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Andrew Roller Presents
AMAZONIA
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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 SusanÕs 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 SusanÕs 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 couldnÕt 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
SusanÕs 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 SusanÕs lifeless neck in his hand, stared at the hole heÕd
made in the windshield. Then he let go of Susan. She fell unresponsively
into the footwell of his truckÕs cab, on the passenger side. Her 14-year-
old feet, clad in sneakers, remained draped over his lap.
ÒMy God, what have you done?Ó 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 truckÕs cab toward it. He groped
at the broken windshield in front of him with his hands. He found he could
bend it back where heÕd 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.
ÒGod, youÕve broken through,Ó the technician said to him.
ÒAre you... my father?Ó was all he could think to ask.
ÒHuh?Ó the technician replied. Then he gulped, once, and, seeming to
understand his question, answered, ÒNo. I just work here.Ó
He looked at the technician. The man was thin. His cheeks were
gaunt. On his coat was sewn a name badge. It read: ÒPopeÓ.
ÒWho are you?Ó he blurted. He began to feel a rage inside him. It
was the same rage that had caused him to strike SusanÕs head, so
suddenly, against the windshield of his new truck, even as they kissed and
sheÕd given him what heÕd 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 heÕd once called
ÔSusanÕ.
ÒYou donÕt know what youÕve done. You donÕt know what itÕs like.
Out there... you had a good life...Ó 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 didnÕt 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 LearnerÕs Permit in his pocket,
letting him drive, and he felt strong.
Pope was going gray. He had spindly fingers and a thin neck.
ÒWho am I?Ó he blurted at Pope. ÒAnd who are you, if you arenÕt my
father?Ó
ÒIÕm 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
didnÕt 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.Ó Pope
seemed to choke on a sudden, ironic laugh. ÒI was working on your old age
pension plan this morning. YouÕd have gotten it in the mail in 13 years.Ó
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 manÕs denials.
ÒThanks, I wonÕt be needing an age old pension plan,Ó 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 wasnÕt real, but only seemed real. Real
humans could tell tales, tales that died when they did. He needed some
tales right now. Any tales.
ÒWho am I? WhatÕs my name... Pope?Ó he said furiously to the man.
ÒHuh?Ó Pope replied. The graying man seemed half-bewildered by
having to confront, face to face, the ÔratÕ heÕd studied for so long. ÒNo...
Pope is my name. Not yours,Ó Pope finally managed to say as they stared
at each other in the laboratory. ÒYours is, well, ÔCum-AndiÕ is all it really
is. Cum... sperm from the subject named Andi... thatÕs all youÕre really
known by. Plus a number.Ó Pope grinned. It was that wry, ironic grin that
had made him utter a choking laugh a minute ago. ÒDo you want to know
the number?Ó he asked.
ÒWhatÕs the number?Ó Cum-Andi answered.
Ò2A-95596E-2320541-3000,Ó 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.
ÒWhatÕs that, my goddamn phone number?Ó Cum-Andi growled.
ÒNo, dear boy. ItÕs you,Ó Pope replied. ÒItÕs your identifying number
and I suppose youÕll want to memorize it now, or not. The choice is yours.
All choices are yours now. You had a nice life but now youÕre here, arenÕt
you? And you canÕt 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.Ó
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.
ÒForgive me but I must call security,Ó Pope said. ÒYouÕve escaped
from your cage and we canÕt have you running loose around the building.
IÕd get in serious trouble. I could be killed...Ó
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 PopeÕs
hands had shattered its viewscreen. Yet Cum-Andi studied it, looked at
the lettering written across its top: ÒRenno Amazonia League, D.C.,Ó the
lettering spelled out, quite distinctly, ÒDo Not Remove from BuildingÓ.
Underneath that, in smaller lettering, was written a rationale. The
computerized notepad wouldnÕt 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 wasnÕt working inside
the building, any more. Then a chill ran down his spine. Was he like the
notepad? Could he still ÔworkÕ 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, couldnÕt quite
touch it. Cum-Andi jumped again and still managed to fall just short of it.
ÒDamn!Ó Cum-Andi swore. He dashed down the hall. He saw a door
set in the wall of the corridor. He grabbed the doorÕs knob and tore the
door open. He wanted to wrench the door off its hinges but found he
couldnÕt.
Staring into the small dark room beyond, he felt a sudden flash of
fear. HeÕd 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.
ÒLet there be light,Ó 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.
ÒWho--?Ó Cum-Andi felt a deep chill and was about to slam the door
shut on the closet but couldnÕt 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.
ÒIÕm Stan, if you must know my name,Ó the head said to Cum-Andi.
ÒDo you want to play?Ó
ÒNo, I--Ó Cum-Andi couldnÕt think of anything to say. It was
ridiculous. HeÕd been in Sedgeway, Iowa, kissing a girl heÕd 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 didnÕt wake him.
ÒIÕm a BabbleBot,Ó the head told Cum-Andi. ÒI can be male or female.
Just get me the body you prefer, and we can play together.Ó
ÒNo thanks,Ó 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.
ÒWho are you?Ó Cum-Andi asked.
The head smiled, seemed unoffended by having to restate its
identity. ÒIÕm Stan. IÕm a BabbleBot. Get me a body and we can play. Male
or female, your choice.Ó
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 heÕd 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.
ÒOoooh, Post Office! I like games in the dark. I need a body, though,Ó
the head said under the crook of Cum-AndiÕs arm.
ÒShhhh!Ó Cum-Andi told the head. Then, looking down at it in the
near darkness of the cleaning closet, he asked, ÒWho am I?Ó
ÒOh, I donÕt know that game,Ó the head replied.
ÒKeep your voice down!Ó Cum-Andi scolded the head. ÒWhisper.Ó
ÒOkay,Ó the head answered. ÒWho am I?Ó
ÒDonÕt be useless to me or IÕll kick your head in,Ó Cum-Andi warned
the head. It seemed to understand that Cum-Andi was serious.
ÒWho are you? I donÕt know. You havenÕt told me your name yet. IÕm
Stan,Ó 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.
ÒSisguards,Ó the head whispered. ÒHave you been bad? TheyÕll take
you to a Detention and Reeducation Center. You wonÕt like that. I lost my
body there.Ó
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.
ÒWhat are... Sssguards?Ó Cum-Andi asked.
ÒSisguards?Ó the head replied. ÒMy, my, youÕve never heard of them
before? And you so big, how could you...?Ó the head paused. ÒYou wouldnÕt
be a Wild One, would you?Ó
ÒA what?Ó Cum-Andi asked.
ÒYes, you must be,Ó the head said to itself, still whispering, as
Cum-Andi had ordered it to. ÒA human, from the look of you, one of the
experimental ones grown in the wild. Why arenÕt you in your cage?Ó
ÒYou know about my... cage?Ó 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 heÕd 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
sheÕd always been, until sheÕd agreed to go riding with him in his brand-
new truck this evening.
ÒYouÕve broken out of your cage,Ó the head said. ÒMy, my. We wonÕt
have much time to play, then.Ó
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 didnÕt 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.
ÒKeep your voice down,Ó Cum-Andi said to the head under his arm.
ÒSure,Ó the head agreed.
Cum-Andi glared up the hall, then in the other direction. All he could
see was the hallÕs neon-lit walls. They seemed to close him in on both
sides, like a tube-shaped cage. He still felt like a rat.
ÒWhich way? Where do I go?Ó Cum-Andi asked the head.
ÒTo the bathroom?Ó the head answered. Cum-Andi glared at the head
and it chuckled. ÒSorry. A bit of levity, brighten your day, before we both
wind up in Det Ed.Ó
ÒDet?Ó Cum-Andi asked, unable to finish because the head
interrupted.
ÒDetention and Reeducation. TheyÕll get us both now, IÕll bet. IÕll
lose my head,Ó the head answered. Its face broke into a self-pitying
smile.
ÒLook, if you want a body, IÕll see what I can do,Ó Cum-Andi told the
head under his arm. ÒBut if you... if you joke around and fuck with me IÕll
kick your head like a football down this hallway.Ó
ÒSounds like a deal,Ó the head answered. It grinned up at Cum-Andi.
ÒGood,Ó Cum-Andi said. ÒNow who am I, who are you, and where the
fuck are we? And how do I get out of this idiot dream IÕm in?Ó
ÒNot a dream,Ó the head said. ÒYou may be dreaming soon, and quite
painfully, once the Sisguards get hold of you. YouÕre an escaped animal.
Escaped from a cage. IÕll bet you came from right down the hall, hmmm?
You donÕt seem to have gotten very far from your cage, IÕll bet, considering
how little you know. YouÕll be back in your cage soon. If you havenÕt
polluted yourself too much with knowledge of the world outside your
cage.Ó The head looked up at Cum-Andi, and seemed to evaluate him. ÒIf
you have polluted yourself, if you know too much, then theyÕll kill you.
Perhaps youÕd best put me back in my closet and turn yourself in before
you know too much.Ó
ÒNo!Ó Cum-Andi said. He looked frantically up and down the hallway.
Then back at the head. ÒNo, IÕm not going back into any fucking cage,Ó he
hissed at the head.
ÒItÕs a nice life. YouÕll get to live a full life,Ó the head replied. ÒYou
wonÕt know youÕre in a cage once theyÕve got you properly locked back into
it. YouÕll be... God knows, in Sedgeway, Iowa, if youÕre one of that manÕs
subjects. WhatÕs his name? The guy down the hall? Did you meet anyone
besides me?Ó The head peered up at Cum-Andi from the crook of Cum-
AndiÕs arm.
ÒPope?Ó Cum-Andi said.
ÒYes! Pope! He used to have me sing to him on Friday afternoons,Ó
the head said. ÒWhen he had to clean his lab.Ó The head peered at Cum-
Andi closely. ÒYouÕre PopeÕs subject, arenÕt you? Raised in the wild. Or,
rather, in a cage that you thought was a real place. Sedgeway, Iowa,
right?Ó
ÒThatÕs right,Ó Cum-Andi answered.
ÒPope promised me a body someday, if he could afford it, so I could
clean his lab for him,Ó the head said. ÒA nice man.Ó
ÒYeah,Ó 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 BabbleBotÕs mouth. The head
worked its jaw, futilely.
ÒYeah,Ó Cum-Andi thought. ÒBlab that IÕm here, fucking head. Turn
me in and get a body for yourself. No way.Ó Mewling sounds escaped from
between Cum-AndiÕs clamping fingers. He pressed them more tightly to
the headÕs mouth.
Cum-Andi turned and ran. He was wearing sneakers. They muffled
his footfalls as he ran down the hall. He was glad he hadnÕt taken his
DadÕs 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 heÕd called ÔDad,Õ hadnÕt been real. Unless this was just
some crazy dream he was in. That meant his mother wasnÕt real either.
Or his kid sister.
Bethany! Six, going on seven, just old enough to read Dr. Seuss by
herself. SheÕd 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 BabbleBotÕs mouth. It kept working its jaw. Cum-Andi adjusted
his fingers. The head seemed to be trying to bite one of them.
ÒNow would be a good time to find a rabbit hole,Ó Cum-Andi
muttered to himself, remembering a book heÕd read to Bethany a few days
ago, after school. SheÕd 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 sheÕd 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? HeÕd probably sink right into it.
The floor held.
ÒThereÕs the animal!Ó Cum-Andi heard behind him. Cum-Andi whirled
about. Something burned into his arm. He screamed. If it had been his
right arm, heÕd 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 couldnÕt 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 creatureÕs 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 couldnÕt 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 creaturesÕ 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.
ÒIs it a Man?Ó Cum-Andi heard one of the creatures ask another.
They hurried toward him.
ÒYes. One of the specially-grown, primitive men, created for study
purposes,Ó one of the creatures rushing toward Cum-Andi replied.
ÒIt is a plot. Pope cloned himself and now has released his creation
on us,Ó one of the creatures, running just behind the creature who led the
pack, snarled. ÒKill it! Pope was wise to commit suicide. We must not be
unwise and let this creature run loose, spreading his diseases among us!Ó
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.
ÒDonÕt! YouÕll kill the BabbleBot!Ó Cum-Andi cried. He raised up the
head to block the inevitable blast of the gun aimed at him.
ÒHeÕs an animal! An escaped animal!Ó the BabbleBot screamed at the
approaching creatures. Cum-AndiÕs hand had come off the BotÕs mouth as
he raised the head to protect himself.
ÒNo!Ó 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-AndiÕs right. Shards of it cut into Cum-AndiÕs right
side.
ÒOwwww! God!Ó 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 wouldnÕt
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.
ÒHi. Exercise is good for you,Ó the head said with a forced kind of
nonchalance.
ÒWhere I come from, we play football,Ó Cum-Andi panted. ÒIf you
want to find out what itÕs like to be a live football, betray me again.Ó
ÒYou were using me to block the gun,Ó the head answered. ÒI only
betrayed you after you betrayed me.Ó
ÒYeah, sure,Ó Cum-Andi said. He didnÕt 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 heÕd had his hand
clamped over its mouth. ÒTell me how to get the fuck out of this dream.
NOW!Ó
The head looked up. ÒAir conditioning is a wonderful invention,Ó 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.
ÒYouÕll need to jump high, or find something to stand on,Ó 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 heÕd been running
down. It was the first cross-hallway heÕd come to and he was grateful for
it.
Rounding the corner, Cum-Andi found himself staring at a creature
like the ones heÕd 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.
ÒEeeeyah! An animal!Ó 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.
ÒYow!Ó 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.
ÒNice work. ItÕs dead,Ó the head called from across the hall.
ÒNow what?Ó Cum-Andi asked. He felt slightly disoriented by the
kick heÕd received in his groin.
ÒHer cleaning cart, idiot. Get up on her cart,Ó the head said. ÒAnd
donÕt forget me. I doubt theyÕll let me off, much less give me a body, now
that youÕve killed one of them. TheyÕll figure IÕm polluted, just by having
seen one of them killed. By a man. A primitive man. They wouldnÕt want
me talking.Ó
ÒHmmm, I guess weÕre partners in crime, then,Ó Cum-Andi said. He
turned to the head. He walked over to it, his gait slightly awkward from
the kick heÕd received in his groin. ÒGood. You wonÕt be screaming about
me any more.Ó
ÒYeah,Ó 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.
ÒIÕm getting sick of this,Ó Cum-Andi said suddenly. He was gripped
with a desire to stand his ground, to confront the creatures. HeÕd end this
stupid dream and wake up in his own bed and--
ÒLook at me,Ó 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. ÒEverything you ever knew is over,Ó the head
said. It stared up at him. ÒThis isnÕt some dream, like you wish it would
be. Your past life is over. It never existed, except in your head, in your
cage.Ó The head said the word ÔcageÕ vengefully. ÒYou canÕt smoke pot to
get out of this one, or listen to Nirvana. This is real. Real life. And
theyÕll make you pay for killing one of them. TheyÕre wymen, after all.
23rd century wymen. YouÕre a throwback. A primitive man from an earlier
era. YouÕre not supposed to be alive, except in your cage, and then only so
you can be studied.Ó
ÒYeah, whatever,Ó Cum-Andi replied. And he wished he could get
that name out of his head. He wasnÕt 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 hadnÕt gotten
divorced, like most of his friendsÕ 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 heÕd been feeling a welcome tightness, as Susan proved
remarkably responsive to his kisses.
Susan! HeÕd bashed her head into his windshield. ThatÕs how all this
had started. HeÕd felt, somehow, a need... a sensation that he was boxed in,
inside his brand-new pickup, that he was being studied, watched,
observed, and...
HeÕd 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 wouldnÕt 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.
ÒCome on!Ó Cum-Andi breathed. It held tight. He could hear the
creatures approaching. Cum-Andi put down the head.
ÒPull hard. You can get it. YouÕre strong,Ó the head said, looking up
at Cum-Andi from the top of the cleaning cart, lying next to his sneakers.
ÒQuiet!Ó 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-AndiÕs 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.
ÒSee whatÕs up there,Ó Cum-Andi told the head. He lifted it up and
stuffed it through the hole where the air duct covering had been.
ÒItÕs dark up here!Ó the head replied.
ÒOkay, well, IÕm coming up,Ó Cum-Andi said. He pushed the head
deeper into the air shaft in the ceiling overhead. Then, grasping the sides
of the hole heÕd made by removing the air duct covering, Cum-Andi hoisted
himself up.
ÒGood, I can fit,Ó Cum-Andi said to himself. He let his feet drop
back down out of the hole heÕd 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 heÕd escaped down, and on along the cross-
hall, in a direction heÕd 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 theyÕd been running in, as if to follow a
fleeing Cum-Andi in the same direction theyÕd 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. HeÕd 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.
ÒJust pull the trigger!Ó 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.
ÒAckckck!Ó 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 wymenÕs faces. One, Two, oops hit the wall...
shit it fired at me but hit the ceiling. The BabbleBot! Three, got it! Four...
one more... itÕs 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 theyÕd
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-
AndiÕs head would have been if heÕd looked round the corner while still on
his feet.
ÒKA-BLAM!Ó 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.
ÒRe-load!Ó 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 wymanÕs 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 wymanÕs
gun. The head was missing an eye.
ÒShrapnel wound,Ó Cum-Andi heard himself say, as he stared at the
head.
ÒDrop your weapon, animal!Ó Cum-Andi heard. He jerked his head
back down the hallway where the wyman heÕd hit in the chest lay. It was
still on the floor, on its back, but it had its gun pointed right at him.
ÒIÕm not out of ammo,Ó 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.
ÒShit!Ó Cum-Andi said. He threw his gun at the wyman. It missed it
and went clattering down the hall.
ÒStand up,Ó the wyman said to Cum-Andi.
ÒFuck you,Ó Cum-Andi answered. But he stood, just as the wyman
had ordered.
ÒOh, God, weÕll be tortured,Ó the one-eyed head wailed from the
cross-hallway.
ÒUnbutton your pants,Ó the wyman snarled at Cum-Andi. It levelled
its gun on Cum-AndiÕs crotch.
ÒWhat?!Ó Cum-Andi replied.
ÒYou heard me. Unzip!Ó the wyman said. Its breathing seemed even
now. It was no longer in shock from Cum-AndiÕs blast.
Slowly, staring at the phallic-like gun with its long snout that was
levelled at him, Cum-Andi unzipped his jeans.
ÒPull out your Thing,Ó the wyman told him. Cum-Andi stared at the
creature.
ÒI want to see it!Ó 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. HeÕd never been seen by anyone before.
ÒGood God!Ó the wyman breathed. The gun it held levelled at Cum-
AndiÕs crotch trembled in its hand. Finally, staring over its chest, still
lying on the floor on its back, it breathed, ÒItÕs true. There was such a
thing as Primitive Men. Real men, with real... what were they called?Ó
ÒBalls?Ó Cum-Andi volunteered. Then he wished he hadnÕt said the
word, for his balls were still safely inside his shorts.
ÒNo... yes! Penis! ThatÕs it! You have a penis!Ó the wyman breathed.
It sounded very guilty now, as it stared at Cum-AndiÕs cock. Cum-Andi
found his eyes staring between the creatureÕs legs. It didnÕt 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.
ÒMind if I wake up now?Ó Cum-Andi asked the lizard-like woman
with the crocodile teeth lying several feet away in the hall.
ÒItÕs not a dream!Ó screamed Stan, the bodiless head. ÒThis is your
life! Run!Ó
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 wymanÕs 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 wymanÕs 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
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