eating. He was so caught up in the whirlpool of emotions that he didn’t remember tasting his first bite.

  With food and water in hand, Lixa sat at the end of the table near Tarik. She began to unwrap her food. “Well, today’s the big day.” There was a slight cheer in her voice, but it did sound contrived. She pulled the wrapper to the side and started eating, noticeably not making eye contact with the other men.

  Zax looked over at Tarik and narrowed his eyes. There were probably a lot of things the big guy wanted to say. But with the mission so close at hand, he must have known that any conflict now would only cause major harm.

  “It is,” Tarik agreed, the pit in his stomach grew.

  “I’m worried,” Lixa said and drank some water. Her cheeks quivered a bit. She was fighting away tears.

  “There’s plenty to be concerned about. But there’s no other way. Our time is short, and we have to make our move now,” Zax said. “Your father is a strong man. He’s a great leader. If anyone can get us into the nuclear center, it’s him. And, you know he’ll do everything to protect the lives of his men and his own
life, too.”

  “I care about you two, also. You’ll be going inside. Tarik has to go deep enough to use the time machine. He’ll vanish back in time if he makes it. How are you going to get out of there?”

  “The operatives that we have inside, if they can get us in, the easier part will be getting me out. There is a grand plan, and if we stick to it, you’ll be able to join us at the new safe-house as soon as you can,” Zax said.

  “I’m going to miss you, Lixa,” Tarik said, not caring if the tone of his voice exposed his feelings. He looked over at Zax. “You too, Zax, but you know that. You know how I feel about you.” This morning’s enmity had weighed enough on Tarik that his pride had melted into remorse. He didn’t want anything to come between them, especially now that before night fell, they would never see each other again.

  “Tarik, I’ll miss you too. You’re a kind soul. When you make it back in time, you’ll have to be careful of those other humans. You know their history of being cruel to each other,” Lixa said.

  “I’ll never forget you,” Tarik said. “Ever.” At this point, this was as far as he would share his emotions. His thoughts of running off with Lixa now seemed more like a silly dream. His fate was determined. He, Zax, and the others would soon risk their lives for a chance to reset history. The mission was bigger than any Nu-Man or human. Any love he and Lixa shared would have to remain in their hearts.

  Chapter 12

  The Present

  The porch boards creaked every time the rocking chair tipped forward. There was nothing better than a tall glass of whiskey to reward one’s self after a day tilling the fields. His boots remained on the ground just by the steps leading into the house. A Remington 870 shotgun propped against the façade near the back door.

  Marvin ‘Dougie’ Douglas grew up on the east side of Detroit during the 1950s. The city boomed with the expansion of twenty-five auto plants built by the Big Three: General Motors, Ford Motor Company, and Chrysler Corporation. The GI Bill’s home loan guaranty gave soldiers who had survived World War II a chance to start life afresh in a modest home to raise a family.

  Douglas lived just off Chandler Park Drive, in one of the cookie-cutter homes that averaged between seven to eight hundred square feet in size. Life had been much simpler then, and Douglas liked to keep it simple.

  His dad had stormed the beaches of Normandy on June 6, 1944. His mother had told them that fact, once when she was sober in between bottles of vodka, as his dad never once spoke about his time during the war to him.

  Douglas blamed the war for his dad’s obsession with working at the auto plant. The man seemed to prefer his time there than at home. Working sixteen hour days, six days a week, was the rule rather than the exception. The money was good. There was decent food to eat, but his dad was always on the frugal side, except when it came to cars. His dad’s greatest love in his life was his car, which he would replace about every two years.

  The vehicle that stuck out the most in Douglas’ mind was the 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air convertible. The color was Larkspur Blue, and his dad would give it a quick wash every day after work before he would come in to eat supper, even if it was dark. Sundays involved a detailed cleaning and a fresh coat of wax. His cars always shined like it was on the showroom floor.

  The rest of his dad’s money went toward buying US Savings Bonds and supplementing the income of the uncle who had raised him. He wanted to have enough money in the bank to live comfortably during the last years of his life, and not be like his Uncle Mitch.

  Both of his dad’s parents died in an auto accident when his dad was five-years-old. Uncle Mitch, who wasn’t married or had any children of his own, treated his nephew as a son. Mitch had inherited an old farm near Mark Twain National Forest in Missouri and moved there after his nephew went off to fight in WWII.

  Mitch wasn’t much of a farmer, and if it hadn’t been for Marvin Douglas’ dad sending him money, he would have lost the place to tax collectors.

  Having a drunk for a mom wasn’t any fun for Douglas. Having a missing-in-action father meant he had to basically raise himself. School was boring, but the streets were full of opportunities. Marvin Douglas learned how to do exciting things, like shoplift candy and comic books from stores. One of the earliest skills he taught himself was how to pick locks on doors. It was easy back then. All you needed was a flathead screwdriver, and in less than a minute, he could wedge the tool behind the latch bolt and with a little technique, slide it away from the strike plate until the door would simply pull open.

  Soon enough Dougie found himself teamed up with a group of like-minded kids. They called themselves the Stilettos. Each carried switchblade knives with six-inch-blades. They were a badass group who looked for trouble. Dougie quickly gained the reputation of drawing blood when anybody disagreed with him.

  Years of success had at one point lulled him into a false sense of security. He eventually got sloppy on a good sized drug deal. The mishap bought him a twenty-year reservation at the State Prison of Southern Michigan.

  When Douglas left prison, he was like a man landing on a foreign planet. The world had changed so much. There were no friends or family to take him in. In fact, if any of his enemies knew he was out, they were sure to come pay him a special visit that would terminate his life.

  His dad had died of a heart attack when Dougie was twenty-five. He didn’t even bother going to the funeral. Why would he? He hadn’t seen or talked to the man in almost ten years.

  His mother sold the house and moved away not long after. She left no forwarding address, and Dougie never heard from her again. He imagined she cashed all those savings bonds and moved to Vegas. For some reason, his mother had a fascination with Sin City.

  There were two things other than the paper bag of clothing and possessions that Dougie had when he left prison. One was the deed to his Uncle Mitch’s farm in Missouri. The other was twenty thousand dollars he had hidden in an ice chest in a remote part of a city park.

  He was amazed and happy that the money was still there. He had constantly thought of some new construction unearthing the treasure and his nest egg disappearing forever. Dougie would even scan newspapers looking for such a story but never found one. If someone had found the money, they probably would have kept it secret. He knew he would have.

  That didn’t happen. He had twenty thousand dollars in cash. When he checked on his deed to the farm, he expected to learn that it had been sold to collect back taxes. The only other entity greater at stealing than a thief was the government. Nothing was ever going to stop them from getting their money. But Dougie learned he still owned the farm. It seemed like the place was in too remote of a location for anyone to want it. All he had to do was pay the taxes and move in. So, he did.

  The convict had learned in life that if you leave people alone, then they will leave you alone. Prison had kept him isolated from the rest of the world, and he grew to like that. What he didn’t like was being locked up with the dregs of society. He’d had enough of that, too.

  Once he moved to the farm and made the house livable again, he was desperate for some entertainment. Dougie took advantage of a promotional deal and had a dish put in his yard and bought a subscription to satellite TV and the internet.

  Prison had been good for one thing. He was allowed access to computers. For some reason learning how computers worked and how to search for things on the internet came naturally. He’d even had thoughts how his life could have been totally different had he gone off to school and learned a trade in computer science. He was an old man now, and shoulda-woulda-coulda dreams didn’t bring happiness.

  One thing that did bring Douglas happiness was scoring big. Small time thievery was for amateurs and not worthy of his time. Twenty years in the pen had taught him to be patient. If he was going to risk his freedom, it was going to be a big deal that would pull in enough cash to last the rest of his life.

  Oh, he would still farm. Farming had been another talent he’d possessed and didn�
�t know until he moved to Missouri. Working in the soil, planting seeds, watching the plants grow, keeping the weeds out; farming gave him something to do. The soil in his area was exceptionally rich. Selling fresh vegetables to the local grocery stores kept a steady supply of income. Just a little more, though, than he needed to cover keeping the farm going, paying electricity and tax, and his whiskey bill he’d ring up often at a dive bar named Lost Times.

  The twenty grand pile had dwindled greatly getting the farm back up to speed. It took five thousand dollars to get the old tractor on the place up to operational condition. Replacing the tires and repairing the engine and transmission would have cost him a lot more if he hadn’t met a guy at Lost Times, who did it on the side after working his day job. The fifteen-year-old truck he bought to get around in, cost eight thousand.

  Douglas didn’t want to give up farm life, but he did want to do a little bit of traveling before he got too old to take care of himself. Nothing too extravagant. He had always wanted to visit iconic places like Hoover Dam, the Grand Canyon, and Niagra Falls. Maybe even stop off in one of those places near Las Vegas where you could order a woman off a menu. His bucket list wasn’t long but flying, hotels, eating out every day, and paying for taxis was going to cost a bundle.

  A bundle he didn’t have but knew how to get. In order for his plan to work, he had to be cool, exercise patience, once again, and masterfully execute a flawless plan that would set him for life. Douglas had the skills. He had done his homework. He had set a plan in motion that had already accomplished fifty percent of his goal. Soon, his plan would come to a conclusion. Years in prison would finally pay off.