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From: Andrew Roller <roller39@IDT.NET>
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Subject: AMAZONIA part 1 of 2 (NND)
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
AMAZONIA
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter One
It was a soft summer night. School would be out soon. His pickup was
new and smelled new, and it made Susan more responsive. Her blonde hair
trailed down over her face and onto his shoulders. They kissed.
Crickets took up a new symphony in the long grass surrounding his pickup
to celebrate the arrival of his hand, for the first time, within her
tight jeans.
He felt the front of Susan’s panties. Strange, how there was nothing
there, except soft folds of flesh. Susan had sweet perfume. Her lips
worked harder against his.
Lifting his hand from within her jeans, he took hold of Susan’s head.
She breathed a remorseful sigh. Did she want him back between her
legs? Her lips seemed to beg for his return, but his mouth was pressed
so tightly to hers that she couldn’t get any words out.
His fingers infiltrated the long, honeyed strands of her hair. He felt
her ear, her jaw. He seized Susan by her neck.
Susan gave a shriek as he lifted her by her neck and slammed her head
into the windshield of his pickup. Her blood splattered brightly
against his new, leather-like dashboard. He pulled back his fist, still
gripping Susan by her neck, then slammed her head forward again.
The windshield cracked. It was safety glass and it splintered into a
tightly-glued pattern of see-through jigsaw puzzle pieces. He rammed
Susan’s blonde head into the jigsaw pattern. Again. Again. He broke
through into the hot summer night beyond the glass.
A white glare burst through the windshield. It was made of neon
bulbs. He held Susan’s lifeless neck in his hand, stared at the hole
he’d made in the windshield. Then he let go of Susan. She fell
unresponsively into the footwell of his truck’s cab, on the passenger
side. Her 14-year-old feet, clad in sneakers, remained draped over his
lap.
“My God, what have you done?” he heard from beyond the hole in his
windshield. It was kind of a half-scream, this question, and
instinctively he pushed himself up from the seat of his truck’s cab
toward it. He groped at the broken windshield in front of him with his
hands. He found he could bend it back where he’d made a hole in it. He
pushed at the glass.
He climbed out of the cab through the hole in the front of the
windshield. There was no dark summer night beyond the windshield, not
even the hood of his shiny new truck existed beyond it. Instead, he was
standing in a neon-lit laboratory. He stared at a white coated
technician.
“God, you’ve broken through,” the technician said to him.
“Are you... my father?” was all he could think to ask.
“Huh?” the technician replied. Then he gulped, once, and, seeming to
understand his question, answered, “No. I just work here.”
He looked at the technician. The man was thin. His cheeks were
gaunt. On his coat was sewn a name badge. It read: “Pope”.
“Who are you?” he blurted. He began to feel a rage inside him. It was
the same rage that had caused him to strike Susan’s head, so suddenly,
against the windshield of his new truck, even as they kissed and she’d
given him what he’d wished for from her for so long. Frantically he
glanced back at the hole in the windshield of his cab, saw just shadows
beyond, and wires, and some kind of a body, the person he’d once called
‘Susan’.
“You don’t know what you’ve done. You don’t know what it’s like. Out
there... you had a good life...” Pope said to him in a voice as frantic
as he himself was feeling. His head turned from the broken windshield
back to Pope. Strange, how the windshield was set into the wall of the
lab behind him, was part of the wall! And he was standing on a floor,
not on the hood of his new truck, as he should be. And there was no
grass, no crickets. Had there ever been grass? Was it night, or day?
Where was he? Who was he? A vision of a rat in a cage flitted through
his mind. The rat bore his head, and he lived in a cage. Pope stood
outside the cage, studying him.
And now he was free of the cage and could confront Pope directly. His
hand swept briefly over his backside. No, he didn’t have a tail. And,
seeing his reflection in the glass cover on a laboratory machine, he saw
he was human, just like Pope was. In fact, he was several inches taller
than Pope. And he was young, 15, with his Learner’s Permit in his
pocket, letting him drive, and he felt strong.
Pope was going gray. He had spindly fingers and a thin neck.
“Who am I?” he blurted at Pope. “And who are you, if you aren’t my
father?”
“I’m just... I just... they wanted to study a human in the wild. You
had a good life. Sure, it was a six foot by six foot Emulsion Cage, but
you didn’t have to ever know that. For you, it was Sedgeway, Iowa, and
you were scheduled to have a normal life, right through to old age.”
Pope seemed to choke on a sudden, ironic laugh. “I was working on your
old age pension plan this morning. You’d have gotten it in the mail in
13 years.”
He stared at Pope. The lab technician stared back. It was just the
two of them, in this brightly-lit laboratory room, with the broken
windshield set into the far wall. He still regarded the man as some
kind of father, despite the man’s denials.
“Thanks, I won’t be needing an age old pension plan,” he said,
angrily. He wanted to grab the man by the neck but he felt somehow that
the man was real, not like Susan, who wasn’t real, but only seemed
real. Real humans could tell tales, tales that died when they did. He
needed some tales right now. Any tales.
“Who am I? What’s my name... Pope?” he said furiously to the man.
“Huh?” Pope replied. The graying man seemed half-bewildered by having
to confront, face to face, the ‘rat’ he’d studied for so long. “No...
Pope is my name. Not yours,” Pope finally managed to say as they stared
at each other in the laboratory. “Yours is, well, ‘Cum-Andi’ is all it
really is. Cum... sperm from the subject named Andi... that’s all
you’re really known by. Plus a number.” Pope grinned. It was that
wry, ironic grin that had made him utter a choking laugh a minute ago.
“Do you want to know the number?” he asked.
“What’s the number?” Cum-Andi answered.
“2A-95596E-2320541-3000,” Pope grinned. It was a Stephen King kind of
grin, except Cum-Andi was beginning to wonder if there had ever been a
Stephen King. There had, after all, never been any Susan.
“What’s that, my goddamn phone number?” Cum-Andi growled.
“No, dear boy. It’s you,” Pope replied. “It’s your identifying number
and I suppose you’ll want to memorize it now, or not. The choice is
yours. All choices are yours now. You had a nice life but now you’re
here, aren’t you? And you can’t go home again. Because home was a six
foot by six foot box that you knew as Sedgeway, Iowa, in the great
United States of America at the end of the 20th century.”
Cum-Andi peered at Pope through a haze of rising anger. Who was this
little man, and why was he grinning now? Pope straightened his posture
and pressed his fingers to a Notebook-sized, computerized pad he was
holding in his hands.
“Forgive me but I must call security,” Pope said. “You’ve escaped from
your cage and we can’t have you running loose around the building. I’d
get in serious trouble. I could be killed...”
Cum-Andi grabbed Pope and smashed him head first into a glass covering
over a computer. Pope screamed. The computer sparked bits of firefly
lightning and its dials dimmed. Blood ran down the face of the
computer. Pope fell lifeless to the floor. His notebook fell
clattering between his legs.
Bending over, Cum-Andi picked up the notebook. The fall from Pope’s
hands had shattered its viewscreen. Yet Cum-Andi studied it, looked at
the lettering written across its top: “Renno Amazonia League, D.C.,”
the lettering spelled out, quite distinctly, “Do Not Remove from
Building”. Underneath that, in smaller lettering, was written a
rationale. The computerized notepad wouldn’t work outside the building
and, hence, there was no point in removing it from the building.
Cum-Andi dropped the notepad to the floor. It wasn’t working inside
the building, any more. Then a chill ran down his spine. Was he like
the notepad? Could he still ‘work’ if he himself left the building?
Dashing through a door, Cum-Andi felt a sense of desperation. Who was
he? Just a number? Just a rat in a cage? He left the brightly lit
laboratory only to find himself in an equally brightly lit hallway. He
wanted to jump up and smash the light overhead. He tried, couldn’t
quite touch it. Cum-Andi jumped again and still managed to fall just
short of it.
“Damn!” Cum-Andi swore. He dashed down the hall. He saw a door set in
the wall of the corridor. He grabbed the door’s knob and tore the door
open. He wanted to wrench the door off its hinges but found he
couldn’t.
Staring into the small dark room beyond, he felt a sudden flash of
fear. He’d opened a door on a closet. The cage. Sedgeway, Iowa. His
truck. Susan. His eyes scanned across a mop, a cleaning bucket, and,
next to the bucket, he saw a head. It stared at him. It blinked.
“Let there be light,” the head said. It grinned up at Cum-Andi from a
shelf. Wires trailed out of the bottom of its neck. It had no body.
“Who--?” Cum-Andi felt a deep chill and was about to slam the door
shut on the closet but couldn’t quite bear to because the head was
grinning up at him in a casual, accepting way, despite repeatedly
blinking its eyes at the sudden intrusion of light into its dark closet.
“I’m Stan, if you must know my name,” the head said to Cum-Andi. “Do
you want to play?”
“No, I--” Cum-Andi couldn’t think of anything to say. It was
ridiculous. He’d been in Sedgeway, Iowa, kissing a girl he’d longed
for, and now he was staring into a cleaning closet at a head with no
body. Was he dreaming? He pinched himself. Nothing. No change. But
he remembered dreaming before, and pinching himself in the dream to see
if it was real, and being assured it was real because the pinch in his
dream was a dream-pinch, not a real pinch, and so didn’t wake him.
“I’m a BabbleBot,” the head told Cum-Andi. “I can be male or female.
Just get me the body you prefer, and we can play together.”
“No thanks,” Cum-Andi answered. He felt again the need to slam the
closet door shut but the BabbleBot stared at him so benignly, he grabbed
it instead.
Cum-Andi lifted the head so that it was level with his own.
“Who are you?” Cum-Andi asked.
The head smiled, seemed unoffended by having to restate its identity.
“I’m Stan. I’m a BabbleBot. Get me a body and we can play. Male or
female, your choice.”
Footsteps echoed in the hall. Cum-Andi shut the closet door. Then,
thinking quickly, he opened it again. Steeling himself against the
possibility of finding himself in a cage once more, clutching the head
as proof of what he’d found outside Sedgeway, Iowa, he stepped into the
cleaning closet. He pulled the door in behind him but left it ajar,
lest he find himself locked into the closet.
“Ooooh, Post Office! I like games in the dark. I need a body,
though,” the head said under the crook of Cum-Andi’s arm.
“Shhhh!” Cum-Andi told the head. Then, looking down at it in the near
darkness of the cleaning closet, he asked, “Who am I?”
“Oh, I don’t know that game,” the head replied.
“Keep your voice down!” Cum-Andi scolded the head. “Whisper.”
“Okay,” the head answered. “Who am I?”
“Don’t be useless to me or I’ll kick your head in,” Cum-Andi warned the
head. It seemed to understand that Cum-Andi was serious.
“Who are you? I don’t know. You haven’t told me your name yet. I’m
Stan,” the head said to Cum-Andi.
Footsteps hurried past the door outside. Cum-Andi heard hissing. The
noise, a conversation of hisses, died as whatever was outside the door
hurried past.
“Sisguards,” the head whispered. “Have you been bad? They’ll take you
to a Detention and Reeducation Center. You won’t like that. I lost my
body there.”
Cum-Andi glared down at the head. It had whispered, though, and
whatever was outside the door seemed to have passed by without hearing
it.
“What are... Sssguards?” Cum-Andi asked.
“Sisguards?” the head replied. “My, my, you’ve never heard of them
before? And you so big, how could you...?” the head paused. “You
wouldn’t be a Wild One, would you?”
“A what?” Cum-Andi asked.
“Yes, you must be,” the head said to itself, still whispering, as
Cum-Andi had ordered it to. “A human, from the look of you, one of the
experimental ones grown in the wild. Why aren’t you in your cage?”
“You know about my... cage?” Cum-Andi paused. He still had trouble
believing Sedgeway, Iowa, could really be nothing but a fictional
illusion inside a six foot by six foot cage. Silently he assured
himself he’d wake up at any moment and find himself in his own bed, at
home, with no new truck bought for him by his dad for his birthday, and
Susan still an unattainable love-object, a kind of 14-year-old Jenny
McCarthy. Just like she’d always been, until she’d agreed to go riding
with him in his brand-new truck this evening.
“You’ve broken out of your cage,” the head said. “My, my. We won’t
have much time to play, then.”
Cum-Andi pushed open the closet door. He peered out. He clutched the
head under his arm, not sure if he wanted it, but afraid to let it go
just yet. It seemed to have more tales to tell him. And it didn’t seem
as much as a threat as Pope had been. For one thing, it had no
computerized notepad and, for that matter, no body. It had nothing but
a mouth.
“Keep your voice down,” Cum-Andi said to the head under his arm.
“Sure,” the head agreed.
Cum-Andi glared up the hall, then in the other direction. All he could
see was the hall’s neon-lit walls. They seemed to close him in on both
sides, like a tube-shaped cage. He still felt like a rat.
“Which way? Where do I go?” Cum-Andi asked the head.
“To the bathroom?” the head answered. Cum-Andi glared at the head and
it chuckled. “Sorry. A bit of levity, brighten your day, before we
both wind up in Det Ed.”
“Det?” Cum-Andi asked, unable to finish because the head interrupted.
“Detention and Reeducation. They’ll get us both now, I’ll bet. I’ll
lose my head,” the head answered. Its face broke into a self-pitying
smile.
“Look, if you want a body, I’ll see what I can do,” Cum-Andi told the
head under his arm. “But if you... if you joke around and fuck with me
I’ll kick your head like a football down this hallway.”
“Sounds like a deal,” the head answered. It grinned up at Cum-Andi.
“Good,” Cum-Andi said. “Now who am I, who are you, and where the fuck
are we? And how do I get out of this idiot dream I’m in?”
“Not a dream,” the head said. “You may be dreaming soon, and quite
painfully, once the Sisguards get hold of you. You’re an escaped
animal. Escaped from a cage. I’ll bet you came from right down the
hall, hmmm? You don’t seem to have gotten very far from your cage, I’ll
bet, considering how little you know. You’ll be back in your cage
soon. If you haven’t polluted yourself too much with knowledge of the
world outside your cage.” The head looked up at Cum-Andi, and seemed to
evaluate him. “If you have polluted yourself, if you know too much,
then they’ll kill you. Perhaps you’d best put me back in my closet and
turn yourself in before you know too much.”
“No!” Cum-Andi said. He looked frantically up and down the hallway.
Then back at the head. “No, I’m not going back into any fucking cage,”
he hissed at the head.
“It’s a nice life. You’ll get to live a full life,” the head replied.
“You won’t know you’re in a cage once they’ve got you properly locked
back into it. You’ll be... God knows, in Sedgeway, Iowa, if you’re one
of that man’s subjects. What’s his name? The guy down the hall? Did
you meet anyone besides me?” The head peered up at Cum-Andi from the
crook of Cum-Andi’s arm.
“Pope?” Cum-Andi said.
“Yes! Pope! He used to have me sing to him on Friday afternoons,” the
head said. “When he had to clean his lab.” The head peered at Cum-Andi
closely. “You’re Pope’s subject, aren’t you? Raised in the wild. Or,
rather, in a cage that you thought was a real place. Sedgeway, Iowa,
right?”
“That’s right,” Cum-Andi answered.
“Pope promised me a body someday, if he could afford it, so I could
clean his lab for him,” the head said. “A nice man.”
“Yeah,” Cum-Andi agreed. Something told him to keep his own hostility
toward Pope under wraps. The head might not like hearing that Pope was
dead.
Footsteps sounded once more in the hall. Cum-Andi jerked his head in
the direction of the laboratory. There was a gentle curve to the
hallway. It prevented him seeing all the way to the lab, but he guessed
that whatever had passed by the hallway closet was on its way back.
Cum-Andi clapped his hand over the BabbleBot’s mouth. The head worked
its jaw, futilely.
“Yeah,” Cum-Andi thought. “Blab that I’m here, fucking head. Turn me
in and get a body for yourself. No way.” Mewling sounds escaped from
between Cum-Andi’s clamping fingers. He pressed them more tightly to
the head’s mouth.
Cum-Andi turned and ran. He was wearing sneakers. They muffled his
footfalls as he ran down the hall. He was glad he hadn’t taken his
Dad’s advice and worn hard-soled shoes for his date with Susan.
Cum-Andi felt a freezing sensation in the pit of his stomach. That
father, that man he’d called ‘Dad,’ hadn’t been real. Unless this was
just some crazy dream he was in. That meant his mother wasn’t real
either. Or his kid sister.
Bethany! Six, going on seven, just old enough to read Dr. Seuss by
herself. She’d gotten lost at the Mall last weekend and Mom had gone
nuts. Now, it turned out she was lost forever, or, rather, never born.
Cum-Andi would have stopped, perhaps even cried, but he could hear
footfalls behind him and they were numerous. They, whoever They were,
had heard him running, despite his sneakers.
This had to be a dream. In dreams, you always wound up being chased.
Cum-Andi was torn between stopping, turning around, and confronting
whatever was after him. At the same time, he kept his hand over the
BabbleBot’s mouth. It kept working its jaw. Cum-Andi adjusted his
fingers. The head seemed to be trying to bite one of them.
“Now would be a good time to find a rabbit hole,” Cum-Andi muttered to
himself, remembering a book he’d read to Bethany a few days ago, after
school. She’d insisted. It had been the only way he could keep her
from putting a mud-pie in the oven. And keep her from telling Mom about
the pot she’d found sneaking around in his bedroom.
Cum-Andi stared at the floor. It looked solid. He jumped, once, to
test it. Hey, this was a dream, right? He’d probably sink right into
it.
The floor held.
“There’s the animal!” Cum-Andi heard behind him. Cum-Andi whirled
about. Something burned into his arm. He screamed. If it had been his
right arm, he’d have dropped the head onto the floor. But it was his
left, and in his left hand he held nothing.
Cum-Andi felt tears well up in the corners of his eyes. If this was a
dream, it was a damn painful one! His arm felt like it was on fire.
Cum-Andi would have looked down at his arm but he couldn’t take his eyes
off the creatures who were coming toward him.
They had long hair, like Susan. One was blonde, two were brunettes.
One of the brunettes had her hair pulled back into a tight, Puritan-like
bun. The other two let their hair flow freely down over their
shoulders. The creatures had slitted yellow eyes. They seemed to be
wearing blue body armor. It consisted of a blue helmet, with a gaudy
yellow star on its front. A blue padded vest was fitted over each
creature’s chest. The creatures, underneath their vests, seemed to have
bosoms. Some of the creatures were more amply endowed in their chests
than others. Their arms were bare, but covered with what appeared to be
small, mesh-like scales. Their legs were covered with the same cloth,
or was it bare skin? Cum-Andi couldn’t decide. Most amazingly, except
for one other feature, the creatures wore no pants. Cum-Andi could see
what appeared to be pubic hair where the legs of each creature joined.
It was the faces, though, of the creatures that most riveted Cum-Andi.
They were crocodile faces. Each creature sported long, glittering
teeth, and had long nails growing from her (?) hands. The teeth and the
nails seemed to match. In fact, they did match, Cum-Andi noticed, for
each creature seemed to have chosen her own personal color to paint her
teeth and her fingernails with.
Almost involuntarily, Cum-Andi glanced at the creatures’ feet. Yes!
Protruding from what could only be described as open-toed, sandal-like
boots, each creature had long toenails. They had colored their toenails
to match their fingernails and their teeth. One creature had pink
teeth, pink toenails, pink fingernails. Another had chosen yellow, a
third garish purple.
“Is it a Man?” Cum-Andi heard one of the creatures ask another. They
hurried toward him.
“Yes. One of the specially-grown, primitive men, created for study
purposes,” one of the creatures rushing toward Cum-Andi replied.
“It is a plot. Pope cloned himself and now has released his creation
on us,” one of the creatures, running just behind the creature who led
the pack, snarled. “Kill it! Pope was wise to commit suicide. We must
not be unwise and let this creature run loose, spreading his diseases
among us!”
Cum-Andi watched as one of the creatures rushing at him raised what
looked like a gun. Cum-Andi remembered his left arm. It still burned,
badly, like a sunburn laid on with a vengeance by a too-long day at the
beach.
“Don’t! You’ll kill the BabbleBot!” Cum-Andi cried. He raised up the
head to block the inevitable blast of the gun aimed at him.
“He’s an animal! An escaped animal!” the BabbleBot screamed at the
approaching creatures. Cum-Andi’s hand had come off the Bot’s mouth as
he raised the head to protect himself.
“No!” one of the creatures in the blue-armored outfits shouted. The
gun aimed at Cum-Andi fired, but the blast went awry. A hole was blown
into the wall to Cum-Andi’s right. Shards of it cut into Cum-Andi’s
right side.
“Owwww! God!” Cum-Andi yelled. This dream was getting too painful to
bear. He turned. He ran. Behind him he heard contentious yelling, as
if the creatures had turned on one another.
Cum-Andi tucked the BabbleBot back under his arm so he wouldn’t drop it
as he ran. Then he remembered how the head had betrayed him. Cum-Andi
lifted the head. He glared at it. He kept running, though, for he
could hear the creatures somewhere behind him, still shouting at one
another.
“Hi. Exercise is good for you,” the head said with a forced kind of
nonchalance.
“Where I come from, we play football,” Cum-Andi panted. “If you want
to find out what it’s like to be a live football, betray me again.”
“You were using me to block the gun,” the head answered. “I only
betrayed you after you betrayed me.”
“Yeah, sure,” Cum-Andi said. He didn’t believe the head had only been
getting a just revenge. The head had yelled the minute it could, and it
had been trying to talk, or shout, the whole time he’d had his hand
clamped over its mouth. “Tell me how to get the fuck out of this
dream. NOW!”
The head looked up. “Air conditioning is a wonderful invention,” the
head replied.
Cum-Andi looked up. He slowed his pace. He scanned the ceiling. Of
course! There were air vents in the ceiling. If he could pry one
loose, if he could reach one, that is, he might... yes, he might just
be able to get up into an air duct.
“You’ll need to jump high, or find something to stand on,” the head
said.
Cum-Andi looked along the hall. He saw a door. He rushed to it,
turned the knob. It was locked.
Cum-Andi ran on. He came to another door. It too was locked. Then,
running on, he came to a hallway that cut across the one he’d been
running down. It was the first cross-hallway he’d come to and he was
grateful for it.
Rounding the corner, Cum-Andi found himself staring at a creature like
the ones he’d been running from. But this one had her hair pinned up in
a loosely-tied scarf. She was mopping the floor. Cum-Andi scanned her
figure for a weapon but saw none.
“Eeeeyah! An animal!” the creature screamed. Seeing Cum-Andi, she
raised her mop. She swung it at Cum-Andi. It connected with his
shoulder and sent him sprawling. Cum-Andi landed on his back.
“Yow!” Cum-Andi heard the head cry as it fell from his arm and went
clattering across the floor.
Without thinking, Cum-Andi leapt to his feet. He attacked the creature
with the mop. He managed to wrench the mop from her hands. He began to
beat the creature. Viciously, without remorse. The creature responded,
kicking him in the groin. Cum-Andi suppressed a scream, somehow, and
beat the creature even more violently.
Cum-Andi found himself standing over the creature. It lay at his
feet. Blood gushed from its head and mouth. Cum-Andi reached down
between his legs and gingerly massaged his crotch.
“Nice work. It’s dead,” the head called from across the hall.
“Now what?” Cum-Andi asked. He felt slightly disoriented by the kick
he’d received in his groin.
“Her cleaning cart, idiot. Get up on her cart,” the head said. “And
don’t forget me. I doubt they’ll let me off, much less give me a body,
now that you’ve killed one of them. They’ll figure I’m polluted, just
by having seen one of them killed. By a man. A primitive man. They
wouldn’t want me talking.”
“Hmmm, I guess we’re partners in crime, then,” Cum-Andi said. He
turned to the head. He walked over to it, his gait slightly awkward
from the kick he’d received in his groin. “Good. You won’t be
screaming about me any more.”
“Yeah,” the BabbleBot agreed. Cum-Andi scooped up the head from the
floor. He looked at it. It had a bruise on its forehead but otherwise
it seemed just as it had been before.
Cum-Andi heard the blue-armored creatures somewhere around the corner
and down the hall. They were running toward him.
“I’m getting sick of this,” Cum-Andi said suddenly. He was gripped
with a desire to stand his ground, to confront the creatures. He’d end
this stupid dream and wake up in his own bed and--
“Look at me,” the head said in a strange, low voice. It might have
been a furious voice but the head was just a head, and it seemed rather
silly for a head with no body to be angry with him. Still, Cum-Andi
obeyed the head, looked down at it.
The head glared at him. “Everything you ever knew is over,” the head
said. It stared up at him. “This isn’t some dream, like you wish it
would be. Your past life is over. It never existed, except in your
head, in your cage.” The head said the word ‘cage’ vengefully. “You
can’t smoke pot to get out of this one, or listen to Nirvana. This is
real. Real life. And they’ll make you pay for killing one of them.
They’re wymen, after all. 23rd century wymen. You’re a throwback. A
primitive man from an earlier era. You’re not supposed to be alive,
except in your cage, and then only so you can be studied.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Cum-Andi replied. And he wished he could get that
name out of his head. He wasn’t Cum-Andi. He was George. George,
named after George Washington, George Harrison Smith. He lived in
Sedgeway, Iowa, and he had two parents, two parents who hadn’t gotten
divorced, like most of his friends’ parents. And he had a 6-year-old
sister, almost seven, who had just learned to read Dr. Seuss books on
her own.
Cum-Andi winced at the pain in his left arm. At the shards of broken
hallway in his right side. At the throbbing in his groin where earlier
in the evening he’d been feeling a welcome tightness, as Susan proved
remarkably responsive to his kisses.
Susan! He’d bashed her head into his windshield. That’s how all this
had started. He’d felt, somehow, a need... a sensation that he was
boxed in, inside his brand-new pickup, that he was being studied,
watched, observed, and...
He’d killed Susan. Cum-Andi felt it in his gut and knew it was true.
Yet Susan never had existed! Pope had said he was living in... what was
it? An Emulsion Cage.
Only because of Susan, Cum-Andi made his way over to the cleaning
cart. He glanced at the ceiling. Perfect. There was an air
ventilation duct right overhead, as if placed there by God. Because he
had killed Susan, he decided to play along in the dream. He wouldn’t
confront the creatures who were pursuing him. Not yet. He felt too
guilty about killing Susan to do that.
Cum-Andi climbed up onto the cart. He took the head with him.
Unsteadily he stood. Trying not to send the cart rolling down the hall,
he found he could reach the ceiling above him. Cum-Andi grasped at the
metal covering over the air duct and pulled on it.
“Come on!” Cum-Andi breathed. It held tight. He could hear the
creatures approaching. Cum-Andi put down the head.
“Pull hard. You can get it. You’re strong,” the head said, looking up
at Cum-Andi from the top of the cleaning cart, lying next to his
sneakers.
“Quiet!” Cum-Andi replied. He grasped the air duct covering again. He
pulled, hard, just as the head had told him to.
The square covering popped from the ceiling. A shower of white plaster
fell onto Cum-Andi’s upturned face.
With the footfalls of the creatures growing ever louder round the
corner, Cum-Andi reached down to the top of the cleaning cart he was
standing on. He picked up the head.
“See what’s up there,” Cum-Andi told the head. He lifted it up and
stuffed it through the hole where the air duct covering had been.
“It’s dark up here!” the head replied.
“Okay, well, I’m coming up,” Cum-Andi said. He pushed the head deeper
into the air shaft in the ceiling overhead. Then, grasping the sides of
the hole he’d made by removing the air duct covering, Cum-Andi hoisted
himself up.
“Good, I can fit,” Cum-Andi said to himself. He let his feet drop back
down out of the hole he’d made in the ceiling. He rested them on the
surface of the cleaning cart. Then, with a wild kick, using both his
feet, he sent the cart rolling down the hall. It went shooting through
the intersection formed by the hall he’d escaped down, and on along the
cross-hall, in a direction he’d never travelled.
A moment later the creatures pursuing him reached the intersection.
There were six of them, and instinctively three of them turned and
followed the cart. Two more turned toward the dead cleaning wyman, the
other one glared down the hall they’d been running in, as if to follow a
fleeing Cum-Andi in the same direction they’d all been running in all
along.
Cum-Andi dropped to the floor. He rushed the two creatures who were
hovering over the dead wyman. He tackled one of them. He’d made the
cut for the high school football team, after failing the previous year.
That had been, perhaps, why Susan had agreed to go out with him. That
and his new pickup truck.
He grabbed the gun from the creature as he knocked it to the floor.
“Just pull the trigger!” the BabbleBot, hiding out in the ceiling,
screamed down to him, guessing at what Cum-Andi must do, without even
being able to see him. The voice from the ceiling served to disorient
the remaining five wymen long enough for Cum-Andi to get off the first
shot.
“Ackckck!” the wyman Cum-Andi had knocked to the floor screamed as
Cum-Andi shot it. Then he lifted his gun and blasted away, wildly, at
the other five creatures.
Cum-Andi had been quite good at shooting aliens at the Mall.
Instinctively he fired at the wymen’s faces. One, Two, oops hit the
wall... shit it fired at me but hit the ceiling. The BabbleBot! Three,
got it! Four... one more... it’s trying to escape!
Leaping to his feet, Cum-Andi ran for the hallway intersection. A
wyman, the one who had wished to run on down the same hallway they’d
been chasing Cum-Andi in all this time, had escaped down it. Cum-Andi
darted to the intersection and then, at the last moment, he hit the
floor. He stuck his head around the corner. The wyman, expecting him
to still be standing, took out a section of wall with a blast from its
gun where Cum-Andi’s head would have been if he’d looked round the
corner while still on his feet.
“KA-BLAM!” Cum-Andi fired. But he hit the wyman right in its breasts,
and the creature fell backward, without even a hole in its armor to show
it had been hit.
Cum-Andi fired his stolen gun again. Nothing. Frantically he pulled
the trigger a second time, but the gun refused to fire.
“Re-load!” the BabbleBot, apparently counting shots somewhere up in the
ceiling, cried.
Foolishly, startled that the BabbleBot could be so aware, Cum-Andi
turned his head. Where the air duct ventilation hole should have been,
there was instead a smoking, jagged-edged hole made by a wyman’s gun.
Cum-Andi dropped his eyes to the floor and saw the head staring at him.
The head knew Cum-Andi was out of ammunition because it could see him,
dead on, blown from the ceiling by an errant blast from a dead wyman’s
gun. The head was missing an eye.
“Shrapnel wound,” Cum-Andi heard himself say, as he stared at the head.
“Drop your weapon, animal!” Cum-Andi heard. He jerked his head back
down the hallway where the wyman he’d hit in the chest lay. It was
still on the floor, on its back, but it had its gun pointed right at
him.
“I’m not out of ammo,” the wyman said through gritted teeth. Its
breathing seemed ragged, as if it were half-stunned from the blast it
had received in its chest.
“Shit!” Cum-Andi said. He threw his gun at the wyman. It missed it
and went clattering down the hall.
“Stand up,” the wyman said to Cum-Andi.
“Fuck you,” Cum-Andi answered. But he stood, just as the wyman had
ordered.
“Oh, God, we’ll be tortured,” the one-eyed head wailed from the
cross-hallway.
“Unbutton your pants,” the wyman snarled at Cum-Andi. It levelled its
gun on Cum-Andi’s crotch.
“What?!” Cum-Andi replied.
“You heard me. Unzip!” the wyman said. Its breathing seemed even
now. It was no longer in shock from Cum-Andi’s blast.
Slowly, staring at the phallic-like gun with its long snout that was
levelled at him, Cum-Andi unzipped his jeans.
“Pull out your Thing,” the wyman told him. Cum-Andi stared at the
creature.
“I want to see it!” the creature screamed at him. It sounded
half-guilty, half mad with lust.
Cum-Andi yanked open the flap in the front of his underpants. This was
one Hell of a weird dream. He produced his penis. Instinctively it
stiffened. He’d never been seen by anyone before.
“Good God!” the wyman breathed. The gun it held levelled at Cum-Andi’s
crotch trembled in its hand. Finally, staring over its chest, still
lying on the floor on its back, it breathed, “It’s true. There was such
a thing as Primitive Men. Real men, with real... what were they
called?”
“Balls?” Cum-Andi volunteered. Then he wished he hadn’t said the word,
for his balls were still safely inside his shorts.
“No... yes! Penis! That’s it! You have a penis!” the wyman
breathed. It sounded very guilty now, as it stared at Cum-Andi’s cock.
Cum-Andi found his eyes staring between the creature’s legs. It didn’t
wear pants. None of them did. It had vaginal lips, wedged there
between its scale-covered legs. And that was a thatch of pubic hair
growing at the base of its chest armor.
“Mind if I wake up now?” Cum-Andi asked the lizard-like woman with the
crocodile teeth lying several feet away in the hall.
“It’s not a dream!” screamed Stan, the bodiless head. “This is your
life! Run!”
Suddenly Cum-Andi realized how close he was to the corner, the
intersection where the two hallways met, and how unsteady the gun now
seemed in the wyman’s hand as it stared at his cock. If his
calculations, his instincts, Hell, if the head was right, he just might
be able to...
Run! Cum-Andi darted to the right. He dashed down the cross hall,
scooped up the head, and ran for dear life. His cock, still protruding
stiffly from his pants, wobbled like a drunken submarine in front of
him.
Somewhere behind Cum-Andi the wyman’s gun began firing. But Cum-Andi
was dashing down the curving hallway and, when he dared to look back,
the natural curve in the hall had allowed the dead wyman, and the sole
surviving live one, to slip from view. It was following him, that sole
remaining wyman, but it was unsteady in its pursuit and Cum-Andi guessed
it would soon need to pause and reload its gun.
30
----------------------- Dreamgirls! -----------------------
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