Profusion

by Stan C. Smith

  The symbols before his eyes changed. “Success or fail. Tell please.”

  “It’s working,” Bobby said. “Success.”

  The symbols disappeared.

  Bobby rummaged around. Tiffany’s car was clean, but there were some papers in the storage bin between the front seats. They were mostly in Spanish, but they looked like something to do with the purchase or renting of the car. He pulled one of the papers loose, folded it, and set it on top of the lump of clay. He pressed his hand to the side of the lump, under the paper. “Can you make an exact copy of this paper?”

  Bobby pulled his hand back and watched. The folded paper became soft, and its corners drooped. It melted into the clay and was gone. A new lump started to arise. The new lump fell away from the larger mass onto the seat and continued to change. Soon it was a folded piece of paper. He opened it. It certainly looked like the same document. He put his hand back on the clay.

  “When I said make a copy, I meant to make a new copy and keep the original. You know, so there would be two.”

  Symbols appeared before his eyes. “I understand.”

  Another lump appeared, dropped off, and became a second folded paper. Bobby didn’t bother to unfold it.

  He grinned at Ashley. “This thing might be able to help us!”

  He looked toward the Kmart. Tiffany had not come out yet, but she would soon. There was something else he wanted to try. He pressed the first paper against the lump. “The Lamotelokhai could zap things from one place to another. Even people. It did this to me a couple of times. It was just like, zap, and I was in a different place. Can you zap this paper to a different place? To, um, the front seat of this car?”

  Symbols formed. “Need place definition.”

  Ashley said, “Maybe you shouldn’t—”

  Bobby ignored her. “The front seat.” He leaned forward and put his hand with the paper in it on the passenger seat. “Right there. It’s just a few feet away.” He brought his hand back and pressed the paper against the clay. “Can you zap it into the front seat?”

  Suddenly everything turned gray. Bobby saw nothing and heard nothing. Seconds passed—or maybe minutes—and then shapes began to appear. He could hear a voice, faint at first, and then louder.

  “Bobby! Say something!” It was Ashley’s voice.

  He blinked. The shapes before his eyes became clear. The backs of two car seats, a windshield, a dashboard with knobs and letters on it. And something moving, in the front passenger seat. It was a mass of something, with skin and hair. And bits of white cloth quickly turning red from seeping blood.

  “What is that!” Bobby said. His voice sounded strange in his ears.

  Suddenly Ashley’s arms were around him and her forehead was against his temple. “Oh, thank God! I thought your brain was fried or something.”

  Bobby couldn’t take his eyes off the bloody, quivering mass. “Ashley, what is that?”

  She pulled back. “How should I know? I’ve been trying to snap you out of your trance. There was this sound, and my ears popped. Then it was there, in the seat. The thing was noisy at first, like it was gagging. You know, trying to breathe. I didn’t know what to do. But I think it’s dead now. Are you okay?”

  She was right, the mass was now hardly moving. It was dying, if not dead already. Bobby finally pulled his eyes away from it. He stared at his hands. The left one still gripped the folded paper. He had meant to let go of it before asking the clay to zap it to the front seat. But it was still in his hand.

  He looked again at the sickening mass. Bits of pale green cloth, pale skin dotted with freckles, a femur-sized bone sticking out with its end deformed like melted plastic, part of what looked like scalp with brown hair—the same color as Bobby’s hair. And there, blood-covered and warped, was the heel of a Converse low-top with the snake-skin print. Bobby’s shoe.

  “It’s me,” Bobby said.

  A white and red plastic bag was shoved through the open window into Bobby’s lap. The driver door popped open and Tiffany got in.

  “I had to guess on your sizes, but I think—”

  She stared at the blob of skin and cloth and blood beside her. She whipped her head around to look at Bobby and Ashley. Without saying another word she got out of the car. She walked to the grass by the edge of the parking lot and put her hands on her knees like she was going to throw up.

  Bobby flipped the driver seat forward and got out. He went to her and put a hand on her back. “I think it’s dead. It didn’t suffer long.”

  Her mouth opened, but only words came out. “I thought for a second it was one of you two. What is it?”

  “It’s hard to explain, but I think it is me. A copy of me, anyway.”

  She looked up at him but kept her hands on her knees. Her face was pale. “I want to go home.”

  “I know.” Bobby looked around the parking lot. A lady with a red shopping basket by her car was staring, but she turned away when their eyes met. “We’ll get that thing out of the car. Then you can drive us all to the airport. You can fly home, and we won’t tell anyone we were with you. Okay?”

  She nodded but remained bent over.

  Bobby went back to the car as Ashley was climbing out. They opened the passenger door and stared at the mass on the seat.

  “If that’s you, it’s not an improvement,” Ashley said.

  He turned to her and raised his brows. A year ago, they both would have been heaving in the grass with Tiffany. But they had seen so much since then.

  Bobby gazed over the hood toward the store. No one was looking their way. Still, he was glad this side of the car was facing away from the other cars. He grabbed the blob by a curved rib bone that was sticking out, but when he pulled on it, the bone came loose with a wet pop.

  “Help me,” he said to Ashley. Together they grabbed it wherever they could get a grip and rolled the thing off the seat. It hit the pavement with a squishy thump. Bobby tried not to look at it too long, but he couldn’t help noticing part of an arm protruding from one side. At least it wasn’t his head or one of his eyes.

  They took Tiffany’s elbows and walked her back to the car, and they all got in. Tiffany stared at the passenger seat. It was covered with pooled blood and pink chunks.

  “It’s out of the car, Mrs. Travers,” Ashley said. “Let’s go before police show up.”

  Bobby said, “The police are probably too busy.”

  Tiffany backed up and drove out to the highway, leaving the mass of body parts in the parking lot.

  Ashley plucked the folded paper from the seat. It was the copy Bobby had asked the clay to create. She opened it and stared at it for a moment before handing it to him. The paper had several holes in it, and its edges were not straight. There was printing on it, but the letters were garbled and blurred. It was not even close to a perfect copy.

  “I don’t know what you were thinking,” Ashley said, “but let’s not try anything like that again.”

  ∞

  Bobby stared at his face in the mirror. He had been washing dried blood from his face and neck for several minutes, and finally it looked like he’d gotten it all. But he still looked stupid, because the hair Ashley had treated with the clay was still growing, and now it was longer than the rest of his hair.

  He grabbed the baseball cap Tiffany had bought him and put it on. It was red with white letters, PR, above the flat, oversized brim. With his red t-shirt and blue jeans—too big but held up with a belt—he was less likely to stand out in a crowd.

  He stuffed his crusted, burned doctor clothes into the trash and left the bathroom. Ashley had already changed and was waiting in the back seat of the car. Tiffany stood next to a gas pump where they were parked. She had made it clear she didn’t like sitting next to the mess in the passenger seat. They got in the car and Tiffany pulled out onto the road.

  Twenty minutes later they were at the San Juan Marín Airport. They entered a multi-level parking garage and found a place on the top level where there were no othe
r cars. Bobby got out, holding the lump of clay under his arm, while Tiffany grabbed a purse and duffel bag from the trunk.

  Tiffany looked at the clay. She handed Bobby her duffel bag. “Take some of my clothes out and put that thing in the bag. You can’t walk through the airport carrying it like that.”

  Bobby took it and thanked her. He was able to get the clay into the bag without removing anything. He zipped the bag shut. Bobby, Ashley, and Tiffany went down some concrete stairs and crossed a street full of taxis and shuttles to a huge terminal building.

  Inside, Tiffany stopped. “Do you know what you’re going to do next?”

  “We’ll be fine,” Bobby said. “Someone’s coming for us.”

  She studied them for a moment. She frowned at Bobby and tilted her head like she was looking at his ear. “Um, your hair.”

  Bobby took off his cap and felt his scalp. The hair that had been shaved was now at least an inch longer than the rest.

  “I was trying not to say anything,” Ashley said. “But it is starting to look funny.”

  Bobby replaced the cap. “I guess I’ll just have to cut it.”

  Tiffany shifted her eyes from Bobby to Ashley and back to Bobby. “Look, I know we made a mistake. And I know it’s not over. I heard you talking about trying to fix the problem. Is there any way I can help?” The way she had hesitated gave Bobby the impression she was hoping they’d say no.

  Bobby glanced at Ashley. She hated the woman. He could see it in her eyes. He spoke before she could.

  “You helped us get here,” he said to Tiffany. “You didn’t have to, but you did anyway. If our plan works, and we can prevent those things from spreading everywhere, it will be because you helped us. You should go home.”

  She exhaled, her shoulders relaxed, and she nodded. “Good luck, you two.” She then turned and walked away at a brisk pace.

  “She’s really stupid if she thinks no one will know,” Ashley said. “She left her car with a bunch of blood in it. A mangled body in the parking lot. Probably a hundred other things that will lead the feds to her.”

  Bobby considered this. “Maybe the feds hired her in the first place. Maybe Helmich worked for the government—the CIA or something.”

  “If so, they’ll never admit it.” She turned to Bobby. “We’ve got to do something about that hair.”

  There was a vibration in Bobby’s pocket, followed by a chime. He pulled out Tiffany’s phone. It was a text message from someone named Gary: “What the hell is happening there? Been watching the news. Call me when you can!”

  “Tell him Tiffany is dead,” Ashley said. She was leaning into his shoulder to read the screen.

  Bobby ignored her and typed a reply: “I’m okay. On my way home now. Won’t be able to call for a while. Don’t worry.” He hit Send.

  Ashley snorted indignantly.

  “We need this phone,” Bobby said. “We don’t want her husband shutting the account down because he thinks it’s been stolen.”

  “That’s why they call you science boy.”

  “You’re the only one who calls me that.”

  Without tickets, or ID, or anything else, they wouldn’t be able to go through security checkpoints to other parts of the airport, so they found a quiet corner near the outer wall where Tiffany’s phone had a strong cell signal. They sat on the floor.

  “We should have asked her for some money,” Bobby said. “I’m starving.”

  “Look at that.” Ashley was staring at a television attached to the ceiling. A dozen or so people were gathered nearby, staring somberly up at it. The screen was showing a news report with English subtitles. People with haunted looks on their faces were being interviewed, describing something they had seen. The video cut away to a view from a helicopter. It showed a neighborhood of blocky white houses. Police cars with flashing lights were scattered throughout the neighborhood. The camera zoomed in. Bodies were lying in the streets. People were running. The camera zoomed in closer, and a wave of gasps and cries came from the people gathered below the TV. Bobby squinted. Not all of the running figures were human.

  “It’s our fault,” Ashley said. “They got loose because we left the compound.”

  Bobby turned to her. She was right. More accurately, though, it was Bobby’s fault.

  Ashley was still staring at the TV. “Do you think they’ll be able to stop it?”

  “I’d like to think so, but the things I saw in the lower level of the compound…”

  Finally she turned to him. “Then we can’t screw this up. We have to put the Lamotelokhai back together and bring it back here.”

  The phone in Bobby’s hand vibrated and chimed again. This time it was a call from a number based in Oklahoma City. It had to be Jonathan. Bobby answered.

  “Bobby, Jonathan Benson here. Are you and Ashley still safe?”

  “We’re okay. We’re at the airport.”

  “That’s a relief. I’ve been watching the news at every opportunity. Never seen anything like it. You were right, it’s damn serious.”

  Bobby nodded, as if Jonathan could see him. “The airport here is pretty calm right now, but I bet people will start panicking soon. When will you be here?”

  “I’m in the air as we speak. Bobby, you mentioned that you needed to see your friend in Missouri before going to Indonesia. Is that absolutely necessary?”

  “We can’t save the Lamotelokhai without him. And the Lamotelokhai is the only thing that can stop what’s happening here.”

  “That’s what I presumed. And that’s why we’re on our way to Kansas City. I called the family of Carlos Herrera. My intent was to convince them that Carlos should come with us to Puerto Rico, and that they should expedite the process by driving him to the airport.”

  This took Bobby by surprise. He hadn’t thought of saving time this way. “Yeah?”

  “They weren’t keen on the idea.”

  “I bet they weren’t. I’ll call Carlos myself. I’ll get it sorted out.”

  “Precisely what I was hoping you’d say. If you convince his folks to allow it and everything goes smoothly, we should arrive in San Juan as early as 2:00 am your time. If you can wait somewhere near the main entrance to the airport from the parking facility, I’ll find you. We’ll be landing at Terminal B.”

  “We’re by the main entrance now. But we don’t have anything with us. We left our passports and stuff in Oklahoma City.”

  “I have your things. You’ll be boarding a private jet, in which case the captain has discretion over who can and cannot board. There shouldn’t be any problems.”

  They ended the call and Bobby gave Ashley a quick summary. He then typed a text message and sent it to a number he had been calling every month for the last eight months. The text said, “Carlos, it’s Bobby. I’m going to call you from this number, so you better answer!” He counted to thirty and then called the number.

  “Bobby, is that you? What the hell’s going on?”

  “Yeah, it’s me. I need to be sure I’m talking to the right Carlos. What did Addison say that time he smashed those termites and ate them off his hand?”

  Carlos sighed. “He said, ‘Now they worship me.’ Bobby, this is my phone. The other Carlos has his own phone.”

  “I had to be sure,” Bobby said. “Listen. I know this is crazy, and I know your parents are going to shit, but we need your help.”

  Eighteen

  Peter turned away from the compound’s dark opening. There was no way they could go back inside. If Bobby and Ashley were still in there, they were dead. Without a doubt.

  There was a gravel parking lot with several cars and an unpaved road, stretching as far as they could see in either direction. They were near a coast—the air was warm and humid, with the unmistakable scent of mangrove mud and rotting algae.

  Several small fires burned in the nearby weeds, and dark smoke rose from low mangrove trees beyond that. Peter’s eyes were drawn to a movement in one of the trees, near the rising smoke. He heard branche
s cracking, as if from the weight of a heavy creature. He squinted. He couldn’t see a creature in the tree, yet the branches kept moving. This gave him an uneasy feeling. He turned. In the opposite direction, the horizon was stacked with forest-covered mountains.

  Robert stepped to Peter’s side and said, “Where the hell are we?”

  “It looks like we’ve been taken out of the United States.”

  “Maybe Hawaii?”

  “Maybe.” Peter walked to the nearest car. It was locked. He checked the others. All locked. He walked to the road, acutely aware of the worsening pain in his burned leg and foot. To the right the road went to the mangroves, and therefore to the shore. To the left it went toward the mountains. He turned left and started walking. Robert followed.

  Within a few hundred meters, fields of bananas or plantains came into view. Peter could hear vehicles passing by on what sounded like a paved road further ahead. Suddenly a dog-sized animal ran across the road ahead of them. It was moving too fast for Peter to see details, but it had too many legs to be a dog.

  “We shouldn’t be out in the open like this,” Robert said.

  Peter had to agree.

  They heard Sirens in the distance. The sirens drew nearer and then slowed when they approached the place directly ahead of Peter and Robert where the gravel road ran into the paved highway. Peter thought the vehicles were going to turn toward them, on their way to the destroyed compound, but they turned the opposite direction and began growing quieter in the distance.

  Peter could now see a cluster of houses beyond the paved road—a small town or village. That’s where the emergency vehicles had gone. Something big was happening there, but at least there would be vehicles. Peter had a strong desire to get inside a vehicle and close the doors and windows. So they kept walking.

  Every step was excruciating. Peter was confident in his body’s ability to heal; for fifty years he had enjoyed the benefits of the Lamotelokhai’s particles. But it would be hours—perhaps even a day—before new skin replaced the burned skin. He wasn’t sure he could run, but he knew that running might become necessary at any moment. He looked down at his leg. The exposed flesh was every color from pink to black, and he was leaving a bloodstain on the dirt with every step.