I

Jimmy  Thompson

My evening in West Texas begins in a Mexican cantina with a Miller and large chili. The chips seemed heavy, so the jukebox in the corner becomes my focus. I play a couple of Fleetwood Mac tunes while sipping beer and slurping chili with a plastic spoon. Gazing out the window, there is a small Indian boy in a corral. He’s trying to pull a wild horse into a barn, which is a spectacle. The mood in the cantina seems sour, had the news spread? How many more like me were there? Strange nervousness affects my composure and chili dribbles form my mouth onto the table. The jaw munches in slow motion. Now, I am eerily aware, that people in the cantina are becoming uneasy with this performance and my sudden lack of neatness is causing stares. Damn this planet. I leave; no tip this time. No, there’s a need for fast wind to ease this tension and loose my nerves; my aggression is seeping and becoming impetuous.

Leaving the cantina, I am heading west along a gray, vacant stretch of highway. My car passes a squadron of motorcycles headed east; they are stopped on the side of the road, reattaching some packs that must have blown loose in the wind. The lights of the patrol car appear in my rearview and a Texas deputy’s mirrored shades are visible just below the flashing lights. I am a little uneasy with the thought of a deputy rummaging through my car, but things like this either work out or not fairly quick. Country boys usually lack the ability to comprehend unknown things; so the more cooperative I am the more likely it is I will be able to continue south on schedule. If he did happen to discover what was in the trunk, he wouldn’t know what the hell it is anyway, but it may stir a deeper investigation. It would have to be in the millions that he recognized it. So relaxing, I put on a warm visage of moral uprightness then combining it with slight confusion. He’s standing at my window; he’s tall but slight in frame. Cropped blonde hair musters underneath his hat. The brown uniform is creased perfect, starched heavy, with a laser badge. The strap on his holster is loose. I could take him here, just gouge into his throat with animal pressure, the shock would paralyze him, then leave his carcass by the shoulder of the road.

“Evening. Terrible wind,” I say.

“Evening, license and registration please.” I hand him my license and other documents and he removes his sunglasses.

“I will be back, just sit tight and I will be back in a few.”

I nod and relax in the seat. The sun was just beginning to set beyond the foothills and the last rays of dusk catch my eyes and force me to lower the sun visor. The officer soon reappears at my window.

“I appreciate your patience sir, can you step out of the car please.”

“Sure, what’s the trouble?”

“Well, you have some warrants out of Dallas.”

“Yeah, Dallas?”

“Are you carrying any weapons? Drugs? Empty your pockets on the hood please.”

“Now listen! I’ve never been to Dallas!”

“Me neither sir, but the computer says James Thompson has a warrant for distribution in Dallas.”

“There must be a mistake,” I stutter, while he empties my pockets, putting the lighter, cigarettes, and keys on to the hood. His hands frisk me quickly and he places the cuffs securely around my wrist. If there were somewhere to be, immediately, I would handle him differently. I think of the case in my trunk and stay calm. The worst is maybe spending a night in jail: being that I’m not James Thompson, nor from Dallas, nor a human being, what the hell do I care. A day behind would not put things terribly askew at this point.

“I am gonna read you your rights here real quick, cause I figure the faster we can get ya in, the quicker you can get this straightened out with the courts. Ya follow.”

“I follow.” Why not, now, the cuffs were already on.

He locks my car and gives me a nudge into the back seat. The late model sedan cruiser pulls off the shoulder with a dust cloud in its wake and we head south bound. My thoughts and eyes drift across the dimly lit landscape, it’s a nice evening, vacant of anything spectacular aside from small hills and this reminds me of something else I have to take care of. Cows, horses, small brushes and hills dance across a fading blue skyline. He adjusts his mirror and starts a conversation.

“I’m not going to search the vehicle, it’ll be searched when it gets towed to the lot, no warrant or permission necessary. I’m supposing that’s all right wit you, correct?”

“Sure, why not?”  I say.

“Don’t seem too worried to me, may be you oughta be, eh?”

“Told you deputy, before, I’ve never been to Dallas.”

“We’ll see here in a bit.”

“Right!” He answers a call on the radio, and then the conversation starts again. His Texas dull accent drags across my ears with its muffled by the hum of the car’s engine.

“These are strange times partner. You been listen to the radio, all the horse shit out on the West Coast.” He pauses. “I gotta daughter out there and I haven’t been able to get an answer on the phone all week. All damn week. Needless to say I’m a bit worried, being that I had an argument with her. Kid’s damn stubborn.”

I didn’t feel like talking at this point but I turn my gaze to the front seat and figure being polite may get me a whole lot farther than rude silence. However, I did know what he was saying about the West Coast.

“What’s happening out West?”

“Shit, damn mess. Seems as though a bomb went off in a few ports up and down the West coast, and now everyone’s getting sick all the sudden. Last I saw on the news is they rounded up a bunch of Middle Eastern fellahs who they say were responsible, but they ain’t saying much more aside from that. Hospital’s out there fillin up fast. A guard unit outta Amarillo was called up to go out there.”

“Sounds serious to me.”

“Yeah, maybe it is.”

“Maybe it’s the apocalypse?”

“May be we outta change the subject.”

“That might be best.”

We pull into a parking lot surrounded by a rusty chain link fence that is about eight feet high. We walk past a couple of deputies and into a white room made bright by fluorescent bulbs that hang overhead in strips. There are lots of desks with computers and people typing and carrying paper work from one desk to the other. He sits me down on a wooden bench where someone has carved HELL-RAISER into the armrest. I close my eyes and wait for him to return. Some time passes before another arrestee wakes me. He’s a tall man with curly black hair at the top of his head and is sitting next to me. His face has bad acne; pockmarks scar his cheeks, and sharp blue eyes that peer down on me with confusion. A local idiot plain and simple; of course he wants a conversation too.

“Killed a dog,” He said quietly.

“What?” I ask.

“Shhh, I killed a dog. German dog. Killed him dead with a wire-line around the neck. Then drug him around back and forth in front of his owner’s house with my Dodge truck.”

“Jesus! Fuck!” is the only thing I could think to say.

Just as I said that the deputy who brought me in grabs me by the arm, then looks at the tall man menacingly. “Shut the fuck up Horse!” He says to him then pulls me away down the hall.

“I apologize for our local population, we get some strange ones now and again, but Horse by far is the strangest within the county line. Full moon maybe?” He pauses when he says this, but I refuse to reply. “Wind is something fierce, getting worse by the hour.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“Well, what news you want first, good or bad.”

“Bad!” I say.

“We are gonna fingerprint ya and send’em on to Dallas, see if you match their James Thompson. So you’re gonna spend the evening wit us in the doghouse.”

“What’s the good news?”

“You gonna have your own cell, no roomies. You’re it until later on this evening when we get the drunks, and if all works out we will send ya on your way and may be even give ya breakfast, if you’re nice. How that be?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Nope, not from where I stand.”

“The doghouse huh? All right then lets get it over with.”

We are in a darker room and the fingerprints are read electronically through sensors that reflect my imprint through a lens type device. They appear instantly on a large screen. He holds my fingers firmly, rolling them against a small foam pad. My nerves inhibit this operation.

“I didn’t expect to see something this high tech here. Looks out of place, given your décor.”

“Well, so do you, given your appearance; so don’t talk, it messes up the prints,” He says sarcastically.

He sits me down in a wooden chair in front of a gray metal desk. This office is smaller than the one I was in originally, containing only one other desk belonging to a fat sergeant who is busy filing and flipping papers, a stuffed fish hangs on the wall. The only other thing in the room besides a gun rack, was the giant fingerprint machine, which glows and beeps without warning. It had a large presence. They seemed inconvenienced by the machine and would occasionally glance menacingly in its direction whenever it set off a beep.

We walk  down a dimly lit hallway. I am a little apprehensive about them searching my car, but if they find the thing it will probably just confuse them; they’ll let me go, and I can get on with this, hopefully.

He closes the cell door and I place my hands through the bar and he releases the cuffs. It’s eight o’clock and I am sleepy. My eyes close quickly, off to sleep……….

The low muffled hum of the power dying wakes me. I open my eyes and what little light there was is gone. It’s dark as night. Lying there a few minutes, my eyes adjust. Stark and contrasting sounds can be heard through the pitch black, but they’re far and distant, not immediate. There are no sounds echoing within the hall outside my cell.

Sitting there, upright on the bed, my boots steady on the concrete floor below my rack, I try to focus and anticipate. My heart palpitates slightly when the realization that I am trapped enters my brain. All manner of chaos could be erupting around me, but there was no leaving. The cell is locked, no key, what happens now? The rack’s rusty springs let out a screech when my body lifts, its metallic scream seeming to overtake all other small sounds outside. When the spring’s echo fades, all is silent, had the bed just given me away? Should this even worry me? A saturating warmth penetrates my cell; the air becomes moist and sweat beads on my face.

“Anybody there?” My voice cracks against the cinderblock walls.

Silence. Black silence was the only reply. Panic creeps over my mind. My heart jumps when the metal door at the far end of the hall way opens with a faint squeal.

“Hello!…………….I know what’s happening, I can help.” My voice booms against the emptiness. Suddenly there are a variety of noises down the hall, which sound like chairs and desks moving, then books falling on the floor. They grow louder and closer, then stop. Silence reclaims the cellblock briefly, for a moment. Few minutes of silence pass, then, I hear the most terrifying sound I’ve ever experienced on any planet. It sounds as if somebody is slamming two large wet beef patties on the concrete floor, a squishy slapping sound. It starts at the far end, outside my cell, where the metal door is and makes its way towards me. I crouch in the back right corner of my cell quietly, and wait to see what monster could be making the sound.

Slap……..Slap……then, slap, slap, slap , slap, slap, slap. The sound picks up speed, my fists clinch and my eyes squint to make out what it is. The sounds stop just short of my cell. Could it hear me breathing? I didn’t know. Out of the dark its two bloody hands grip the bottom bars of my cell and it mashes its veined face through the opening. The thing’s jaw is foaming, the eyes are red with rage about to spring from the sockets. The teeth are grinding, lashing out at the air. What once had been human was now no more. It seems to be the remains of a deputy; his legs were gone up to about mid thigh. The two nubs are flailing, flinging blood into a wide spray while the rest tries to break through the bottom bars to get at me. Standing, I feel somewhat safe, that this thing is no threat, given the bars and its mutilated state, but it was a surreal horror to behold.  A gasp escapes from my mouth, it’s a reflex. “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!” My fear bounces from the cell and down the hall.

Just as my sanity is about to slip away, a loud gunshot blows from the right catching the thing in the side, sliding the disgusting menace past my cell and sending a fountain of blood and matter all over the walls. Then, shaken and distraught, with mania in his eyes, the deputy who brought me in appears at my cell door.

“Can you help?” He says

II

Deputy North

Burritos and eggs dance on my stomach as Lay Down Sally plays low over my cruiser’s radio. I normally stop at the Mexican Cantina in the evening. The dinner there is cheap and keeps me moving the rest of the night. This evening is warm and the wind is blowing the dirt in wave like motions down the interstate. It is very windy out, more so than usual.

I usually catch a few winks in my cruiser, but I’m behind on my ticket issuance, so I travel up and down the highway. Folks just passing through all the time, they’re either headed east, or out west. Lotta deputies adapt that stereotypical type persona, from the movies and all, when they pull over a speeder, not me. I like to treat folks, as I would want to be treated if pulled over by a deputy. My attitude is polite, probably more polite than I outta be, but that’s just in my nature. Good up bringin, suppose, but it works. And in my fifteen years of riding this stretch of road I’ve never had to pull my side arm once. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’ve had to unhook my holster a couple of times now and again, out of premonition mostly. Sometimes there’s just this funny feeling; when I’m walking up on a vehicle, but I never pull it all the way, never mind use it. Most times I walk right up and don’t even think about it, other times I just look at the car and unhook it before getting outta the cruiser.

Clocking a Mustang pulling about a 100 my wrist throws it in gear and the tires jump off the shoulder. I light her up and feel some surprise when the fellah pulls over about a half mile down the road. A car like that, being painted black usually gives you a slight chase, but this fellah is pretty quick to relinquish. Taking my time, sitting in my car for about three minutes, just to insure that he won’t take off when I get out, let him settle in there a little. Wanna give him time to think about it. After about five minutes, I exit the car. Unhooking my holster, bad feeling here with this one, just hoping not to catch a face full of dust. The wind makes it difficult to walk to his vehicle.

I get to the window and he looks a little off center. He just stares at his wheel, don’t even recognize me seems. Tapping on the window, he turns and looks, something weird about his eyes and mouth.

Grabbing his license, the wind makes hard for me to return, but when his name goes through it has a hit, outta Dallas. My holster is definitely loose now, I return to the vehicle and break the news, he takes it surprisingly well and I become more polite when I got him in restraints. Just really making this quick, though I shouldn’t, don’t wanna search his car because this wind is vicious.

Making my way back to the station, the fellahs pretty quiet, eerily so. An attempt at initial polite conversation fails. He’s a weird looking guy, short with dark blank eyes, he’s almost troll like, but I don’t mention it. He chimes in and gives some pretty strange responses, so I let the talking go for now.

The sky is all dark now and the station house looks calm for the evening, the drunks will start up in a few hours, so the best thing is to get him in and bedded down til morning. But, of course I let Ernie know to go pick up this guy’s Mustang. Little activity in the office tonight, and while typing up the report there’s peace, but this is soon shattered.

Horse has been in the station twice this month, each crime more disturbing than the last. Asked his mom twice already to have him committed, for his own sake. He’s a vile bastard, but dumb and kind every time I’ve had to speak at him. Deputy Johnson places him on the bench next to the fellah with the warrant, Horse wakes him and Horse is muttering some kinda insane obscenity at the man because all of the sudden warrant man seems spooked to hell. I get up and grab Horse, placing him in the interview room, of course he cusses me up and down and left to right, but this isn’t unusual, so placing him in the room he relaxes a little.

Talking with him a few minutes now after putting Mr. Thompson away, trying to find out why he committed animal cruelty, but the lights go out. My first reaction is that it’s a power failure, but they don’t come back. So, though I should know better, I leave the room and Horse unattended to find out what hell happened, telling Horse that if he moves I will mace his sorry ass. The hall outside the interview room is dark. Sounds echo through out the station, chairs moving, some grunts, but surprisingly quiet.

“Hey, where you at?” I yell. No response. “What happened?” Johnson, Murphy, where you guys at?”

My mini flashlight in hand, I walk down about six feet to where the office is. Shining the light around, the room is vacant, wait a minute, there’s somebody on the floor by the first desk. It’s Johnson and the small beam of my light doesn’t move him, he’s just laying there, face down. I place my hand on his neck to feel for a pulse, but he rolls around and grabs my wrist. His face is animal like, he’s in a frenzy, jumping back I let go of the light and it rolls across the floor.

“Johnson, what the hell man!” He lurched toward me moaning and gasping like a wild pig. Jumping to the other side of the room, my eyes glance the shotguns on the wall, grabbing one then pointing it at Johnson.

“Johnson, listen to me here, I will put bullets in your chest if you come at me again. What the fuck is wrong with ya? Hey, don’t you remember us fishin last week”

Johnson grabs his knees, and lets loose this horrible sound deep from within his throat. With the shadows cast by the faint light from the floor, his face is visible. It cannot be described, this was not the same man telling me fishing stories less than three hours ago, the veins have ripped through the skin, and his mouth is putrid, the eyes, they’re bloodshot little pods.

“Stay right there, Johnson!” He throws the desk against the wall and papers fly, the fucker leaps at me, I pull the trigger, aiming for his chest, but in the dark it catches him in the face. A sharp crack, then a pop from the impact, and his brains and blood are sent cascading throughout the office, little bits hang on the ceiling fan overhead. I move back slowly into the next room, listening for anybody else.

Picking up the phone from a wall; I dial the operator, no answer; then dialing the firehouse, no answer. A shiver shoots through my spine when the realization of the actual danger; the situation that I may be in. Leaving the phone, and continuing down the hall, there are other bodies on the floor, but my previous experience keeps me from agitating them. Hot now, I am sweating the room is humid. The door to the cellblock is open, so moving swiftly into the hallway I see what looks like Murphy, but his legs are gone. He’s clamped onto the bars outside warrant man’s cell. I hear a scream from the cell and pull back on the trigger to the shotgun and send what’s left of Murphy skidding down the hall.

Unbelievable is the only thing that comes to mind. In the short amount of time I was in the room with Horse, the world has turned rabid on me, so I see how Thompson is. He looks normal as far as I can tell, little scared, but he’s not trying to kill me.

“Can you help?” I say.

“Yes, I can.”

“If I open this door, will you behave, cause I will leave ya right here. We still undetermined as far as your criminal status goes, but that seems to be a moot point this moment. So, are you James Thompson outta Dallas?”

“ I told you deputy, I ain’t ever been to Dallas.”

“Then, who the hell are ya then? Because we’re gonna have to be on a trusting basis, seems, if we’re gonna get out of this station alive.”

“In light of present circumstances, deputy, does it really matter? I am obviously not infected.”

“Infected? Son, one more time, who are you?”

“My names Galias Kalapas. I am from a planet outside this solar system and in my trunk is an interstellar detonator that I am carrying to the West Coast.”

“So, you’re a nut?”

“If you say deputy.”

“Ernie said the only thing in your trunk was a metal suitcase full of steel ball bearings……Well, fair enough, Mr. Kalapas, you are now deputized. We are going up that hall, through the station, and out into the night. My pistol here is loaded, anything tries to stop us, you unload on’em. Follow me?”

Unlocking the cell he comes out and takes the pistol without hesitation and falls in behind me.

HORSE

“Deputy! Deputy North where you at?”

The room is dark and a gunshot echoed down the way a few minutes back. The deputy may mace me, but just don’t give a fuck. I get myself up and walk outside into the hall, nothing. Not a damn soul.

“Deputy, where you at?” Nothing, just black and silence. “What the hell Deputy?”

Down at the far end of the hall the fire exit sign is still lit. Don’t normally make it a habit of running from custody, but the situation here is a bit unusual, so no harm no foul on this one Deputy. Walking down the hall, toward the exit sign, feeling my way as I go. There’s  a noise from behind one of the doors on the left. Sounds like somebody moaning, hurt like. When I knock on the door the moaning stops.

“All right in there? I’m looking for Deputy North.” No response. Pushing the door open, the room is of course dark, but my eyes adjust and there’s a female deputy slumped over one of the office desks.

“M’am, you all right?” When she turns around to acknowledge me it’s the most god-awful thing I’ve ever seen. The eyes are bulging out of her head, like a goddamn cartoon character. The veins are pushing through skin, making it all purple and swelly like.

“Now look here girl,” I say to her. “I’m gonna run and get some help for ya.” There was no intention on my part of getting her help. My tail was running for that exit sign. The girl starts screaming and jumps at me. Dodging her, I place myself behind the desk. She turns and is on the other side now.

“Look here darling! I’m going out that door.” I say, then push the desk hard pinning her in a corner of the room. She’s swinging at me with these blood stained arms, growling like a pissed bull.

Moving away from the desk, I make my way to the door, but she pushes the desk aside quickly and leaps for me, but my feet are faster and her arms miss me. At this point, there’s no escaping through the door without moving her, so I jump on her back while she’s lurched over. Her arms and head are going wild. On her back, I guide the beast out into the hall, not even treating it as a human no more, riding her back, punching her head. We go down the hall banging into the walls like we’re in NASCAR. Red smears mark the walls where we hit, dark red streaks, must be from me punching the head. All the while I’m yelling like a bastard, “Yeahhhh girl let’s go.” Never losing my grip on the neck. Her hands keep reaching back grabbing hold of my pant’s leg. But when we reach the exit sign I reach down and grab her shooter from its holster; pressing the barrel snug up against the back of the brain. “This is it baby doll,” I say. The pistol cracks and her face sprays all over the exit door and we fall to the ground.

Looking down at it, the head is just a pile of mush. I wipe the barrel of the gun against the back of the brown shirt, then tucking it snugly into my jeans, moving outside in the fresh air. There have been some wild rides in my life, none like that one though, sure is crazy but my mind doesn’t want to ponder what’s going on. Epidemic? Maybe something else? Here’s not the place to sit and shift through this, keep moving, out of the area, wait in the hills til dawn. That’s good thinking. Need to find a vehicle. I move around to the front of the station and there’s two figures lingering by the gate of the lot. I am calm and cool. They’re right at the gate and getting past them is the trick. Stopping what ever they were doing, they look in my direction.

“Evening boys,” I say casually. “Weird night, there was this lady back a bit and..”

“Wooooah fellahs!” The tall one starts staggering towards me drunk like. He swings and I hit him in the head with my pistol. I do the same to the other one, they seem to be in the same condition as the lady back in the hall, all mutated and rabid like an animal. I run inside the fence and lock the gate. Walking away the animals get back up and claw and howl at the fence, but it holds, for now and I peruse the lot for a ride.

The prettiest black Mustang sits in the corner, the trunk and door are unlocked, but no key. There aren’t but a few cars so when I bust open the lock box with a metal pole I grab all there are, one has to fit. The dirty bastards are still clawing at the gate and I yell, “ be with ya in a minute boys!”

She’s a beauty she is, and starts right up too. Then the cold steel of a gun is at my ear. My eyes shift to the right, and low and behold.

“Deputy! I was just looking for ya.”

“I bet your slick tale was! Now, turn the car off and get you skanky ass in the back.”

I hand the deputy the keys like he asked, then he yanks my pistol outta my pants and opens the back seat for me.

“Thanks boss,” I say.

The deputy gets in the drivers seat and a small fellah who I was sitting on the bench with earlier this evening gets in the passenger. A strange uneasy vibe overtakes me when the small fellah gets in, eerie like.

“ So, where we going deputy?”

“Out the gate and down the highway Horse, down the highway, west maybe. This all right with you?”

“Fine deputy, just fine.” I relax in the seat and we take off through the gate sending those poor bastards scattering across the hood. A nice bright moon is swinging low against the hilly skyline and the evening almost seems peaceful.

“Say deputy.”

“What?”

“You play any organized sports? Because you strike me as the type of fellah who…”

He swings around keeping one hand on the wheel and puts that shooter right at the tip of my nose.

“Just making conversation deputy!”

“Don’t, the last thing we need tonight is your insanity spilling all over this car. Just shut up and relax.”

“K, deputy, ok.”

The deputy relaxes and the short guy sits there quiet with a pistol in his lap, he’s just staring at it. My eyes continue to look out the window as we do about eighty, headed west and I begin to think and analyze all that’s happened and feel an abnormal sense of prosperity come over me, like I just won a lottery. Strange feeling, but good, and the more I figure it begins to dawn on me. The deputy is scared because the balance in this world has shifted, from all total law and order, to total chaos. And for once, the weight of the world has tipped in my favor. I begin to laugh uncontrollably, but they ignore it because the same thing has dawned on them too.