Derek toed the dirt, glanced at the plate, then raised his bat in the air.
He wished he could aim. He wished he could pick his shot, right over the fence.
Before he could stop dreaming, the pitch was on its way.
Derek heard the ball hit the bat as tremors shot up his arm. He heard the bat hit the ground before he realized he was on his way to first base. He could taste the dirt of the infield as he swung wide past first base—heading for second.
Derek didn’t know where the ball had gone. But people were cheering and yelling. He couldn’t make out what they were saying as his head rattled in the batting helmet.
He dove into second base, like coach had warned them not to.
The sharp grainss of sand chewed on his knees and gave him his first experience of razor burn on his chin. He smelled mildew and infield as his face arrived over the bag. He should’ve felt a tag, but he didn’t. So he stood up and started to dust off.
No!
The third base coach waved him on!
The wave was more than a pinwheel. It could’ve powered a city, spun the planet itself. Derek took off in a sprint, not sure of what error had bought him a chance at home. Derek dove head first into home.
The catcher stood over Derek. He said something like, “You got lucky.”
Derek’s pounding heart rattled his hearing.
The umpire laughed clear as day, and said, “Safe.”
Derek jogged back to the dugout, not understanding why his teammates looked at him like he was an idiot. Had he forgotten to tag a base? Was he out? But as soon as he entered the dugout, his teammates smacked his head, and the dirt from his chest.
The coach yelled, “Alright, Freddie, your turn!”
Joey Shannon scooted over to give Derek room on the bench.
Derek was out of breath and confused. Had he just scored on an error?
“Why’d you slide into second and home?” Joey Shannon asked. “You want your momma to have to do laundry?”
“Huh?”
“Ate your spinach today, didn’t you?”
A few more oblivious looks and his teammates recounted the event. Derek’s hit cleared the fence. It was the only time he ever did it.
Derek’s face shone—ninety pounds with his helmet on—he had homered.
His coach yelled some stuff, and the dugout quieted down for Freddie Johnston’s at bat. Derek still wasn’t paying attention when it happened. There was a different kind of yelling.
Derek was staring at the dirt exactly where Freddie hit.
But his brain didn’t process what had happened.
It got quiet for the shortest eternity. Then the screaming started.
Freddie Johnston was not getting back up.
Derek couldn’t see anything. His eyes wandered to the backstop, a muddy baseball sat against the fence. It wasn’t water that had brewed that mud.
The game was called after the ambulance took Freddie Johnston away.
Derek’s team had won the game by one run, technically, but no one was cheering. Most didn’t even stop to grab a soda out of the cooler on the way to the parking lot. Sometimes that was all Derek had played for. He grabbed a Dr. Pepper, but it didn’t taste how he wanted it to taste.
He rode in silence all they way back home with his parents. There was no congratulation. They spoke softly to each other in the front seat, and Derek didn’t bother to listen. Derek was trying to understand why they put a towel over Freddie Johnston’s face.
Derek knew what he was supposed to say. He knew some memories were not the basis for action. So he said to Kent Jett, “I played in high school, but couldn’t make it off the bench in Junior Varsity. So I got interested in girls.”
“Probably for the best, hah.”
Kent Jett’s name hadn’t processed. The facial features were beginning to make the connection when Kent said, “You hit a home run off me.”
“I doubt that…” Derek started just before the connection completed. “Oh.”
Kent looked around at the rest of the party—as if hoping no one was listening. “I thought you were mocking me. Running past first, sliding into second and then again at home. I get it now. You had no clue, just a scrawny kid in a big stupid helmet. I knew when I was pitching to you that your helmet was too big. I was trying to make you swing so hard it would swirl around your head. I put it right down the middle for you. All that’s happened and the only thing I wish I could ch…I shouldn’t have beaned that kid. Christ.”
Derek wondered if Kent knew what happened to Freddie Johnston.
“My dad never let me pitch again.”
“Freddie Johnston never hit again,” Derek said.
“I didn’t know,” Kent Jett, took a hard look at the beer bottle in his hand, and then took a sip.
“You got him to back off the plate. Made him useless. He was always overreaching. You could tell he was scared. That and he ended up getting interested in girls before I did.”
Kent Jett’s face lit up. His eyes had a life to them that had vanished when he had asked about baseball. It looked as if his entire brain stumbled as he blinked to regain balance.
Derek didn’t know why, but he felt regret. He wished he hadn’t told Kent Jett. He had taken away the joy of the only home run Derek had ever hit. He took away Freddie Johnston’s fearlessness. He deserved to go on living thinking he murdered a kid.
All Derek had ever wanted to do was brag about hitting a homer, and he couldn’t do that.
“Thank you. Thank you,” Kent Jett said. He smacked Derek’s shoulder and walked away, shaking his head and chugging his beer.
Derek didn’t understand why he hated Kent Jett so much. It was a very human type of hate, brought on by memories that had gone unresolved for too long. Derek hated being redirected by Derek’s memories. The connection had been broken. He was supposed to be free of that pitiful human.
Jeanie saw him, standing, glaring, hating.
She escaped her conversation, and nudged him gently.
“Are you feeling okay? What did he say to you?”
“I’m fine,” Derek lied. He wasn’t fine. His mind was corrupted by a human’s memories. It was also plagued by his orders. He was supposed to keep acting like Derek Vogt.
“Are you kidding me?” Someone yelled at the smartphone in their hand. It drew the party’s consideration. “Some redneck idiot just killed an alien.”
“What an ignorant dickhead.”
Jeanie nudged Derek again. “Let’s you and me get out of here.”
“I’d love that.”
Jeanie said goodbye to a few people as she escorted Derek out of the party.
“Hooray for Alien life!” Someone yelled. That’s what the party had been for—it was a celebration of life beyond Earth. Derek loved the irony of it all. He loved that his people’s plan was succeeding.
Earth was doomed.
TO BE CONTINUED…
LOOK OUT FOR
PART SEVEN
OF
INVASIVE SPECIES
COMING SOON
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Daniel J. Kirk is a resident of Richmond, Virginia. He has written and published westerns, horror, and science fiction short stories throughout the digital world.
He has several ongoing series, including the urban fantasy series: THE HATCHBACK WOMAN and the alien invasion series: INVASIVE SPECIES and the superhero saga, UPGRADE.
He can be contacted at: [email protected]
Or if you prefer to receive email notifications, please subscribe to Daniel J. Kirk’s e-Newsletter THIS DANNED MIND.
And visit www.brideofchaos.com to keep up to date with new releases featuring Mr. Kirk and many more authors.
Other Stories by Daniel J. Kirk’s Available Now:
THE FORGOTTEN PRINCESS: A NOVEL
THE HATCHBACK WOMAN #1-9
THE HATCHBACK WOMAN #10-18
WESTERN ENDING: SIX TALES OF THE WEST
© 2016 Daniel J. Kirk
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Thank you for reading!
© 2016 Bride of Chaos
Invasive Species Part 06 Page 3
