God Drug

by Stephen L. Antczak

  Jovah wanted to take over the operation, but he’d been too long asleep. He didn’t know how to deal with the real world. Even Deuce, chronically strung out and mind-altered, could survive where Jovah would probably curl up into fetal position and will himself to disappear. The General was the best man for the job, the most qualified to complete the mission.

  “Just a figment of my imagination,” the General said aloud, although there was no one else in the apartment. “I’m just a figment of my imagination.”

  In the end, did matter who had control? None of them were real.

  He wondered… if he didn’t absorb Hanna, would Jovah even be capable of existence again? Or would that just make Jovah a threat to the General’s Self? Would Jovah try to take over? The General could let Hanna go, just walk away. But every fiber of his essence, real or unreal, screamed NO!

  Orders…

  Following orders, giving orders. This was the essence of General Archimedes Carter. Whether it was Vietnam or not, whether it was war or just some goddamn Pentagon suit’s game of Risk tainted by psychedelic slaughter, ORDERS WERE ORDERS.

  Yessir, Nosir, Yessir, Nosir!

  Aye, aye, Sir!

  When I say jump, I want you to ask How high!

  Eat allllll yer goddamn peaches!

  There was no vote in the General’s worldview, there were no ifs, ands, or buts. Even if he knew the orders were wrong, even if the orders were downright foolish, idiotic, unbelievably stupid, laughable, and contrary to all common sense, even then he would follow those orders to the letter. Even if that letter didn’t exist in any known alphabet.

  Because that was who he was.

  Of course, he also knew that the real General Carter had not been quite so obedient. The real General Carter had been a loose cannon, a berserker without a cause, but also a war hero. So the Pentagon had gotten him into the project, put him in charge of Alice Company. The grunts of Alice Company had seen him in a different light, the way grunts see generals, by the book and toe the line, and orders, orders, orders. He was gone, now, just like the rest of them, all except Jovah.

  The General now was just a whiff of the original’s essence. A whiff was enough, though, to make him want to fight to stay in charge even after he absorbed Hanna. It would be one hell of a fight, the General against Jovah. Jovah knew it would come, too. Perhaps he’d known all along, but it was the chance he had to take for his shot at being real again.

  One hell of a fight.

  First, though, there was Hanna to deal with. Sitting around in Galactic Bill’s apartment wasn’t going to accomplish anything. The General knew where Hanna was, the same way he knew where he was himself. All he had to do was go there.

  He’d also have to deal with those two friends of Sparrow’s. They’d be easy as long as they remained clueless. They had no idea that the drug they’d taken was not your ordinary, garden variety LSD. Even if Hanna told them, even if she knew enough to tell them everything, they wouldn’t believe it. How could they?

  The General left Galactic Bill’s apartment, the door wide open. It was quiet outside. The bikers across the lot had revved up their hogs and ridden out earlier. His thoughts were of Sparrow. The drug she’d taken would act as a primer, a conductor for her psyche, for her Self to expand beyond the confines of her body. He wondered what would happen when he finally absorbed her, someone who was not part of Jovah. It might not work, then he’d be just another murderer and cannibal.

  He drove toward Gainesville in Hanna’s Jeep, impatiently tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. Hanna was trying to run, trying to hide. She was drawing the whole process out. But the General was enjoying himself. This was the most dangerous game, and it was fun. In a way, he wished it would never end, that he could play cat-and-mouse with avatars of Jovah forever. Of course, forever was too long for Jovah to wait.

  The phone at Dave-O’s kept ringing and ringing and ringing. Dave-O’s phone was in his bedroom way at the back of the shop, and with music blasting and most everyone probably drunk by now, Emily knew that no one would hear it. She was going to have to ride her bicycle there. The problem was that she was afraid to leave her apartment. What if Io came back, and Emily wasn’t there for her?

  If Io wasn’t coming back, though, it did no good to stay there. She had to tell Sparrow and Tom and everyone else what had happened so they could all go look for her. She tried not to imagine all the terrible things that could be happening to Io right at that very moment. The longer she waited, the worse it could be. Already her mind was racing. What if the worst thing that could happen… happened? Emily would have to move away. She wouldn’t be able to stay and face her friends. She’d have to move to a place she hated, like Miami and Los Angeles or somewhere really nasty like Cincinnati, in order to balance her karma.

  She went outside to unlock her bike, which was chained to a tree in the yard. Hers was a Schwinn like Sparrow’s, the same color. Emily’s had streamers in the handlebars, though. Emily left the front door to her apartment wide open, just in case Io came back. She walked her bike out of the yard, to the sidewalk, and got on, pedaling toward downtown. The night closed in around her as she went down an alley that didn’t have lights. She preferred the dark alleys to the bright, traffic-filled main streets. She felt safer surrounded by the darkness, hidden from predatory eyes. And this evening, Emily sensed there were predators out and about, looking for prey.

  Chapter Seven

  At Dave-O’s the Chix ended their final song of the first set with an extended instrumental squall that harkened back to the anti-hero rock of The Who. Dev ripped chord after chord from her Les Paul guitar while Sin’s bass thundered like an out-of-control locomotive barreling down on a Buick trapped at the crossing, and Nicola pounded the drums in a mad frenzy. Sparrow leaned back and let loose with a Revolution scream, a yowling death-knell that would have made John Lennon proud. And finally, as the crowd that was packed into Dave-O’s warehouse yelled and whistled, the Chix skidded to a halt mere inches from the brick wall of overkill.

  “Thanks,” was all Sparrow said as the crowd continued to raise the roof. Her voice was weak after the strain of belting out angry punk rock. Dave-O brought her a beer, and she sipped it while Nicola adjusted her drums and Dev and Sin tuned their instruments. Sparrow stared blankly ahead, not looking directly at anyone.

  The Chix kicked off their second set with a cover of “Johnny B. Goode” and then raged through half a dozen two-minute punk tunes in the grand old tradition of Die Kreuzen, the Ramones, and Jodie Foster’s Army. Then it was all over.

  “The Psychotics are on next,” Sparrow announced. She went over to where Lena, Hanna, and Tom were huddled by themselves, avoiding everyone else while the other Chix packed their instruments up.

  “That was great!” Hanna said.

  “Killer,” Tom agreed. “Totally.”

  “What’d you think?” Sparrow nudged Lena.

  “It was great. You know it was.”

  “Well, I had fun after that weird Vietnam trip was over. I’ll have to talk to Galactic Bill about that shit, though.”

  Hanna looked away.

  Tom, Sparrow, Lena, and Hanna followed everyone else outside for a breath of fresh air while the Psychotics set up on the worn out carpet that acted as Dave-O’s stage.

  “What time do you think it is?” Lena asked.

  “Who cares?” Sparrow replied.

  “Well, I do have to work in the morning. Early, like six o’clock.”

  “That sucks,” Sparrow said.

  The squeal of feedback could be heard inside Dave-O’s shop. The four of them stood there without talking. Tom scratched his chin. Hanna looked at Sparrow. Tom stared at Hanna. Lena watched Tom. Sparrow closed her eyes.

  “Everything feels normal right now,” she said.

  “Does it?” Lena asked.

  “I think so. What about you, Tom?”

  “I feel pretty normal. I think.”

  “I hope there’s more to it than t
his, though.”

  “More to what?” Lena asked.

  “Life.” Sparrow grinned.

  Without so much as a four-count on the drum sticks, the Psychotics launched into their first song in Dave-O’s shop. The crowd surged back in. Tom, Sparrow, Lena, and Hanna went with the flow. The Psychotic’s first song was a wall of sound called “Halfway House,” as Sam on guitar machine-gunned the people standing before the stage. The mosh pit formed as punks slammed into each other, and soon it became a maelstrom of bodies. Pinhead screeched like a banshee, slobbering spittle down his chin as he spat out the words to the song like half-chewed pieces of raw meat. He wore only a pair of shorts, his body otherwise covered from head to toe in Karo syrup and red food-coloring, like dried blood. “Halfway House” ended two minutes later, and the Psychotics ripped into the next without pause. This one was called “Animal Auschwitz,” and it was Pinhead’s rail against pet stores in the mall who, if they didn’t sell the cute and fuzzy kitten and puppies, would eventually just throw them away. His anger was real.

  The mosh pit was all churning, roiling, bubbling chaos; bodies smashed together, rebounded like metal balls in a pinball game, banging off each other faster and faster, out of control. It was Tom who first became horrified as he heard the screams of terror coming from within the blender-spinning tornado of human bodies.

  “Oh my God!” he yelled, grabbing Lena’s arm.

  “What’s wrong?’ she asked.

  Then they heard the sound of bones cracking, and blood flew from the swirling pit to splatter across the wall over their heads.

  “What’s happening?” Sparrow asked, as she ducked to avoid a severed arm. Other body parts flew out… arms, legs, and heads. Hanna reached out and caught someone’s bodiless head. She turned it over to look at the face.

  It was the General.

  “Nowhere to run,” he said with an evil grin. She tossed it back into the pit, and it re-attached itself to a decapitated body. They all threw different extremities back in, which rejoined bodies still slamming together to the music.

  The Psychotics slowed the song to a chugging grunge, then let it run out of steam and end.

  The pit was quiet and still, for the moment.

  “Kick ass!!” Dave-O shouted. His head was atop a female body. Tom recognized the body as Jodiee’s by the tattoo on the shoulder. Her head, he saw, was positioned slightly crooked on Holly’s body, whose head was on Dave-O’s body which also now had one black arm and one white arm. It was the same with everyone else who’d been in the mosh pit, their bodies mixed-and-matched at random, and no one besides Lena, Sparrow, and Hanna seemed to notice.

  “It’s the acid,” Sparrow said.

  “God, I hope so,” Lena replied.

  The Psychotics leaped head-first into another quickie, with Pinhead barking out the words like a Marine drill sergeant on speed, and the pit churned itself into another frenzy. Limbs and heads once more flew into the air only to re-attach to different bodies… until the song ended and, amazingly, everyone had their original parts back together again.

  “This one’s called ‘Flight of Fancy’,” Pinhead announced. He then left the stage, and the band started one of their popular instrumental tunes, led by Sam on guitar.

  His eyes closed, Sam seemed to immediately lose himself in the song. The harmony bent like evergreens in the wind while the melody lifted, dove, soared, and fell like a hawk on the wing. Sam’s head was bent down over the guitar as he played, his long hair hiding his face, as if he didn’t want to be seen as someone playing an instrument. The only thing that mattered was the guitar itself, and music coming magically from within.

  They all got lost in it. Sam wound the chords around everyone in Dave-O’s shop, pulling them with him as he flew. No one left their eyes open, closing them so they could just listen with all their being, listen to what it was like to fly.

  Tom listened.

  Lena listened.

  Hanna listened.

  And Sparrow. Sparrow flew. At first she thought it was just a feeling, the sensation she got from Sam’s music. It was wonderful. She felt weightless, the solid concrete of the shop floor gone from beneath her feet. She believed she was flying, and didn’t want to open her eyes and ruin the illusion. She couldn’t help it, though. Sparrow opened her eyes and saw… her friends, and the band, below her. She saw the tops of their heads. She laughed out loud.

  Tom was next. As Sparrow watched him, Tom suddenly floated up like a helium-filled balloon with a broken string. He rose toward Sparrow, his eyes closed. She was already at the ceiling, pushing at it to keep from bumping her head against it. There was nowhere else to go but through the skylight.

  Lena slipped free of the bond of Earth’s gravity and floated up toward them. Then Hanna.

  Lena opened her eyes.

  “Holy shit!” she yelled. “We’re flying!”

  Tom laughed. “This is great, even if it’s not really happening!”

  He suddenly dropped, but Lena and Sparrow reached out and caught him by the arms, holding him aloft.

  “It is happening, Tom,” Sparrow told him. “Look down there. There’s no way we’re hallucinating this!”

  He looked down and saw the tops of heads below, crowded around the band.

  “We’re flying, Tom!” Sparrow said gleefully.

  “I don’t understand. How… ?”

  “It’s the music, can’t you tell? God, Sam’s an awesome guitar player!”

  Others floated up from the ground. The Chix joined their lead singer hovering near the ceiling. Holly and Jodiee ascended. The girl with the ouzo bent her mohawk on a rafter. In a few minutes it became crowded up there, while the floor below was empty. The Psychotics didn’t seem to notice, they were so wrapped up in their own music, although Sam was now hovering above the stage, tethered only by this guitar cord.

  “Don’t try to deny reality,” Hanna told Tom. She looked at Sparrow and Lena. “Let him go. He’ll only fall if he thinks he’ll fall.”

  The two women looked at Tom.

  “Well?” Sparrow asked.

  “I don’t know what I think.”

  “Just listen to Sam,” Lena told him.

  Tom closed his eyes and listened. The song wound itself around him like hot smoke, lighter than air, and he breathed it in, letting it become part of him. Sparrow and Lena let him go. He plummeted toward the ground but slowed and eventually stopped halfway down, as if the thick cigarette smoke accumulated in the air had stopped him and held him there. It was the music. Tom hovered there for a moment, then angled back up to where the girls were.

  “It’s crowded up here,” Lena said.

  “Maybe we can open the skylight,” Sparrow suggested.

  They moved along the ceiling with their hands, until Tom positioned himself beneath the skylight and pushed. It gave slightly, but rust crumbled out and into his eyes. He jerked away.

  “Shit! Now I can’t see anything.”

  Sparrow took his place, but spun herself around so she was upside down. She kicked the skylight door with one leg, using the other to balance herself. The door flew open, slamming onto the roof outside. Sparrow grabbed Tom by the collar of his shirt and hauled him out after her. Hanna and Lena followed, then everyone else.

  Sparrow, Tom, Lena, and Hanna drifted into the sky, toward the university. They passed over downtown Gainesville’s brick streets, the Hippodrome State Theatre to their left.

  “Okay, I think I got it,” Tom said, wiping his eyes. He blinked tears out of his eyes. “I can see now.”

  “Look around,” Sparrow said. She gestured with one arm in a sweeping motion, putting herself into a slow spin.

  Tom looked around. He saw the city spread out beneath them, the dark shadows of trees and buildings lit up by streetlights, the headlights of cars, and dotted by neon here and there.

  “Oh, man, this is great,” he said.

  They were above the treetops, drifting toward the student ghetto, and beyond that the red b
rick buildings of the university. Tom did a few mid-air flips and floated upside down for a while. Sparrow laughed.

  “You’re funny,” she told him, her voice full of warmth.

  Tom stopped his acrobatics and looked at her for a long, silent moment.

  “You’re giving me that look again,” Sparrow said.

  Tom blinked, but didn’t turn away.

  “I like looking at you,” he said.

  Sparrow averted her gaze. She noticed that they were alone. Hanna and Lena had drifted off somewhere. She looked at Tom.

  “I must admit, I kind of like looking at you sometimes, too,” she told him.

  Tom was genuinely surprised. “You do?”

  Sparrow nodded, smiling.

  “So what does that mean?” Tom asked.

  “I don’t know what it means.”

  Tom took a deep breath.

  “Does it mean I can kiss you?”

  Sparrow laughed. “I don’t know.”

  He drifted closer. She didn’t move away. He moved a little closer. He could reach out and touch her… but he didn’t. She reached for him, instead. Sparrow grabbed two handfuls of Tom’s shirt and yanked him to her, and pressed her lips against his. He reacted by reaching around with both arms and pressing his hands against the small of her back. Their tongues explored one another’s mouths slowly, methodically, as if mapping out territory for future expeditions. She pulled his shirt up, and they parted briefly so she could lift it over his head. It fell into a magnolia tree below. Her shirt followed, then his jeans, her skirt, their sneakers, socks, and underwear.

  They made love in the sky, moving carefully, slowly to keep from spinning out of control over campus.

  Tom had spent many nights imagining what it would be like to make love to Sparrow. He never imagined it would be anything like what was happening, the two of them hovering in mid-air over the university. Sparrow surprised him by the intense way she made love, her hands all over his body, her feet sliding up and down his legs, her lips constantly pressed against his neck and face.