Robots and Mermaids - Teaser

Prologue

Erupting from the surface of the ground in a midwest corner of North America, we soar upwards towards the sky, increasing in speed instead of slowing, as gravity would have us, by the power which draws us away. Through the murky clouds in an instant, we are bathed by the brilliant sunlight as that flaming mass careens towards the western horizon. With the thinning atmosphere at this elevation, the air resistance weakens, and we fly even faster, still gaining speed. We break through the ozone layer and are engulfed in the tight vacuum of space. The planet looms behind us, it’s beautiful bulk slowly careening away as we continue to accelerate. The sleepy moon passes us by without so much as a how-do-you-do, but this we disregard, remaining steadfast upon our unfathomable journey ahead. The red surface of Mars streaks past, and we swerve momentarily to circumnavigate the enormity of Jupiter. The remaining planets of our familiar solar system are elsewhere in their orbit, so we exit with no further ado. The greatness of the Milky Way galaxy is composed of a vast nothingness which occupies the space between solar systems, this space being incalculably greater than the space occupied by each star and her satellite planets. We traverse these gaps by the speed of thought, and soon have left several systems behind as we approach the outer rim of the galaxy. Here now on the galactic rim, the greatness of the nothingness which now confronts us is equal in proportions with respect to the distance between galaxies as was the nothingness between star systems within our own tiny galaxy. Undaunted, our velocity is yet boosted to the maximum, and we travel at a hundred thousand times the speed of light or more, passing galaxy after galaxy, off to our left or right, above or below, at distances of hundreds of light years or so. A near miss brings us close enough to see individual stars and some of their larger planets within a smallish galaxy, but they pass quickly, and we are back deep into the vastness. Our maximum velocity is maintained for several hundred heartbeats, and the surrounding galaxies begin to thin. Yet ahead lies many thousands yet to go, and they pass more and more slowly, as the distances between them and us increases exponentially. Here the vacuum of space seems even more empty, with so much nothing around. Eventually, we see one final galaxy ahead and below, with naught else beyond but blackness. That galaxy being soon passed, we turn around and fly backwards to watch as the dimension of the Known Universe is measured by the eye. At first large and brightly lit by innumerable galaxies, an illusion of the mind makes it seem as though the universe itself is shrinking, perhaps in preparation of the next Big Bang; for without external points of reference, we cannot tell that it is we that are shrinking away. Smaller and darker it becomes, as only the few closest galaxies’ light has yet traveled thus far. One by one they wink out. Now only the last remains. A singular point of reference, and all else the deepest despairing black. The last galaxy remains in view for some time, but eventually, it too is engulfed by the penetrating darkness. The silence of space is enhanced by the silence of sight. Not being able to perceive our direction or velocity, the only physical property which retains its measurability is time. A seeming lifetime of it passes as we travel on when almost piercingly, like a cannon firing, the tiniest of lights returns to existence before us. Flickering and weak, it slowly draws closer. We have arrived at the smallest, loneliest, and perhaps the oldest of galaxies, composed of a single star. Being so very old, this star feels her mortality approaching, possibly to wink out forever within the next million years, give or take – a small portion of time in the total lifespan of a star. She has a single planet, orbiting at approximately 7.5 light seconds away. This alone keeps her company through the eternally enduring darkness from which she is a singular exception. Yet she burns faithfully. Admiring her reflected light from the rock, soil, scant foliage and tiny seas that occupy the surface of the planet. Of course, she has no knowledge of the nature of the said rock, soil, etc. She comprehends only her penetrating light, and all else’s penetrating darkness, broken only by this one colorful orb which forever turns… turns… turns… Naught else exists anywhere, to the knowledge of this star. She and her satellite. Alone.

It is a small planet, as far as planets inhabiting life are concerned, with a light gravitational pull. The planet has no moon, no asteroid, not even space debris within its gravitational pull. There are no passing meteors, comets, no luminescent atmospheric gasses from which to light up the night sky. It is a world of utter dual nature. The day, burning brightly – although less so from past eons as the star ages – where vision reveals a spectacular rugged and diverse topography; and the night, with its absolute blackness, absolute silence. It is here that our journey ends, and our story begins.

It has the usual polar ice caps, surrounded by small seas. Seas which run far, far into the depths of the planet’s core. Land covers most of the planet’s surface. A broken surface it is, still scarred from the scorching heat of eons past. Much of the land is still barren and dry, red and baked and nearly devoid of moisture, frequented by enormous sandstorms that would quickly strangulate or bury anything unevolved to weather it. Towards the seas are collars of taiga, appearing more hospitable with foliage and the occasional smaller body of water, yet hospitable it is not. Once the sun had waned into relative coolness, many billion millennia ago, animal and plant life had been able to thrive and multiply. The great irony is that life in all its forms requires the termination of other life to survive, and the species on this planet, by and large, have long been quite adept at this process.

The relatively few species of animal life that inhabit these wildernesses include no vision-oriented nocturnals, for what is there to see in the complete dark? These blind species, awake and hungry at night quietly feel, smell, or attract to heat, hoping to taste a sleeping and vulnerable creature of the day. Occasionally, the night silence is momentarily broken by a surprised cry in the distance of some poor creature, unlucky enough to be awoken by invisible grabbing limbs and teeth to which it has suddenly become prey.

Chapter One

The sun bakes hot over the cracked and red earth, not a stitch of foliage to be seen within miles in any direction. The only sounds to be heard are the constantly blowing winds – which here grunts on occasion as it passes just so through a wind-carved tunnel, the airborne sands as they eternally slice their way through the blasted mountainside, and the nearly indiscernible click-clicking of two territorial exoskeletal tripods as they engage in mortal combat over this particular patch of rusted ground.

Four kilograms apiece (approximately), body camouflage to blend in with the stones on the ground, three equilaterally spaced legs supporting a misshapen oblong torso, two very strong grasping limbs flanking a 12 centimeter pointed projection in the front center, eyelets and olfactory organs located on thin wispy stalks arising from the center hump of the torso, defecation through a centered portal below where the legs conjoin, hearing via thin vibrating membranes spaced between heavy armored plates bilaterally behind the grasping arms, No vocal anatomy whatsoever, as yet undetermined mode of feeding and breeding.

So thought the robot sitting complacently on a boulder, passively viewing the battle from above while recording the intricate biological specificities of species F09972ts3. The robot sighed. His attention wavered for a picosecond, then returned again to the task at hand. One tripod succeeded in turning the other onto its back, and wasted no time in driving its sharp spike in through the other’s anatomical equivalent of an anus, producing a juicy crunch and much limb-thrashing from the hapless victim as it died in anguish.

The robot stretched his neck gears, gazing up into the maroon sky and gauged another three hours of sunlight remaining before the violent sandstorms of night would pick up. Of course the robot was manufactured to withstand virtually any sort of environmental insult, but sandstorms made him itchy, and cleaning up afterwards was always a bugger, so he really would prefer to get back to the protected forestlands to the north and avoid the sandstorms altogether. Now if only the triumphant F09972ts3 male would hurry up and have some victory sex with one of the several F09972ts3 females concealed in the rocks off to the side then get the munchies and eat something, he wouldn’t have to return to this horribly uncomfortable part of the planet for another 300 years or so, and then only to make a quick population tally on the rest of the species in this region. Once the losing male had stilled, the females slowly made their way out of concealment, seemingly unsure of themselves. The male preformed his usual mating oblations, which momentarily raised the robot’s hopes, but the females suddenly became indifferent, unimpressed with his display. For another hour and a half, the robot sat there, the male tripod becoming ever more animated in his ritual, and the females, in all appearances to be sleeping from boredom.

A thought occurred to the robot. Perhaps mating and feeding occurs only at night for species F09972ts3. An upsetting idea, which would require him to remain through the grueling night, and he almost decided to do so. Screw it! He thought. Not tonight. Just not in the mood to chew on sand all night long.

Momentarily upsetting the mating ritual below as he arose from his boulder, the females scurrying off around the corner while the male switched immediately to his defensive stance, the robot trotted away to the north, traversing the 143 kilometers to arrive at the borders of the forest just as the sun was making its final descent towards the horizon. The robot paused at the border of the woods, gazing southeast at the spectacular sunset, filling the sky with brilliant reds oranges and greens, reflecting off the clouds and gasses of the atmosphere. Sunset was always a favorite, ever since his first night on the planet 9,792 homeyears ago.

The colors eventually faded to pastels, then further to the typical complete darkness. The robot switched to infrared vision and entered the forest to abide the night recording migration patterns of a group of co-dependent nocturnal species, a colony of tiny insect-like septopods categorized as K65663ap2, and the single giant lump of slowly rolling baby fungoid B10273ar2. The fungoid naturally supplies nutrients to the colony, while the colony (also fiercely territorial) supplies protection to the vulnerable infantile fungoid. This is one of the few examples of symbiotic coexistence on the planet. Symbiotic to a point, that is. Once the baby B10273ar2 reaches adolescence, it will suddenly sprout any number of legs (depending on genetic strain) and a particularly large set of what suffices just fine for teeth, and consume as much of the colony as it can catch. Its growth rate achieves maximum once it attains sexual maturity, and the adult will continue to grow until its mass can no longer be sustained by the prey it encounters, oftentimes weighing in at an excess of 250 kilograms. Once this maximum mass has been achieved, it will soon disintegrate into thousands of tiny spore balls, and the life cycle will repeat.

The robot finds much more pleasure in this environment categorizing these species than he does in the desert. When he first arrived all shiny and new, still glowing fiery red from entering the atmosphere, he was a fully disciplined and highly ambitious robot, beginning with a complete omnisurvey of the oceans, as per programming, not ceasing or slowing until it was complete. But as the centuries passed, and the robot’s millions of programs became better acquainted with each other, subroutines were written which eventually led to a less than ideal work ethic. The first day he decided to take off of work was only about 2000 Homeyears into the project, soon after the ocean omnisurvey was complete, and right after a particularly nasty run-in with a flying O19549gh6 which he was not allowed (as per programming) to harm, lest he upset the natural ecology of the planet. After the O19549gh6 had her way with him, the robot took the day off to pout. And upon reflecting upon that day several thousand years later, he decided that to commemorate each 100^th anniversary of his arrival on planet Furthest, he would take the day off and reboot. Not that rebooting was necessary of course, just refreshing. He has done so ever since.

The night passes uneventfully, and at daybreak the fungoid changes to its stationary jelly-like form while the tetrapods burrow into the ground to abide the day. Slowly, the near silence of night is invaded by the waking sounds of day creatures, relieved to have survived yet another hazardous night’s rest. Surprising, really, that the robot passed the night unmolested – a rare occasion, with all the nocturnal predatory species that abound in the forests. Each have had their turn with him, and each have been sadly disappointed in his lack of edibility; whereas meanwhiles the robot has had great ease in categorizing each of them.

The robot sighs, stretches his gears, then turns south to return to the desert.

Chapter 2

Two hundred and fifty homeyears later, the robot finds himself along the seashore.

His longitudinal studies concerning the colonial growth rate of a peculiar species of microscopic shore-dwelling tubeworms (sp. D39937fe6) is due for an update, so he find himself meticulously measuring and weighing lumps of porous, angular boulders, scanning for population density in each. Several hypotheses regarding the cause of mass dead zones within each boulder are being tested, weighed, and revised, concurrently with a full genetic spectral analysis to compare genome expression rates as compared to their ancestors of over a millennia ago.

Really quite fascinating stuff, thinks the robot to himself.

So fascinating in fact, that he almost doesn’t bother to investigate the sudden lapping sound from behind as some ocean critter creates a stir in the morning tide, disrupting the rhythmic sound of the waves.

Almost.

Still, he casually turned his robotic head to the left and glanced over his shoulder to the beach and saw something that gave him something that could only be described as a shock. Robots aren’t normally subjected to emotions such as surprise, dismay, or even dread, yet what he saw crawling out of the ocean at this time caused all of these to be felt simultaneously. Experiencing these emotions for the first time only served to compound his shock, increasing his unease.

What he saw and thought was this:

Previously uncategorized species(!), oceanic/terranean, exothermic, endoskeletal, tripod(?), soft fleshy forequarters with no fur covering or protection, abdominal transition into ichthyoidal scaly hindquarters ending in a single appendage of fins. Upper appendages composed of classic hominid joints and digits complete with opposable thumbs (signifying heightened intelligence), large fur-covered cranium with large forward-facing eyes (signifying predatorial nature), torso containing centered umbilicus (signifying mammalian species) and twin mammary glands (signifying female). Altogether streamlined and muscular, well adapted for speedy travel through water. Categorization under existing system of classification inoperable due to gross hybridization of conflicting icthyoid and mammalian classes of life. New species categorized as EV3005ae1.

For milliseconds, the robots marveled at this new discovery. He marveled at the impossible (or highly improbable) nature of the genetic combinations required for such a creature to come about. For milliseconds, he calculated the most closely related species from the database of his oceanic omnisurvey, completed not even 8000 homeyears ago, then calculated the time required for genetic recombination to produce a species such as this from that ancestor. For milliseconds he recalculated, confirming the fact that over 8 million homeyears would have been required at the bare minimum to produce this type of life form from the species then present. A million different hypotheses formed at once, or at least within milliseconds, as to how this hybrid species could be right here, right now, baffling all his robotic genius. Foremost on his list was the one which calculated that, given the correct odds (roughly one in a trillion) in his systematic omnisurvey encompassing the span of 2000 homeyears, the random motions of this species’ ancestors never happened to cross his path.

All this while species EV3005ae1 flopped and frolicked in the waves, blissfully unaware of the scrutiny.

The creature jerked suddenly in response to a sharp smack as the rock the robot was studying fell out of his grasp. The robot froze in place, his proverbial robot heart leaping to his throat at the thought that this miraculous find could be scared away too soon to be studied. After a moment of looking about, she resumed tormenting a hapless G45217ts3 in her hands, tossing it to and fro, washing it in the water where it could breath and deeply inflate with fluids, only to draw it out again and squeeze it tightly in her fists, spewing jets of water out all three ends. After each cycle followed a gale of actual laughter! The robot knew what laughter was of course, though only in theory, having been supplied with a basic database of information regarding Homeplanet (he however had never been there, having been fabricated in space on route to Furthest). It was a noise unlike anything that had ever been recorded by his robot ears, and it incited another curious response from his subroutines that he could not define, nor process at the moment due to his servers being completely engaged in studying every detail of her behavior. The G45217ts3 scrambled in a vain attempt to flee, its suckerpods writhing to grip anything to lever itself away, all the while its soft transparent body turning rapidly in all colors of the spectrum – an instinctive defense mechanism advertising a non-possessed internal poison. The laughter stopped as the EV hybrid turned onto her front, propped up on her elbows in the surf, almost affectionately stroking her captive’s underbelly with the fingernails of one hand. Then after a short pause, suddenly sunk her teeth in deeply, taking off an entire limb in one bite. Some rainbow fluids squirted across her face and down her front, staining some portion of her hair and flesh, temporarily making it appear that she herself was changing colors. She chewed noisily, watching almost passively as the gastropod writhed agonizingly in her hands.

Fascinating, thought the robot.

Murphy moves on to greener pastures

If anyone wonders why it took a whole year for another Murphy chapter to be written, well, there are no excuses, only reasons. The reasons are multifarious. First of all, I was going through a difficult and exhausting segment of my educational career which taxed me to the point of rampant apathy. Nextly, my writing efforts, slimmed as they were, were split between revamping the entire Murphy line and in beginning another story called Robots and Mermaids. Now that I have the room to breath again, and due to the encouragement of one of my readers, I will continue efforts, hopefully exclusively, on the Murphy project. As such, I felt the need to start over with the blog postings because of the major storyline overhaul. I will not continue posting Murphy chapters here, but will post them on the brand new, shiny blog dedicated solely to the persuit of Murphy, located here:

http://deathtomurphy.blogspot.com/

Enjoy!

Death To Murphy: Meet Rufus

20,000,000,000,003 light years away from Yelm, a bloody space battle commences between Rufus the Hyperdimentional Space Bogey and Diabolicon with his Army of the Infinite Mass. A single battle within a war waged eons ago in the garbantuous Quadhelix Cluster when Diabolicon and his sultry 2/3 she-wench usurped the throne-world of Amadorcia from the then-infant-heir Two Sticks the Meek. Ever the Forces of Darkness press forward, their hunger for domination without bounds. Ever the Force of Light repels, a solitary hand redirecting the mighty river whose sole purpose is to destroy. Everything.

Rufus taunts his foe thus: “You, Diabolicon, and your minions are like a festering flesh wound, filled with bacteria, archaea, paramecium, and other such protozoa.”

“You’ll pay for that, Rufus! How dare you affront the Ruler of the Universe! I’ll crush you like the insignificant insect that you are!” Diabolicon offers his rebuttal with charisma.

“HA! Fool! You forget that I, Rufus the Hyperdimentional Space Bogey have been endowed from On High by the Angel Silesius with the power to Do Anything! I challenge you to make your feeble attempt. Scratch me if you dare, O pitiful one!”

“We’ll see who’s the fool after my Army of the Infinite Mass has had their way with you! You can never beat Infinity! You are destined to fight it for all Eternity! Some day you will tire, be it a million eons in the future! Are you prepared to spend Eternity locked in a bloody stalemate face to face with Me? Face it, Rufus – you will never extinguish my Darkness with your insignificant light. The Darkness is Infinite! BWA HA HA HA HA HAAAAAAAA!!! BWA HA HA HA HAAAAAAAA!!! BWA HA HA HA HA HA HAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!”

Stu and I cautiously approach the homeless beggar sitting in a corner in the back alley, role-playing to himself and a collection of pigeons who have gathered ‘round to snack on the insects in his hair and to defecate on his shoulders and knees. Our curiosity got the best of us while on-route to Two Mugs for our Evening cup ‘o Joe, hearing him ranting from all the way out on the main thoroughfare.

“What ho? Is this another of your feeble attempts at trapping me in your pathetically outdated Giga-Gravity Wells?” The man speaks, suddenly cocking his head to one side, “You forget that last time I simply conjured an Antigravity Kalidotron to nullify them, what makes you think you could possibly succeed this time?” At this point he changes voices again, “Because I have reenforced my Giga-Gravity Wells with Infinity Vortex Spray!!! Now my Giga-Gravity wells will gravitate Infinitely!! What have you to say to THAT?” He switches again, “NOOOOOOOOO!!! – Can I help you gentlemen?” He asks, suddenly sitting more upright and looking in our general direction, just not quite eye-to-eye.

Stu replies a little uncertainly, while I stifle some laughter, attempting to not be judgmental. Fail. “No, we were just coming to see what was going on back here. It sounded a little exciting, to be honest.”

“Darn straight its excitement!” He says, leaping nimbly to his feet, spraying pigeons every direction, then pacing briskly to and fro continues, “Diabolicon has got me temporarily trapped in an Infinity Vortex Spray-enhanced Giga-Gravity Well! Those are not any simple matter to get out of! Sticky business – sticky business I say!” He freezes mid stride gazing down at my right elbow as if it holds some great wonder to behold.

An awkward moment passes.

“…So,” I venture, self-consciously rubbing my elbow with my left hand, “How are you going to escape the infinity giga-vortex then?”

He snaps awake and looks me square in the eye, “What in the High Holustreum is an ‘infinity giga-vortex’?” Spoken with a hint of anger, “No one has ever heard of an ‘infinity giga-vortex’ before! Those things just don’t exist! You are not making any sense, little man!”

“Easy there poppy!” Stu intervenes, “He just meant… whatever it was that you said.”

“I don’t recall speaking anything to either of you. What do you want? You want to torment what you perceive to be a weak old man? Think again, Foul Persecutors. Your monkey minds are far to inferior to even come close to comprehending my true nature, so I will spare your feelings and not try attempting any attempt to attempt an attempt.”

Another awkward moment passes.

Stu begins, “…Attempt to… explain?-”

“Explain, I can do. The demonstration you could not tolerate within your current physiology. The sheer awesomeness of my true nature would melt you to pieces.” He finishes smugly.

“In that case, please do not demonstrate.” Stu implores solemnly. “But an explanation would be magnificent!”

“A wise choice, my friend.” He claps Stu on the shoulder and meanders with him toward the main street. “To begin explaining, I must first describe back when I was in Indonesia searching for an ancient relic of unfathomable value – a twenty foot pile of poop made out of solid gold locally fabled to have been defecated by the great Buddha himself-”

I lose control of my nostrils, snorting loudly and uncontrollably.

He regards me momentarily; “Heed not this inferior waste of O₂ saturation,” He says, waving me off, “His inferior taunts and obvious lack of reasoning ability do nothing to soil my mood. I have endured much worse exchanging might with Diabolicon and his Quest for Omniconsumption.”

“Diabilicon and his army of the infinite mass, right?” Stu proffers.

“Close. Diabolicon and his Army of the Infinite Mass. See the difference?”

“Ah.”

“You have promise, young one. I see the Spark of Gheladrenschia in you!” He speaks with a sparkle in his eye.

“…Thank. You.” Stu replies, uncertainly.

“Rufus, you may call me.” He shakes Stu’s hand, having completely tuned me out. “And I… am a Hyperdimentional Space Bogey.” He says as if revealing a mighty truth.

Awkward.

“…Tasked with defending the entire Universe from falling into the clutches of Diabolicon – ”

“-And the Army of Infinite Mass. Yes. We heard.” Stu finishes.

“…Endowed from On High by the Angel Silesius with the power to Do Anything.” He says, veering off back towards the back alley once more. Then more to himself, “I challenge you to make your feeble attempt. Scratch me if you dare, O pitiful one! We’ll see who’s the fool!...” And on and on until he sits back down as he was before. The pigeons reconvene, and we depart, speechless.

Death to Murphy - Chapter Twelve: Oog.

Blackness.

The lack of existence. Nothing.

The passage of time. Minutes, hours, months, centuries – all one and the same. With the lack of existence comes a lack of perception. A void.

More blackness. Deep and penetrating.

A century passes. Perhaps a minute.

Semi-blackness. Darkness is divided from the deeper darkness. And the darkness suddenly seems brilliantly blinding. Existence slowly returns in fragments. A fluctuating haziness, like a glimpse of the moon on a cloudy day from 50 feet below the surface of the water. The moon?

Something is wrong. Fluids maybe. Noises some – a ringing from the other end of a tube a thousand miles long. Indistinguishable.

Pressure. In some places sharper than others. What’s this? Pain? What is pain again? Oops, nothing important. The darkness returns.

Void.

Blackness.

Eternity. . .

Pain.

Lots of pain.

Searing, gripping, crippling pain.

An ocean of pain, unlocalizeable because it is all that exists.

I am pain.

I open my eyes, my ears are ringing. So loudly that it seems I can’t hear anything else in the world. I try to focus on anything, orient myself to the world. Everything is out of focus, and all full of pain, dust, and debris. Unable to tell up from forwards, I reach clumsily for anything to hold onto in any direction, passing hands across sharp and fragmented somethings, hard and chunky somethings, wet and squishy somethings, and finally a long, firm metal something that I can wrap my hand around.

Good. Firm. Focus on the firm.

So much pain!

The world comes closer into focus. I discover up at last, and can then look around for the rest of my body. My legs. Where are my legs?

There they are. They look like they’re still connected to the rest of me. Good! The left one is numb, but it’s under some heavy debris and lying kind of funky on the ground. We’ll address that in a minute.

The sound of a woman softly grunting in effort comes suddenly and so much louder than the ringing in the otherwise complete silence that I flinch from surprise. Craning my neck back, I can make out a fuzzy version of Kate trying to lift a chunk of paneling off her reddened head a mere two feet away from myself. Despite the lack of clear vision, I can see multiple gashes, bruises, and sharp fragments jutting out from her exposed forearm. Returning my gaze to my own self, I can see the same decorating my flesh. I take a deep breath, then sharply pull out a 4-inch sliver of wood buried in the back of my hand. The heat and moisture of the ensuing blood comes as a unique variety to my buffet of sensations.

Slowly, meticulously, I disencumber myself from the assorted fragments of wood, stone, glass, and human body parts in which I am partially entombed. Panic and dismay will have to wait, I’m afraid, in light of the task at hand. Focus on the task.

A few sobs from Kate as she, too, tries to free herself.

I try to utter comforting, encouraging words, but only a dry rasp and a cough escapes my throat.

“Oh my god!” she cries, weakly.

“It’s okay,” I finally manage with sandpapery voice, “We’re doing alright.”

“Seamus?” She calls on the verge of hysteria.

“Kate, I’m right here,” I reach up and touch her fingers. “Don’t panic. We’ll be alright. I’m right here with you.” I speak encouragingly, my voice returning, at least for the most part.

“What happened, Seamus?”

“Hold on, let’s get ourselves unburied for now, okay? Let’s just focus on that for now, okay?”

“I can’t – !” Kate sobs. “I can’t move my arm.”

“I’ll be right there. I promise. Just hold on a minute, Kate.” Double-time, I inch my body out from under the mounds of debris, being careful around the multifarious sharp and jagged metal elements of the once-restaurant’s framework. Not much I can do about avoiding the fine glass shards spread evenly across everything. Those will just have to be pulled out from my elbows later.

“Seamus!”

“Kate, I’m almost out. I’m coming. Hold on!” Triple-time. Ouch ouch ouch!

I finally get free, and decrepitly lift myself into a semi erect stance. Not too sure if I want to be putting any weight on my left leg until the numbness wears off. I can’t tell if it’s broken, or what. Using building materials to support myself, I reach over to Kate and gently caress the side of her face.

“I’m here.” I speak in my most soothing voice possible as she gently sobs into my palm. “I’ll get you out now. Don’t worry.”

Delicately, I remove item after item, uncovering her body. She looks mostly sound, having assumed a protective fetal position on the ground. Her right forearm was pinned just past the elbow under a ceiling beam, and is slightly swollen and purple to the fingertips. Doesn’t look broken, but the circulation was jeopardized for a while. No major bleeding or broken bones anywhere, it seems.

I raise her into a sitting position as I squat down behind her, massaging her arm to help restore the blood flow. Her color starts to return.

“What’s that? Is that a foot?” Hysteria returning to her voice.

“Don’t look at that! Don’t look at that! Keep your eyes closed and just pay attention to my breathing. I got you!” I pull her in closer to my chest. She turns halfway around and buries her face in my shoulder, silently crying with sharp breaths in and out. Who can say how long we sat there in each other’s arms, surrounded by carnage and debris, listening as some distant car radio plays Dead Things by Philip Glass? I tenderly run my fingers through her hair, and, catching on the places where her locks are matted with dried blood, abandon that method for slowly rubbing the small of her back in tiny circles. Kate’s violent sobs after a time yield to low tremors, and after a time again evolve into intermediate sudden gasps as she calms herself. Now she sits completely still, leaning against my chest with the back of her head across my shoulder, gazing upward.

The wind gusts by.

Within my mind, during my moment’s repose, half of me ponders the gravity of our situation, and speculates about the next crucial steps in rectification. The other half is consumed by the task of databasing every sensation – tactile, aural, visual – associated with my proximity to this enchanting woman. Such a strangely sweet, metallic scent, that of her blood, mixed with dust and her natural musk. They say that scents evoke the most vivid of memories, these two brain functions having a very special neuronal link. That being the case, I have high cause to become a masochist that I might relive this moment time and again.

“It’s so beautiful.” She says suddenly.

“What’s that?”

“The stars. So clean and brightly shining tonight.”

I look up and discover that the majority of the roof is blown out, and the stars are indeed spectacular.

“What happened to us?” She asks again.

I take a moment to consider my response.

“We got blowed up. What does it look like?”

She laughs. The kind of laugh that could easily double as a cry. “Maybe some of the finer details, please?”

“As you wish. Right after you went narcoleptic, a bunch of zombies came out of nowhere and assaulted the restaurant. We had this place pretty much buttoned down and secure until somebody had to show up with a rocket launcher and then. . .”

“. . .We got blowed up.” She finishes.

“Yeah.”

She takes a moment to consider her response.

“Huh.” She says thoughtfully. Head cocked to one side.

“Yeah.” I agree.

“’Zombies.’” She quotes.

“Yeah.”

“Huh.” She repeats, more thoughtfully this time. She turns around to face me suddenly. “You know, I haven’t gotten to know you well enough to know how to take your humor at times like this, but-”

“C’mon Kate!” I interrupt, raising my hands defensively, “I don’t know if they were ‘Zombie’-zombies, but that’s the best definition I have for the time being. It was just a bunch of decomposing lunatics who were hell-bent on killing everyone in sight and. . .” I trail off.

“What?” She prompts.

“. . . Chewing. . . on everyone in sight as well.”

She considers.

“So zombies, then.” She confirms.

“Yeah.”

“You’re not just messing with me, are you?”

“No. I wish I were.”

“Why would you fabricate something so outrageously unbelievable?”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Huh.”

Another moment passes.

“I’m inclined to believe you,” she says, “but only because-” A sudden thought comes to her mind as her eyes widen. “Meg! Stu!”

“Blast! You’re right! I didn’t think about them.”

She hobbles to her feet, and I follow in like manner. It would seem that my left leg is indeed sound, having come back to life. Ankle’s a little tender to walk on, however.

We begin frantically scanning the rubble, and Kate soon jumps back, gasping and crying out, “Is that a foot?!”

“You already saw that!” I return. “It’s not him. Stu would never wear Reeboks.”

She wildly looks around in a full 360 degrees. “My GOD this place is filled with dead people!” She practically screams, gripping her hair in fists.

“SHH! Calm down! We don’t know if we’re safe here!” I help her walk to the side of the building and sit down. “If you like, you just sit here and I’ll look.”

She starts stammering about something, honestly I don’t know what, because for one thing it was mostly incomprehensible, and for another I was truly concerned about Stu and Meg. They were right next to us as the rocket detonated, so they should most likely be right here somewhere. Not seeing them. Or any trace.

“. . .Man I am horrible at this disaster crap!” I hear her say as I turn over a wall panel.

A moment of silence.

“Do you see them?” She asks, all calmed down once more.

“No.” I reply. “I think they were alright – well, one of them at least – they’ve left though.” A sudden thought occurs to me, “Wait a minute! How did you know they were back here Kate?” I ask, suddenly. “They didn’t return until after you had passed out.”

She pauses, and with a snide expression relates, “I seem to remember a certain close encounter involving a stolen kiss.” Finished with a cute smug grin.

“Uh, I didn’t think you would have remembered that,” I reply bashfully as my face slightly flushes, “with the blast and us blacking out right afterwards, I thought you would have forgotten.” Gee, that’s a big tear in the side of my shoe!

“Well, I can’t say as that it was the best kiss I’ve ever had, but it was definitely the most memorable.” She smacks her lips, “Yeah, no forgetting that puppy! Anyways, why do you think they left?”

I turn the panel around so she can see. There written sloppily in big dried bloody letters was the message:

GONE S&M

“Like Metallica.” She says.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.” She dismisses her comment, “Yeah, you’re right. They must have made it through the blast as well somehow. Somebody’s bleeding pretty heavy, though.”

“Yeah, I’m guessing they would have tried for the nearest major hospital, with that much bleeding.” I speculate, dropping the panel and picking my way to the exterior of the building.

“That would be Mercer Central, then.” She indicates to the northwest. Then follows along suit with me. “You gonna make it on that ankle? It’s about two and a half mile walk from here, assuming no more of your ‘zombies’ come and play.”

I take a moment and scan the blackened city streets one direction at a time. No movement besides what the gentle evening breeze creates to be seen anywhere. Now I truly get perspective on the scope of this thing that happened. To the north, heading up 27^th avenue, blown-out glass from the lowest two to three stories and window-shop contents decorate the city streets, with an occasional human-like lump lying crumpled any which way either in the middle of the road, under abandoned vehicles, or in one instance, hanging from a low-lying tree branch by a wedged foot, with rotund abdomen exposed and eviscerated. To the east, on Laurel road, an upturned armored S.W.A.T. vehicle lies with rear bay doors wide open, surrounded by makeshift barricades of park benches, tree planters, and postal boxes. To the south, a trail of debris leads in the direction of a fire distantly burning, billowing black smoke so thick it occasionally winks out of sight. To the west lies the parking garage across a decent-sized decorator lawn, completely obscured by indiscriminate blackness, except for one flickering light on the second floor. And centered below that flickering light on the second floor was a man.

Staring at us.

Death to Murphy - Chapter Eleven: March of the Mindless

I stand paralyzed in grotesque horror as the mushed human face slowly slides down the windowpane, it’s look piercing strait into my soul with the one glaring eye – as if I was to blame – to finally settle into the decorator ferns and disappear, leaving only a long bloody smear for a trail. The cacophony that breaks out within the diner is quickly matched by the sounds of anarchy breaking in the diner from without. Car alarms, women screaming, men screaming, the like. And now gunfire. Everyone in the diner ducks for cover, and whatever few children there are within the room start to cry. Like good citizens, most everyone pulls out their cell phones and simultaneously dial 911. I brace myself behind the edge of our table, peeking over the edge to observe the goings-on outside. Suddenly I notice Kate still slumped across the table, out cold. I shake her a few more times, trying to rouse her, calling her name, then with one hand pull her torso and head off the table top to at least get her vitals out of the direct line of fire. She falls limply off the chair and sprawls on the floor with a dull splat, I only distractedly try to slow her in her fall, for I am transfixed with what I can see through the red-streaked glass.

A group of adolescents, abandoning backpacks and purses, running in open panic. One falls, unheeded by the others, and is quickly pounced upon by a dark, mangled shape. A lot of elaborate grabbing and tearing motions, with the pinned victim vainly attempting to ward off the attack with raised hands and legs. Much screaming and thrashing. An armed police officer rushes in with sidearm drawn, shouts a few unheeded words, and opens fire on the assailant, only to be struck from behind by two more misshapen silhouettes, one of which fastens onto his jugular with its surprisingly white teeth while the other one hangs onto his firing arm, and he quickly goes down. Even further in the background, mostly obscured by the mayhem, a long, unbroken line of ragged bodies slowly advances, pushing the crowds unfortunate enough to be out and about today in our general direction. People mangling and being mangled in every visible direction. The rising sound of sirens from all sides announce the gravity and reality of whatever this is that is happening.

A screaming Meg slams against the glass door, scrambles to pull it open, and rushes in, followed closely by Stu, who dives headlong in between the closing doors. Immediately, Meg throws herself back against the doors, using her weight to pin them shut.

“Stu! What’s going on?” I shout above the multitude of shouting. Stu jumps up from the ground and grabs a heavy barstool.

“I can only assume we’re being invaded!” He shouts while wedging the door with the stool, relieving Meg, who trembles with tears and sobs into Stu’s arms. With only that moment to refocus, they rush together to get more bracing.

“Invaded? By whom?” I demand incredulously, lending a hand.

“The Koreans?” Somebody shouts from behind the counter.

“The Russians?” From someone else.

“The Taliban?” From back in the kitchen.

An ancient, toothless veteran on oxygen tubes gruffly shouts from his wheelchair, “Is it the Germans?”

Stu pauses and gives the old man a double-take, then turns back to me with uncertainty written all over his face, “It . . . it’s . . .”

“What? What is it? Who is it?” I demand, shaking him with fists clenched into his shirt shoulders. The veteran mutters coarse curses at the Germans.

“It’s regular people.” Stu says quietly, “Americans. They all look like they’ve been . . . decomposing . . . kind of like they’re . . .” he pauses with a bewildered expression.

“Kind of like what?” I press, levelly.

“Zombies.” He whispers. Looking out through the window.

I couldn’t help it. I guffawed. And loudly.

“Sorry,” I recompose myself, “What do you mean, ‘zombies’?”

Stu spreads his arms wide, shaking off my death grip on his polo shirt and shouts, pacing to and fro, “That’s just what they look like! Every Hollywood depiction of Zombies! Appearance and behavior! Look, you’re the one who asked, and that’s my answer. How about you go out there and find out for yourself?” Pointing to the window.

“How about not?” I replied dryly, piling another chair against the door.

Meg, still shaken and trembling from a healthy dose of adrenalin, looses her footing and curls up on the floor in a corner. Stu immediately crouches down and wraps his arms around her protectively. She looks up to the door with traumatized eyes, tries to speak with nothing but air escaping her throat. A few gasps later she finally manages, “They were eating people,” with a wobbly voice. It was all she could say. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end.

“Oh, well then. Zombies it is.” I reply, quietly.

Instantly, a large weight is thrown against the front door, shaking the wedged stools and chairs violently. We all look up, startled, to see another seeping and scabby human face devoid of any human thought processes gaping at us through the glass with mangled and broken teeth. Again it slams against the doors, trying to get in. Simultaneously, Stu, myself, and at least three other stocky gentlemen from the diner throw our weight against the stack to support it. Four more beat, burned, and/or bruised apparitions join in with the first laying siege to our fortress gate. Two others stumble around the corner and begin to mindlessly throw themselves against the windowpanes. Thick reinforced glass thank god!

“What about the back door?” Someone shouts.

“Good idea!” Someone else shouts and dashes out through the kitchen, followed by two others.

Meanwhile, the single-action gunfire from without has suddenly been joined by rapid burst fire. Anyone not able to assist with holding the doors has fled to the inner rooms of the restaurant. The crying children have been shushed for the most part, so the only remaining constant background noise to accompany the gunfire is the sound of messy chewing and gulping just outside, neatly framed with the rhythmic beating at the door and windows.

“This cannot be happening!” I insist.

THUMP.

“I agree,” agreed Stu, still catching his breath, “you’re right. There’s no way! What do we do?”

THUMP.

“Hold these doors closed no matter!”

THUMP.

“Right,” Stu laughs an empty laugh, “what else?”

THUMP.

“How many of them are there?” A rotund gentleman leaning back into the pile demands.

THUMP.

“A bazillion.” Stu returns flatly, “How should I know?”

THUMP.

“Listen you cocky piece of–!”

“What matters is that we keep our heads and not eat each other!” I shout at both of them, “At least, I for one don’t want to be eaten today, ask me next week.”

THUMP.

SCREAM!!

“That came from the kitchen!”

“What’s happening?”

More screaming as people flock back from the dining area in a panic. Someone shouted, “How did they get in?”

“Now what? Stu go see what you can do! We seem to be holding this for the moment.” I motioned to the kitchen door, “Meg, see if you can drag Kate back behind the – MEG!” She snaps out of despondency, “See if you can get Kate behind the bar and wake her up. We might have to make a run for it.”

“I got bad knees! I can’t run!” The large fellow contributed. Ignore.

THUMP.

A chord struck upon my soul. . . ever so faintly. . . a ping. . .

Some loud clangings and rustlings, thumpings and bone-snappings through the kitchen doors, men, women, and children still streaming back into the dining area and finding cover, one of whom, a lady in middle years with bloody gouges covering half her face and neck, down to a deeply torn blouse, is dragged trough the doorway by an older man. From the kitchen, I can hear Stu shout, “SOMEONE GET THAT BACK DOOR CLOSED, NOW!!” Without thought, I release my weight from the stack and dive over the bar counter, rolling through the doorway to the back. My peripheral vision can just make out a two-on-one, mastered by Stu against the pair of blood-whores he battles. I pause not to aid, or to even look aside, for within my view ahead is the wide open doorway, and through it at least a dozen more monstrosities rushing to best me to the entrance. As I rush forward, silence falls upon the world, and all is reduced to slow-motion as inch by inch I fly forward. Slowly, I pick up a cast-iron frying pan while passing a countertop and, with low pitched battle roar, spittle a-flying, hurl it with full might through the opening and into the face of the leading damnation, sending him sprawling backward with a half-crumpled face, colliding into a few of the others, and, with what little remaining force I possess, leap feet-forwards and kick the heavy steel door. The excess centrifugal force from the kick continues to spin me around to slam backwards into the door, wedging it closed tight around the forearm of the first of them that almost got through. A heavy thump at the instant of the closure says I may have debrained at the same time that I disarmed. The hand jutting out at a perfect square angle from the door twitches a few times, then stills.

A deep breath. A moment. The peripheral noises slowly return, including heavy pounding at the other side of the door at which I sit, and my reverie is broken. In an instant, I reach up to latch the deadbolt. I cry out as the hand reaches over to grab my arm. Incredible inhuman strength bears down on my wrist, crushing capillaries and wrenching muscles, forcing me away from the latch and down towards the ground as the pounding continues, nearly unwedging the door. Unable to free myself from the grip, I raise my foot and strike at the arm at the point it exits the door. Once. Twice. Three times before it finally snaps off at the origin and spins off into the roughly stacked cardboard boxes. Instantly I latch the door and scoot back to see if it will hold against the onslaught. Like a typical utility doorway, constructed of heavy steel reinforcement, frame and all, it would take a bazooka to blow through it.

Ping! . . .

Oh yes. . . Murphy is at large! Despite the foreboding, I am satisfied the door will hold without supervision, as that all the combined might on the opposite side cannot even make the door to visibly shake. One step in turning to return to the front, and I am buried in an ocean of pain originating from my left shin where leg in midair struck door edge with all-thundering force. A quick stoop afforded to ensure the bone was sound, and then a hastened gimp-hopping back to the front in rhythm with sharp gasps of breath.

Round the corner I limp just in time to see the final blow delivered to the cranial base of the second Raggedy Andy, who now lies lifeless in the center of the kitchen aisle. The first is partially stuffed headfirst through the waitresses’ ordering window, hanging limply. Stu raises from his judo-crouch, blood streaming from a gash in his head accompanied with generalized bruising. Cracked and bleeding lip.

“Not sure who looks worse, you of the zombies.” I kid.

“Don’t be a hater!” He wipes off his mouth onto his sleeve, breathing deeply, “You get the door bolted?”

A heavy concussion rocks the ground, rattling whatever dishes remain in the cabinets, spilling some.

I nod in reply to his question, “I sure hope that’s the Calvary!”

“No joke!” He agreed, “Let’s see how those lumps are holding up in the front.”

The door holds for the moment, despite the repetitive thumpings from without. The minions at the windows have been joined by several others, although they have given up their attempts against the glass, content now merely to glare at us living folk within the diner with gnarled, empty grins.

THUMP.

Someone from the crowd asks, “Any chance to get away out the back door?”

THUMP.

“No chance,” I respond, “We’re surrounded, but apparently secure for the moment. They’ll need something a lot bigger to get through to us.”

PIIIING!!

I slowly turn aside and lower my voice to speak so that only Stu can hear, “Brace yourself.”

“For what?” He mutters in return.

“I don’t know, but I think we’re about to…”

. . . Thump?

The sudden silence at the door is deafening.

So sudden, so silent that we all look in unison to the door.

A solitary grizzly figure approximately a hundred yards across the courtyard dragging behind him something heavy.

“That’s not a…” Stu ventures.

The figure crouches down onto one knee, lifting a large dull-colored metal tube.

“It couldn’t be a…” I speak, transfixed.

He raises the tube alongside his head, resting it on his right shoulder and braces it with his left arm.

“I think it is a…!” We both say in synchronism, alarmed.

Fire and smoke explodes from the back of the tube, propelling a projectile straight in line with the doorway.

“EVERYBODY DOWWWWWWWNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!” Stu and I dive for cover behind the bar counter, sheltering respectively Meg and Kate, who still sleeps soundly, lying on her back. In the instant that passes before impact, all my senses are suddenly heightened, and I am keenly aware of the few things that I can see, think, or hear.

I see the face of Kate, so blissfully sleeping with a goose egg on her forehead, where she limply struck the tabletop during her demonstration. See how she smiles! She is so beautiful lying there, innocent and oblivious to what has been happening for the last twenty minutes or so. Perfect skin stretched like a canvas across a perfect frame. Her head is craned limply back exposing her long graceful neck. I soak in the curves of her neck musculature flowing like a river around the island lump of her throat up to the sharp point of her chin. A thin golden necklace rides along the waves, hanging whithersoever it may as its owner lies helplessly in my arms.

I think about how practically total strangers we two are, yet here at the point of certain explosive fiery burning death and dismemberment, I am strangely content to share this final moment with this mysterious and fascinating creature. To see Stu and Meg beside us, how they embrace each other like longing lovers about to be torn apart by the Queen’s Guard, forever to be separated, and I think: how quick is man to bind and become bound one to another! What an emotionally dependent being is man! Add a vial of perilous circumstances with a measure of survivalism, and the bitterest of foes will become united forever against a common enemy. How much more then, can complete and total strangers become lifetime soul mates upon an instant with such a shared history?

Kate’s eyes flutter and dart, slowly opening to reveal her twain hazels, softly unfocused on the ceiling. Snapping into focus, to see my face down so near to hers, she at first looks surprised, then simply content. Slightly quizzical. Hearing the old veteran offer one final eloquent curse at the Germans, and not thinking of consequences at the moment, I pull Kate up the remaining few inches to my face and kiss her hard. She surprised, resists for a split second before the rocket detonates on the front door. With a deafening roar in my ears to match the one in my heart, the shattered glass shards fly and fall like killer snowflakes throughout the room, and Kate pulls me in violently against her body. All other noises drowned out by the blast, I can feel rather than hear her screaming into my lips as the blunt force of the explosion propels the heavier objects from the front of the room against the heavy wooden paneling of the bar behind which we lay. The last I see is a swift rushing of debris as it tears through the seams between the panels. The one directly protecting us suddenly breaks free, and instantly everything goes black.

Death to Murphy - Chapter Ten: Mighty Whack Attack

Law # 95: There’s a reason they’re called bombshells. . .

I was loitering in any random supermarket parking lot when my peripheral vision detected two objects moving steadily, intentionally in my direction. A casual head turn to the left revealed to me a pair of unfathomably magnificent females intent upon arriving at my location. As that I was accompanied only by Stu I assumed (by process of elimination) that they, or one of them, had business to conduct with one or the other of us. Perhaps both. The look on their faces was that of uncertain familiarity, such as the look you give when in a social setting, somebody cracks a hilarious joke that you yourself don’t quite get. A disconcerted smile, slightly downcast eyes to disbetray the unrest within. She who led approached, hesitated, then approached again, splitting the pair of jeweled salmon lips that grace the lower third of her face – a face that, if transformed into a ninja would have jujitsu-chopped its way straight into my heart to deliver instant gratifying death – and uttered the perfect question, “Do I know you?” Addressed to me.

Think quickly, man! “I think so!” Returned I. A sly wink aimed at Stu.

“Do you know Veronica?” With a build in her confidence and energy, along with a large man-slaying smile.

Veronica?? “Sure do!” I lied.

“You’re Matt, right? ‘The Fighter?’”

Sweet! “That’s me! You wanna see some moves?” I speak while assuming a mock-kickboxer stance, hopping back and forth facing her with clenched, raised fists. Stu snickers behind me.

She backs up a step, giggling, “No, that’s alright. Besides,” reaching into her purse, “I’m carrying some mace,” she warns while she and the she that accompanied her turned to each other with appreciative smiles.

“Well, I have this one move that can both disarm and seduce you in under five seconds.” I return smoothly. “I’d love to show it to you.” This given with an intent-filled laser eye and a grin.

“Maybe some other time.” Her diamond-studded voice sounding humorously inviting, while looking me up and down. “We’re going to Veronica’s party tonight, are you going to be there?”

At this point my eye starts twitching, and I loose my composure. Stu and I nearly roll with laughter and I explain her mistake. Surprisingly, she and her friend find it a marvelous joke as well – no hard feelings that are so typical of gorgeous women when they are taken advantage of in like manner.

“I think this means you each owe us a drink!” She proclaims, and her friend agrees.

“It’s a date then!” This eagerly from Stu, with a smile.

* * * * *

Over various and assorted cola beverages, we find ourselves in cheery, lighthearted conversation at a local sushi bar. The topics of conversation have ranged from the basic get-to-know-you questionnaires to the malicious nature of refrigerator fungus. Anyone within the restaurant can tell there is an abundance of chemistry titrating in out little corner.

She goes by Kate, but her real name is Catherine. She doesn’t like her full name because, said she, “It sounds too grandmotherly. Like the kind of grandmother who has her tea and crumpets served precisely at two in the afternoon with her entertainees in the east garden. . .” This voiced in an unnatural high voice with a faux-British accent. And we all laugh merrily.

“She hates being called Catherine!” Her friend Meg reemphasizes, “If you ever want to get her angry, just call her that.”

I can tell that Stu is majorly digging on Meg, and thank god for that! Leaves Kate all to myself. Hmmmm. . . maybe I should find out if there is a psychopathic ex out there somewhere.

“I’ll make sure to remember that one.” I say in return. “Ah! Those are mine.” I say to the Japanese waitress who asked who had the South Beach Rolls. She delves out the several plates to the proper owners, asks if there is anything else she can do, and departs.

“Mmmm, I love sushi!” Meg proclaims.

“Oh, me too!” Stu replies, but I know he lies, I can see it in his eyes. Well disguised. He’s trying his best not to breathe through his nose. However, I truly do love sushi, as long as it has cream cheese in it.

Stu looks at me from the corner of his eye, slyly, then back at Meg. I know that look. “So, if you could have any superpower in the world, what would it be?” I knew a question like this would come up sometime tonight from Stu. Clever execution, though.

Meg answers, “Oh, jeez. I guess I’d like to turn invisible ‘n stuff. I guess.” She shrugs her soulders and looks at Kate, then me, then back to Stu. “Or maybe fly. Yeah, I’d like to turn invisible and fly.” Giggle giggle.

“Well, what if you had to choose only one?”

“Oh . . . I guess then . . . I’d probably want to hear what people are thinking, then. You know, like, if some hot guy wanted to ask me out, but was too shy or afraid to ask me out, you know. Or thought, ‘Well, maybe because I just met her, it would be like acting too fast to ask her out already,’ and then I could go give some subtle hints to help him make the right decision to ask me out ‘n stuff. . .”

“Hey Meg, will you go out with me?” Stu asks quickly.

“I thought you’d never ask!” Meg replies with a huge smile.

“Let’s get out of here, then.” Stu suggests. “If three’s a crowd, then four’s a crime!” He asks their leave of us and they walks out arm in arm, talking and giggling together.

“Well, that was sick and revolting!” I say right before they are out of earshot, leaving the sushi bar. Stu shoots a quick look back at that, biting his clenched fist with a furrowed brow.

Kate laughs, “Yeah, I could tell she was majorly digging on your British friend there.” She says a moment later.

“So how about you?” I ask.

“How about me, what?”

“What superpower would you have?” Now I’m curious.

“Oh, I already have a superpower,” She replies smugly.

“Yeah? What is it?” I reply, surprised.

“Its really impressive.” She sits up straight in her chair, holding her hands out prophetically, and slowly proclaims, “I have the ability to fall asleep on demand!” She demonstrates by drawing both hands back, tucked together below her tilted head and pauses for a dramatic awed silence. She peeks through one squinty eye to see if the effect has landed.

“Really?” I react in faux-stunned amazement. “So how does that work?”

“I don’t know, its something I’ve always been able to do. I just decide to fall asleep, and whammo!” She slaps the tabletop, “Instant REM. Would you like a demonstration?” Excitedly now.

“I don’t know.” I reply, slowly, unsure, “Can you really do that here as well? I mean in public?”

“Anywhere, anytime.”

“Well, how will I know you’re really asleep? That’s an easy think to fake.”

“I don’t know, just derive your own way to make sure.”

“Like what? I’m not sure how I can decently ensure that you’re asleep or not. . . short of punching you, that is. Don’t really want to do that,” I speak thoughtfully, “Are you ticklish?”

“Horrendously!”

“Where?”

“The yoozh: Armpits, ribs, feet, etcetera. Go ahead, try.” She raises her arms, offering her armpits for experimentation.

I reach over the table with one hand and suddenly sumo-pinch her across the knee with the other concealed below the table. She yelps, nearly jumping out of her seat, banging the assaulted knee on the underside of the table, overturning her glass of diet coke, spilling my direction, of course.

“Aaaah, MURPHY!” I curse, leaping out of my seat before I’m soaked too thoroughly.

“Oh, I hate him!” Kate says laughing, rubbing her assaulted knee, “You weren’t supposed to go for the knee! Shame on you!”

“Well I had to catch you unawares.” I’m laughing as well, “This is awesome! At least I now have a way to prove it. I’m pretty sure you couldn’t have faked that reaction. Don’t worry about the slacks. It’ll wash out. Eventually.”

We spend a minute cleaning up the table and my seat with napkins. She sits down once again and asks, “Okay, are we ready for this?”

“Are you wanting to do it now?”

“Oh baby yeah! Better here in public where you can’t get away with anything lewd,” with a smile that forces me to think naughty, then lowers her voice and whispers, “We just met, after all.”

“Well, sure. That’s fair, I suppose,” I say, a little disconcertedly, “Alright, bring it on!” I beckon with my fingers.

“Here we go.” She breaths in deeply, ties back her hair into a pony tail, and places her palms on the tabletop at shoulder width. Perfect posture. Fabulous rack. She looks me square in the eye for a moment, those deep hazel eyes more green than brown, hypnotically drowning me in an endless void where nothing else exists but that cherubic face, perfectly heart-shaped and longingly looking into mine, enticingly, invitingly. I could gaze forever into that deep well – but what’s this? They’re now suddenly glassing over, lids drooping with a slack jaw. An instant later her head keels over and limply falls to the table with a piercing thump.

My mouth drops open, and all eyes in the room turn to look at our table.

A little flushed, I speak loudly so all can hear, “Sorry, uh, she’s a narcoleptic. She’ll be alright.” I pat her head reassuringly, and the eyes slowly return to their business. A few quick laughs from various surprised patrons.

“Uh, Kate?” I ask.

No response.

“Kaaate.” Tapping her head.

No response.

“Catherine?” I speak, flinchingly.

No response.

“Fine, let’s try this.” I reach over and squeeze her knees repeatedly.

No response.

“Hmmm. Not quite convinced.” I say to her aloud, just in case. Tipping her head over to the side, I inspect her eyes one at a time. Dilated and dancing in random patterns.

“Hmmm.” I sit back in my seat, contemplatively. The room falls silent for an instant.

THUD

From the very edge of my vision, I see a splatter of red cross the windowpane at the same instant as the sound. I jump out of the seat as my cerebral cortex perceives the hamburgered dead face that is mushed up against the glass immediately opposite mine. A single wide glaring eye looks dead at me. The women in the room begin to scream.

“HOLY ROQUEFORT!!” I shout, “Kate get up! Don’t look out the window!” The ground begins to shake as all hell breaks loose at once.

No response.