"But you're still alive...."
Gramp's stare chilled Dallas into silence.
"Listen, Gramp, I--"
"Call me that again, buster, and I'll break your jaw. I may have been in stasis for 50 years, but that doesn't mean I feel like an old fart!"
Dallas grinned. "So what should I call you?"
"Mister Tugner will do for starters." He didn't return the smile.
"At least now I know where Marti got her attitude." Dallas walked to the door of the barn. "Much as I'd like to take the time for warm fuzzies, I can't. I'm sorry about your family. I think it sucks, but I had nothing to do with it, so don't get righteous with me."
"You can't talk to me like--"
"The hell I can't!" Dallas's shout echoed off the metal roof of the building. "There are only two people in this world who give a damn about you, and you're doing a good job of pissing one of them off! Marti's all the family you've got. She's worshipped you, for some stupid reason, all her life. Now she's in trouble. So, you can either sit there, crying in your beer, or you can get off your ass and help."
The man climbed out of the restoration chamber, examined the remains of his shirt, and patted dust from his slacks, then stopped and looked at Dallas. "What’d you say your name was?"
"Dallas Grant."
"My friends call me 'Tug.'" He held out his hand as a smile slowly crept across his face. "Do we have time for me to get cleaned up? I don't think I can get another day out of these clothes."
~*~
Tug kept shaking his head as he and Dallas drove down the interstate. Everywhere he looked, something new and wonderful caught his eye.
"Yeah, it looks pretty good around here," Dallas said. "But there's still a whole lot of ugly in the world. It's going to take you a while to get caught up."
Since they had no idea where Marti was being held, they decided to use the time until Travis returned, to prepare. Dallas claimed to know exactly where to go. They left the highway and drove to a shopping center in Waycross.
Dallas held open the door of a little shop and Tug walked in ahead of him. He stopped three steps past the threshold.
"What's the matter?" Dallas asked.
Tug stared at the displays of finished goods and rack after rack of small parts. A hint of awe colored his voice. "What is this place?"
Dallas laughed. "I thought you might like it. Welcome to Radio Shack."
~*~
An array of parts crowded the surface of the worktable in the barn. Open manuals occupied spaces not given over to transistors, capacitors, diodes, and assorted pieces of flashlight.
"It's a good idea," Tug said, "I just don't think I can do it in time. There's too much I don't know about all these components. Don't forget, yesterday I was working with vacuum tubes."
Dallas held up a flashlight body. "It's not exactly my idea of a raygun, but then, the best weapons are those that don't look like weapons. Anybody who's ever watched James Bond knows that."
"James who?"
Dallas grinned. "In addition to electronics, you've got 50 years worth of movies to catch up on."
Tug sobered. "My wife and I went to the movies just last week--Frederick March in ‘The Best Years of our Lives.’" A tear began to form, and he quickly rubbed it away.
Dallas patted his shoulder and handed him the gutted flashlight. "Try to concentrate on this. If you can figure out how to pack your freezer gizmo into one of these, I think I can get close enough to zap them all."
"Give me some peace and quiet so I can work. I'll do my best, but I can't guarantee anything. You'd better be dreaming up an alternative."
"No problem," Dallas said. "What are the odds--four to one? Not to mention they've got all the guns. Still, I'd rather take my chances with you."
"That's too bad. I was beginning to like you." Tug stuffed a disc-shaped component board into the end of the flashlight and pressed it into place with a pencil. "Even if I finish this, I may not have time to test it."
"We've got all night."
Tug smirked. "That's what Eli used to say. Then he'd make me a pot of coffee and go to bed."
~*~
Dallas heard the cars rumble into the driveway right on time. "Damn. I kinda hoped they'd be late."
Tug handed him the bogus flashlight. "I hope you have a back-up plan. I've only gotten this bugger to work one time. It's pitifully underpowered, so move in close. You'll get one shot. After that, it's nothing but a club."
Dallas nodded. "Thanks. You stay in here, okay? They don't know anything about you."
"I'll think about it."
"I don't have time to argue."
Tug clapped him on the shoulder. "I know."
Someone honked a car horn in the driveway. Dallas walked out of the barn and approached Marti, Travis, Leon, and the other two thugs. He stopped in the shade of a pecan tree to observe them, especially the goons, one of whom had a hand wrapped in gauze just like Leon's. A matching bandage covered his nose.
Suddenly worried, Dallas looked at Marti. She cut her eyes at the bandaged bad guy then looked back, and smiled.
Travis had his gun out. "You got my money?"
Dallas nodded. He couldn't get a clear shot at Travis. "Can't we do this in the shade?" If he took him out, the others might scatter.
"You tryin' to pull something?"
"Yeah," Dallas said. "As soon as you get a little closer, I'm going to leap out of hiding and ambush you."
"Then maybe we should lump all our targets together." Travis pushed Marti forward. She stumbled slightly, and Dallas reached out to catch her. Ignoring her protests, he guided her behind him.
"What's with the flashlight?" Leon asked.
"The lights in the barn don't work."
Travis motioned the others forward. They came to a halt in a ragged line facing Dallas, but they were too far apart. He'd never get them all. Travis pulled back the slide on his automatic and chambered a round. "So, where's my money?"
"Right here," Dallas said. As close as he could have hoped to get, he pointed the flashlight at Travis and slid the switch to "On." Nothing happened.
"What're you doing, Airborne?"
"Nothing," Dallas said, his heart pounding. "It's a joke. See?" He smacked the traitorous light on his palm, and it began to hum. He aimed it at Travis again and flipped the switch.
The air between them sparkled briefly before the flashlight quit humming and began to smoke. The odor of burnt wire fouled the air.
Leon reached for his brother. "Travis? You okay?" He poked the smaller man's shoulder and Travis toppled like a felled oak. "What the hell is that thing?"
It worked! Grinning maniacally, Dallas pointed the still-smoking flashlight at Leon. "It's an atomic ass-kicker, and yours is next. I told you not to wave a gun in my face."
All three reached for their weapons. Dallas backhanded Leon with the flashlight, shattering the plastic against his temple. The big man staggered backwards.
Tug slammed open the door of the barn yelling, "Dallas! Move!"
Leon and the two hoods turned toward Tug's voice and began firing. Dallas dove for Marti and knocked her to the ground.
Tug stood behind the bench-mounted zapper he'd dragged to the door of the barn. With bullets smacking into the walls around him, he appeared deathly calm as he triggered the ray and turned the remaining hoods into statuary.
Marti sat up and stared at the man in doorway. "Gramp?"
Dallas looked at him, too. "You're crazy, Tug! They could've killed you. What if the zapper hadn't worked at this range?"
"All I had to do was adjust the focus." Tug pulled Leon's automatic from his belt and smiled. "Besides, I found this in the shop. At least one of us had a back-up plan."
~*~
"What're we gonna do with them?" Marti asked over coffee.
Tug yawned. "I don't care. I'm going to bed. You two can figure it out and tell me in the morning."
Marti jumped up and threw her arms around him. "I still can't believ
e you're really alive!"
"I've still got a lot of adjusting to do."
"I know. But Gramp, we've got--"
"We've got to teach you to call me something else. I can't stand 'Gramp.'"
“Okay.” She smiled. "How about 'Grump?'"
He returned her hug. "See you in the morning." As he turned to leave, Marti's beeper went off.
"What's that?" he asked.
She showed him the pager. "It has two tones: one if they need the ambulance, another if they just want me to call." She handed it to him. "Where's the phone, Dallas?"
Tug examined the device briefly. "Ingenious," he declared, then went to bed.
Marti returned, smiling. "There's no problem," she said. "They wanted to make sure I hadn't wrecked the ambulance." She shook her head and pointed upstairs to where Tug would be sleeping. "I can't believe it. He's so... so young!"
Dallas laughed. "You're going to have a good time helping him catch up on the last 50 years."
"I hope so," she said, sitting down. "What are your plans? And what'll we do with those guys in the driveway?"
"I'm going back to Savannah. You're welcome to come with me." He made the offer though he knew she'd refuse.
"You know I can't." She touched his face. "But you know where I'll be."
"That's what I figured." He shrugged. "As for the Pinnel boys and their playmates, they can stay right where they are."
Marti frowned. "Oh, please! I've always thought lawn decorations looked tacky."
"Then we'll put 'em in the barn, or the root cellar. They'll be okay--bugs don't even like them!"
"But won't somebody start looking for them?"
"Eventually. We can thaw them out then, and maybe keep 'em drugged until we can take them home, but not before I've saved up enough money to pay them off."
Marti's eyes went wide. "Pay them? After what's happened?"
"I was dumb enough to borrow the money. I ought to be man enough to pay it back." He kissed her, lightly. "It's not like I haven't gotten anything out of all this."
Her look told him he was right.
~*~
Leon woke up on the floor of Travis's apartment with a massive headache, burns on his chest, and a raging pain in his much-abused finger. He found a note attached to his shirt and after fumbling to unhook the pin, finally ripped it loose. Travis and the others were sprawled beside him. While he read the note, they began to wake up, too.
"What's going on?" Travis mumbled. He rubbed his head gingerly. "How'd we get here?"
Leon waved the note. "The skydiver. Check your pocket."
Travis produced an envelope stuffed with cash. He flipped through it quickly. "There's maybe eight, nine thousand here."
Leon nodded. "Ten, according to this. Grant said he added some to cover the interest for the last few months."
"Months? What d'ya mean months?" Travis slumped back against a sofa.
Leon staggered to a window and looked out, shocked to see Christmas lights on street lamps twinkling in the dark. He exhaled noisily. "Oh, shit!"
"What?"
"We've been out a long time."
Travis joined him at the window. His hands clenched into tight fists. "That bastard! He's kept me on ice since July? Ten grand won't keep him alive long enough to regret it."
"Forget him," Leon said. "We've got our money. The guy's bad news. I don't want any part of him."
"He made me look like a fool! Maybe you're used to it, but nobody does that to me. Understand? Here's what I want you to do."
"Do it yourself." Leon walked to the door of the apartment. "I'm gonna go home, spend Christmas with Momma."
Travis gave him a withering stare. "Fine. I don't need you anyway."
~*~
The door of the Cessna stood open. Dallas would go first, followed by the woman who hired him to video her jump. He had already made two jumps that day. He wished he'd been able to pack his own chute, but there hadn’t been time. He hated to rely on anyone else for that.
Business had been incredible lately, especially since Tug had advanced him a year's rent on the farm. Dallas smiled at the memory of the celebration they'd had when the venture capital came through. Even better, for the second time, he’d gotten to see Marti in a dress. The way she talked, it could become a trend.
"You're up," yelled the Jump Master.
Dallas moved to the door.
When he heard the shouted command, "Go!" Dallas piled out. He turned and aimed his helmetcam at the client as she dove after him. From 13,000 feet they'd have a 45-second free fall. The client swooped toward him. She’s really good, Dallas thought.
As they neared 4,500 feet, she backed off to a safe distance. The plan was to go to silk at nearly the same time so he could follow her all the way down.
At 3,500 feet Dallas yanked the main pin, but it didn't budge. A rectangle of fabric blossomed above the client as Dallas tried to deploy his reserve. Nothing there, either. Fighting back panic, he reached for the pack to deploy manually. The Velcro wouldn't give.
Travis, he thought. It had to be. The bastard hadn't wasted any time.
Dallas reached into a pocket on the leg of his flight suit and extracted the flashlight Marti made him promise to carry, then angled out toward the Atlantic.
~*~
Tug paid the divers as soon as they reached the dock, and promised them a bonus every year that no word of the day's activity became public. They agreed, and even helped him move the statue of the skydiver from the boat to the back of his truck. The flashlight, complete with zapper, locator signal, and beeper interface, remained locked in his hands.
Tug waved to the divers as they walked away. He threw a tarp over the still-wet cargo, then climbed into the cab while Marti cranked the engine and turned on the heater.
"I'm glad that's over with," she said. "Maybe now those guys will leave him alone."
Tug laughed. "It's hard to bother a dead man. Let's get him home. One of my favorite movies is on tonight and I'd like to watch it with him."
"Oh?" Marti asked. "Which one?"
"’Flash Gordon Conquers the Universe.’"
~End~
Symbiote
"The US Air Force assures me that UFOs pose no threat to National Security."
--President John F. Kennedy
Andi loved the beach. That's why they went. The undead of winter: skin-shearing wind, rain like small caliber bullets--it didn't matter. The sound of the surf in all its ferocious brown froth and sharp-edged waves didn't deter them from a walk on the flat, depopulated expanse of sand and sodden vegetation. She felt the lure of the shells, or what was left of them: miles and miles of mangled exoskeleton. Charlie didn’t share the charm. But it was the space she occupied, and therefore was where he had to be.
“What the hell is that?” he asked, that being a ham-sized piece of greenish white flotsam sticking out of the sand like something clawing its way up from a grave.
“I can't imagine,” Andi said, delighted by the find. She knelt to free the object from the sand, carefully digging around it like a crime scene investigator or an anthropologist, just like on TV.
When it didn't come free, she dropped to her knees and dug into the sand with mittened hands, bulldozing the wet, gray grit away from her treasure. “You could help, y'know.”
“I could, but then I wouldn't be able to watch your backside wiggle.” Charlie was a great admirer of feminine backsides, and Andi's was unquestionably top-tier. It didn't get any better than that. But, oh my, can it wiggle, he thought.
“Dig, you horny swine,” she said. “Or else.”
He dug.
They quickly freed the still unidentified object, which Andi rinsed in the frigid surf. “I don't think it's a shell.”
The slantwise rain had Charlie squinting and shivering. “Let's take it inside. The light's better.”
“What a wuss,” she said as she carefully stowed her prize in a plastic bag from Piggly Wiggly, the only grocery store on the island.
“Okay. Let's go. I need food.”
He gave silent thanks and linked arms with her for the march back to the beach house, his mind consumed with alternating thoughts of warmth and bourbon. And Andi. Wiggling. The plastic bag clutched in her free hand had already fled his mind.
Lunch was soup. Bean and bacon, accompanied by grilled cheese sandwiches--his specialty. He used mayo, a squirt of chipotle sauce and a slab of cheese somewhat thinner than the average yoga mat, all compressed on thick raisin bread. His motto: screw the soup.
The lunch dishes done, Charlie endeavored to lure Andi into the bedroom where they might investigate the many wiggle-related elements of her anatomy. Sadly, her focus remained on the bony remnant from the beach.
“I'll bet there's more of it out there,” she said.
He offered discouragement, but gently. “If so, it's probably spread across acres and acres of sand. Could be buried deep, too. We'd need shovels. Cranes, maybe. Earth movers. Toddy?”
“Shovels! Great idea. I think I saw a tool shed when we parked the car.” And just like that she was on a mission and out of reach. Fully clothed and motivated. “C'mon!” she said. “We need to get back out there before someone else finds 'em.”
Evidently she had failed to notice how empty the search area was, then and now. “I'm not too worried,” he said.
“You're gonna make me do this alone?” she asked, the question punctuated by the sound of her zipper racing chinward.
He held up an empty grocery bag. “Perish the thought. Lemme just grab another layer or two of arctic weather gear and--”
“I'll get the shovel and meet you on the boardwalk!”
Andi disappeared, though her scent and the exclamation marks with which she spoke lingered. Charlie sniffed appreciatively then zippered up and headed for the wooden walkway that linked their rental unit with the beach.
She had already begun a new excavation. Midway between the boardwalk and the water, Andi attacked the beach as if looking for survivors of a mine disaster. Bits of wind-born sand stung Charlie's eyes before he altered his approach. “Find anything?”
“Yes! It's another one of those whatsits like we found this morning.”
“Oh, joy.”
“What if they came from the same creature?”
“I don't find that comforting,” he said. “Especially since we have no idea what the first thing is. If it's a left-something, and you just found the matching right-something, then we could be faced with a really large something.”