by T. D. Kohler
10th Street,
Oakdale, LA
July 21, 1256 hours
Turning down 6th Ave., a brown Cadillac Deville slows as the driver studies the buildings. Stopping at the light, he sees that the buildings are a mixture of new and old. A police cruiser crosses in front of him heading north on 10th Street. The driver turns and gives him a quick smile and a nod. Watching him make his way, the Rush Center sign catches his attention. As the light turns green he slowly makes his way through the light when he notices a Cash Loans store on his right.
Looking over the buildings he notices two more loan companies across from each other, with the one on the right being next to a credit company. Just past the credit company a transformer on an electrical pole causes him to smile. Turning into the parking lot next to Allen Credit, he continues to look around. Across the street is an InstaCash, an Express Check Advance, a Tower Loan, and a Southland Finance Company that is promoting loans. He scratches under his beard. Talking to himself, he smiles and nods, “Well this holds promise.”
A thought comes to him as he gets out of the car with briefcase in hand. “I might just be a while today.” Looking up, he locates a transformer on one of the power poles. “Let’s see if I can take it up a notch.”
The stranger makes his way through a break in between the building and a fence. Standing under the transformer adjusting ear pieces, he holds out the briefcase. Opening the side panel and setting it down, he sets the thumb dials to the setting he used at the currency exchange in Baton Rouge. The transformer immediately reacts to the briefcase, and the entire area is filled with a greenish hue.
Smiling and nodding his head he makes his way to the other side of the fence towards the cash stores. A forceful energy wave sends him into a nearby SUV. The air fills with crackling energy as the green hue takes on a blueish tint. Before he can get moving, he hears multiple car crashes followed by explosions and people ducking to avoid debris, not knowing where the explosions are coming from.
He then walks out onto 10th Street, looking in the direction where the energy wave came from, recognizing the two electrical towers near the World Acceptance Center. He takes a moment to rub under his beard. “Well this could be interesting.”
Feeling the amplified energy in his skin, he pulls up a jacket sleeve to see the hairs on his arm sticking up, thinking to himself, “I had better make this quick.”
* * *
Everywhere in town, people are opening their doors to see the blueish-green hue in the afternoon sky, only to succumb to instant muscle fatigue. At the police station a few buildings away, Officers Gennings and Lister are in the parking lot, forcing themselves to get to their cars.
Officer Gennings is using the cars to support him when he looks over at Lister. “What the hell is going on?”
Opening the door to his cruiser, Officer Lister’s legs give out and he stumbles, hitting his forehead on the door edge. “Son of a biscuit!” Still holding on the door, he makes his way into his car. Closing the door, and after resting for what seems like an hour, he murmurs, “How am I supposed to know?”
From inside the car, Officer Lister looks around the station lot to see fellow officers knocked out cold and lying on the pavement or on their vehicles. Across the street the fire department’s sirens are going off and a truck has partially pulled onto the street. The driver and the remaining fire fighters are passed out.
With sweat pouring off of him, he goes to lower the window. The inside of the vehicle immediately fills with the tinted air, and he closes the window as fast as his muscles would let him. Studying the air, he watches it gradually dissipate, raising his arm as if to try and feel the alien air. Adjusting his body, every muscle screams at him. Battling through the pain, he lifts the radio handset. “Anyone out there? This is Lister.”
“Hey, Lister, this is Glen. What the hell is this shit?”
Fighting the soreness again, Lister lifts the handset. “That seems to be the question today.” Looking around at the post-apocalyptic scene, “Where you are Glen?”
“I was or rather am over at the Angel Academy Daycare checking on my daughter. Next thing I know most of Oakdale is under some kind of polluted dome.”
“Are you not affected?”
“I am hearing the explosions and car accidents, but I can’t find a way in.”
The air inside the vehicle has cleared away and the strength is painfully returning as he adjusts himself again. “What about the hospital?”
“What about it?” Glen shakes his head.
“Inside or outside the atmosphere?”
“Outside, thank God for small favors there.”
Officer Lister expressing urgency, “I need you to come here. You will be fine as long as you keep your windows up and air off.”
“Are you nuts? It’s like a hundred degrees today!”
“Glen! I need your help! Come to the station! Better yet, I will meet you there, and we can figure something out.” Leaning up he puts his keys in the ignition. “Meanwhile, I need you to get a hold of the station in Oberlin.”
Turning the key, Lister sees the air spark in slow motion. The car’s engine ignites the air around it, and in an instant the car blows up sending metallic and glass shards blowing out the windows of the station and setting off the nearby car alarms.
* * *
At the Angel Academy Daycare, Glen is standing outside his car holding his handset listening when he hears another explosion.
“Jon? Jon? Are you there? I have already gotten in touch with Oberlin, and they are on their way.” His mind plays out an explosion as a realization hits, and he looks down at the handset in shock. Dropping the handset, he runs his hands through his thinning hair. Mustering determination, he gets in the car and tears off into the alien atmosphere.
Glen weaves in and out of crashes along George B. Mowad Memorial Highway, he turns onto 10th Street to head towards the police station. He sees the smoke rising up from the station, and he goes to step on the gas when he notices a man wearing a business suit, carrying a backpack walking out of the InstaCASH building. Flipping on the sirens, he slows to a crawl as he approaches the stranger. The man calmly stops in the middle of the street and stands there watching him.
They look at each other, neither one wanting to make the first move. Glen looks around at the alien world around him. He reflects on all of the bodies he saw on the way here, when he realizes this man does not seem affected. Opening the car door, the energy fills the cars, hitting him like a heavy wave. Immediately feeling the ache in his muscles, he emerges from the car and draws his gun. “Don’t move!”
The stranger remains motionless, tilting only his head.
Sweat begins to soak Glen, and his arms get heavier by the second, struggling to hold his bravado. “Drop the backpack!”
The stranger bends his knees, setting the backpack on the ground in front of him. Noticing the arms of the officer struggling and tensing up, he raises a hand, palm out, as if to tell the officer to stop, recognizing fear washing over the officer.
The world around seems to be going in slow motion as another explosion rocks the silence. Through the fog in his brain, he can barely hear the stranger yell, “Don’t.” His hands twitch, and his focus turns to the hammer of his gun. In the corner of his focus he watches the stranger shield himself and drop to the ground. The hammer of the gun reaches cocked position and for a second everything appears to have stopped. In a split instant the hammer releases causing the air around him to explode.
Deserted Farm,
Dry Creek, LA
July 21, 1242 hours
A green hue forms in front of the farmhouse as Agent St. Clair appears. Examining the area around the rundown farmhouse then back at the vehicles, he notices the tire tracks. Both vehicles are evident to have slid or pushed at least a dozen feet. Rubbing the top of his head, trying to figure out what could have moved the vehicles, he looks up out into the fields and hollers out, “Flea! Chatter! Grunt!”
While he studies the cornstalks for movement, Stevens walks out of the house wearing his gear. Hearing the door close St. Clair snaps in his direction and squints his eyes, trying to figure out what it is he’s seeing. “Stop! Who are you?”
Stevens, trying to be quiet, fumbles backwards into what is left of the wall, raising a metallic hand outward. “Wait! You don’t understand!”
St. Clair takes a step towards the strange, gangly man. “What don’t I understand?”
Raising his other hand, Stevens slowly side steps off the porch. “I don’t want any trouble.”
Crossing his arms across his chest, St. Clair looks around the farmhouse. “Hey mon, there is trouble all around here, and it looks like you might just be in the middle of it.” St. Clair makes his way towards the house. “And you need to be answering some questions.”
Stevens begins to frantically wave his arms. “Please stop! I don’t want to hurt you.”
St. Clair lets out a laugh and walks towards Stevens. “Like you could hurt me.”
A laser shoots out of Stevens’s visor, narrowly missing the giant agent and burning though the grill of the Ford F250. St. Clair whips around to see the impact of the laser. Throwing his arms up he runs to his truck to inspect the burn hole. “Not the truck, mon! Dat’s just rude!”
St. Clair turns back to face Stevens when sparks flare up beneath the truck, igniting the fuel, causing it to explode. The explosion sends St. Clair flying forward to the ground, and Stevens turning away shielding himself from the flying shards of glass.
After a few moments to shake the cobwebs, Stevens pushes on the wall to help him stand and regain his footing. Turning, he watches the giant agent stand back up. Waving his hands again, Stevens tries to maneuver to get around to the side of the house. “That was an accident! I didn’t mean to do that.”
Ignoring Stevens, St. Clair kneels watching the burning truck. Then facing the man waving his arms, anger takes over him, and he slowly stands, brushing himself off. “You are going to answer for tat and anyting else I can think of.”
Before St. Clair can take another step, they look up to see a large, metallic ball falling out of the sky. Garrett crashes down in a three-point stance behind St. Clair, sending him stumbling forward.
Garrett’s eyes open wide, and his arms go up in front of him as the giant agent turns around to face him. “Whoa! Easy there big guy! Let’s take it easy. After all, nobody’s gotten hurt. We can all just walk away. What’s your name?”
“My name is Special Agent John St. Clair, and did you tell my friend she could just walk away, before you tore her apart?”
Confused, Garrett stands upright dropping his arms. “What? Who? What are you talking about?”
Stevens, while still making his way to the side of the house, yells out, “Beringei, I think he’s talking about Agent Carol, Kristen’s friend. You remember, the one that was killed.”
Noticing the expression on the giant agent change, Garrett says to Stevens. “Oh shit! Starfish, for a genius, you are a complete idiot!”
St. Clair turns and takes off in a run towards Stevens as Garrett throws his body towards the agent, catching him around the waist. Before they can crash into the farmhouse, St. Clair phases out of Garrett’s hold. St. Clair winces, watching the metallic monkey suit crash into the farmhouse. Before he can regain his composure, a laser shoots though his arm.
Standing strong, Stevens’s jaw dropped. “Wow! I can see your molecular structure. How did that pass through you? Are those Tesla coils?” He asks St. Clair. “That’s amazing.”
Looking over at him, St. Clair tries to figure out if he is being serious. All of a sudden, the sound of a roaring engine scatters a murder of crows. The large, dark-blue van bursts out of the cornstalks, skidding and spinning to a stop. St. Clair phases in time for the rear bumper to pass through him.
Admiral Kay leans over the passenger seat and yells out the window to Stevens. “Get in! We have to get out of here! Where’s our metal monkey friend?”
The driver side window crashes as a large arm reaches in and grabs the admiral by the collar, trying to pull him out of the van. Face to face with St. Clair, the admiral points his right hand towards the agent’s shoulder. A high-pressure stream shoots out. St. Clair dodges it and is able to switch hands, still holding on to the admiral. The stream hits the truck, and steam engulfs the truck as well as the Lexus.
St. Clair’s attention is momentarily on the steam cloud when the van is lifted and swung around. St. Clair sees Garrett gripping the lower back end and swinging the van. Letting go of the admiral and the door, St. Clair is sent across the dirt field landing hard and rolling across the ground towards the house. Recovering to a standing position he sees Stevens only a few feet away. He launches himself in his direction, throwing Stevens into the house, knocking the wind out of him. Breathing hard, St. Clair looks down at the Stevens, who is struggling to regain his breath.
A high-pressure stream shoots through his left shoulder hitting the farmhouse, filling the air with loud crackling sounds as ice forms inside of the wood. With his left shoulder searing in pain from the subzero stream, St. Clair turns in the direction of where it came to see the admiral standing there, poised. Just as the admiral sends out another high-pressure stream of ice, St. Clair dives into a roll, coming out of it standing next to the van.
Garrett takes a swing at the giant agent, and his right arm passes through him and lodges into the side of the van. “You have got to be kidding me!”
Stepping away from the van, St. Clair looks at Garrett in his metallic monkey suit and at the gangly man that is trying to stand up and recover his breathing. Shaking his head, confused, he says, “There’s no way you guys could had hurt Nika.”
From behind him, Admiral Kay’s authoritative voice stops everyone. “Nobody said we did.”
Snapping his head, he watches the admiral walking around the van. St. Clair takes another step back, raising his hands out in front of him. “Admiral Kay, this needs to stop.”
“We were never out to start anything.” The admiral tells him as he walks around to see Garrett. Watching the van shake, he shakes his head at Garrett who is trying to free his arm without ripping the van in half. The admiral looks back at the agent and says, “I’m not surprise you know who I am, but who might you be?”
The agent paces a few steps to the left, away from Garrett. “Special Agent John St. Clair.”
The admiral looks around the farmhouse and barn. “Special Agent St. Clair, it would appear we have a similar interest in this farmhouse.”
Still being leery of his surroundings, he paces another few more steps. “We are here to find who kilt one of our own.”
Their attention turns to the van and Garrett as the van forcefully slides across the open area. Garrett stands there with his arms raised. “What?” Behind him Stevens walks up tapping him on the shoulder before moving between Garrett and the admiral.
Facing all three of them, St. Clair puts his hands out motioning for resolution. “Look here, mon. I know we had a bit of fun dere, but dis doesn’t have to get out of hand.”
The admiral raises a hand to the side of the doctors, letting them know to stand down. “You are an honorable man, I can see that. Report in what you’ve seen here, but we need to help a friend, and we will be leaving now.”
St. Clair looks at the three men. “Admiral, you know who went and kilt her. Tell me and we’ll be good.”
“We are not in a position to do that,” Admiral Kay tells him.
“I can’t let you leave without telling me.” St. Clair half smiles and takes a half step back.
The admiral waves an outward hand for Garrett and Stevens to move backwards to the van.
“We are not going to give you an option there, Special Agent St. Clair. We wish you luck.”
Seeing them slowly make their way to the van, not knowing what else to do, St. Clair charges the admiral. The admiral extends his arm as multiple streams surround the char
ging agent. Diving through a break in the streams he is met with one of the large arms of Garrett, sending him flying back and through a weakened section of the house.
Climbing back outside, St. Clair shakes his head and falls to a knee as he watches the rear of the van kick up a cloud of dust. Rubbing his jaw, he starts to laugh when he sees Agent Grunt running out into the open from the cornfield. “You missed all the fun!”
Stopping and looking around, Grunt raises his hands, motioning that he did not know. St. Clair looks into the cornfield for Agents Nomi and Selenia then back at Grunt. “That’s right, you already got to have some fun today.”
Walking towards what is left of his truck and rubbing his lower back, he looks down at Grunt who has caught up to him. “You don’t suppose you can tell me what happened earlier?”
Agent Grunt looks up at him when he stops, his eyes open wide, and he sprints off back into the cornfield. St. Clair stands dumbfounded and smiling. “What a strange little man.”
* * *
Deep in the cornfield, Agent Nomi starts to wake up. Feeling her body ache all the way to the bones, she pushes herself up to sit on her heels. Looking up into the sky and closing her eyes, she inhales the smells of the cornfield. Her thoughts are interrupted by the sound of Agent Selenia forcefully talking on the phone.
The inner voice inside of Nomi cuts into her thoughts. “We are going to feel this in the morning and will somebody shut that woman up!”
Smiling, Nomi stands up to adjust her back. “If only we could.” She opens her eyes and exhales as she massages her neck.
The conversation gets louder as Selenia makes her way back towards Nomi. Selenia steps into the clearing with her head down and her left hand covering her eye. Blood is trickling from a deep scratch from her left eye across her temple.
“I need help! No, I do not know where I am!” She continues to pace back and forth, listening to the phone. Stopping for a second, she then paces back into the corn stalks.
The inner voice snaps Nomi out of a trance from watching the tall redhead. “If we kill her now, nobody will ever find the body.”
