Episode 2.7: "Rock Band"

“Guys, something’s coming. Fast.”

“I see them,” Randall replied with a slight quiver to his voice, “Two of ‘em. Coming from where we left the bus.”

“Shit!” Maxine burst out, “Let’s get back into the bathroom before it sees us!”

“I think it might be too late,” Elvis said as we huddled together, “Whatever it is, it knows we’re here. Grab somethin’ to fight with!” Up until Elvis uttered these words, I was filled with absolute panic. We had something to fight with.

“The amp!” I shouted, “It is a weapon! It’ll kill these bastards!”

“Ed, we’re about to be attacked and possibly flayed alive. Please get a grip.” I could hear the despair in Maxine’s voice.

“Trust me,” I said calmly, “I need someone to bring me my guitar, plug it into the amp, and aim it towards those things coming at us.” In a few minutes, I felt my guitar shoved into my waiting arms.

“You better be right, blind man,” Randall growled as he connected my instrument to the amp, “It’s plugged in, but there’s no power cord! How you gonna use this thing?”

“Just aim the amp and stand back!” I yelled, hoping and praying that something miraculous would happen. The fiery blob had now gotten close enough for me to see its twisted shape, and I could hear its razor chains clink together as it ran. I slashed my hand across the strings, and immediately felt my instrument charge and pulsate with electricity. What happened next was quite extraordinary. The guitar became warm in my hands, and I could feel each note explode from the amp as if I was firing a submachine gun. I heard brief shrieks of pain, a diarrhea-like splatter, and then a series of cheers from Randall, Elvis, and Maxine.

“Day-umn, bro!” Elvis chuckled, “You vaporized the hell outt’ve ‘it! A blue laser beam shot outta the amp and blew that thing right off its legs!” The praises and laughter continued for a few more minutes until Maxine said, “Anyone have any idea what the hell that thing was? I know more like it attacked us last night, but what are they? Where’d they come from?”

“What did it look like?” I asked, hoping for something different than a human made out of fire and rage.

“It looked, y’know human, but…all mangled and bloody. The thing had chains wrapped around its body, like it was welded to its skin. Oh, it was wearin’ some sort of iron helmet, so I couldn’t see its face. Y’all think there could be a weird ass cult of godless sodomites out here?” Randall’s description made my skin crawl slightly.

“Who cares what it was,” Elvis chimed in, “That amp over there dusted it off pretty nice, and that’s all that matters to me.” There was a moment of silence. Pieces of a strange puzzle suddenly formed themselves together into a clear picture. Our immediate future was clouded by uncertainty and darkness. But we didn’t have to face it alone and unarmed.

“The signs are pretty clear. We’re musicians and the amp turns music into a weapon. We’ve been given an opportunity to fight whatever these things are, and I think we have to take it.” My companions waited for a few moments, and I was worried that my feeble attempt at a battle cry had fallen flat.

“So…” Elvis began, “You’re suggesting that in light of the apocalypse, we form a band?” Maxine and Randall looked strangely satisfied with this idea.

“Hell, I’m game,” Elvis continued, “What’re we gonna call ourselves?”

Episode 2.6: "The Donkey Harbinger"

“Ed? Ed wake up! We need to talk outside.” It was Maxine’s voice, and she sounded unexpectedly excited. As I stood up, Maxine took my hand and led me outside, which was mercifully stench-free. I could hear Randall and Elvis speaking quickly, along with a braying sound that was completely unexpected.

“Is…is there a donkey out here?” I asked, fully aware of how stupid this question sounded.

“Yeah! And it brought all our stuff from the bus with it!”

“That ain’t all,” Elvis sounded amazed, “It brought this shiny-lookin’ amp along too. We were wonderin’ if it was yours, since it don’t belong to any of us.”

“Uh, I didn’t bring an amp with me,” I replied, “Just my guitar and my bag.” My weird dream suddenly came back to me.

“Wait. Let me touch the amp.” Maxine led me a few steps and placed my hands on the amp’s outer casing. Smooth like glass; grill like a surface covered in cool water. I let out an audible gasp.

“What is it?” Asked Randall inquisitively.

“This is going to sound nuts,” I began, “But I think this is some kind of weapon. I dreamed about it.” There was a moment of mutual silence. I could tell each person was trying very hard to deliver a reply. Elvis was the first to speak.

“Weapon? Against what? Old folks?” He didn’t seem convinced.

“I know it sounds crazy, but I had a dream last night, and this amp was in it.” Randall soon joined the conversation.

“Let’s just back up a bit,” He took a deep breath and continued, “First, do any of you find it strange that not only are we the only survivors from that damn bus, but that we’re all musicians? I mean, that crazy shit that went down last night brought us al together. Maybe there’s a reason for it that we don’t completely understand.”

“What’s to understand?” Elvis replied sharply, “Survival’s the name of the game now. We gotta start thinkin’ about what we’re gonna do for food and water and shit. I’ll be down with startin’ up a band with y’all right after we answer the important questions!” From here, the conversation deteriorated into a series of rhetorical questions and smug comebacks. A long, terrifyingly close scream ended the argument, however. Sweat coated my forehead as I began to notice a small, fiery blob taking shape in my field of vision.

Episode 2.5: "The God Amp"

Every impulse in my body was telling me not to sit on this nasty bathroom floor, but I could already feel my legs stiffen and ache as they struggled to support my exhausted frame. I moved my back against the wall and slid down to the floor, making sure my hands came nowhere near it. I felt Maxine sit down next to me. Her perfume mixed with a slight hint of perspiration, providing me with a much-needed reprieve from the noxious fecal stench that dominated the small room. Randall sat down across from me, his back to the door. I heard the click-clack of a deadbolt sliding into place.

“G’night everyone,” he said quietly, “If you can call it that.” I was positive that I wouldn’t be able to sleep, considering the madness that we had just experienced. Not to mention the fact that I was sitting upright in a restroom that was long overdue for a cleaning. All the same, I felt myself nod off. It had been a long, bizarre day, and that tends to take it out of a person.

My slumber was plagued by strange dreams, the most vivid of which found me in the middle of a vacant interstate somewhere in the desert. I could feel the hot sun beating down on my exposed neck and arms while I walked the length of this uninhabited freeway. Soon, I could feel a brief respite from the scorching sun, as if a cloud was passing by. I tripped on something hard, and bent down to examine it. It was the size and shape of a guitar amp, but something was strange about it. The outer casing was smooth like glass, and my fingers slid across the grill as if it was a surface covered with cool water.

Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I stood up to greet the hand’s owner, but there was no one there.

“Hello?” I called, hoping for a reply. I waited for what seemed like several hours until I heard the unmistakable strumming of an acoustic guitar. The sound eventually took the form of an achingly familiar voice.

“Welcome to the fifth dimension,” said the voice quietly, “You’ve been brought here to gain important knowledge that will help you in the days and months to come.”

“What knowledge?” I asked. My voice felt thick and dissonant, and it disrupted the natural harmonies that I could hear blending around me.

“The object at your feet is a weapon.” Where had I heard this voice? It was right there at the tip of my memory, but I couldn’t recall the name.

“What exactly is this weapon?” Again, my voice sounded harsh and grating.

“It is called the God Amp. With it, your music becomes weaponry. When the time comes to use it, you must not hesitate,” I detected a change in the background music, “I must go soon. Do you have any other questions?”

“Yeah,” I blurted. For some reason, questions like “So what is this God Amp?” and “Enemy? What enemy?” were pushed to the background.

“Who are you?” There was a pause, as if the voice was debating whether or not to provide an answer.

“I have inhabited many forms and taken many shapes. I travel through the strum of the electric guitar, and through the deep throbbing beat of the bass drum. I am your only hope.”

Episode 2.4: "Introductions"

There’s something about puking in front of people that makes you feel somehow ashamed…like you don’t want others to see what food looks like after it's been in your particular stomach. I decided to take the initiative and break the awkward silence that had settled in our smelly bathroom sanctuary.

“What exactly happened on the bus?”

“Shee-yit! You didn’t see it?” the twangy voice replied.

“Well, no.” I pointed to my sunglasses.

“Why you wearin’ shades? You can’t see shit wearin’ those when it’s dark out.”

“He’s blind, dumbass.” The black dude replied.

“Oh, damn! Apologies, man. Given the pure, pants-pissing terror of the evening, I’d say bein’ blind is an advantage, if it’s any consolation.” Twangy-Voice sounded skinny and lean, like some kind of wild dog.

“After…I didn’t get your name?” The woman had begun speaking, addressing the black dude.

“Name’s Randall.” He replied.

“After Randall took the wheel and stopped the bus, there was something waiting out there in the dark for us. All I could see where chains made of razor wire slicing people in half when I saw you two take off.” Her syllables came out in short bursts, like a semi-automatic weapon. I pictured her with short hair and pursed lips.

“You told us to run, man,” Randall said to me, his voice painting me a mental picture of a soldier or a cop, “How’d you know something was coming if you can’t see anything?” This was a question that I was still trying to answer myself.

“I dunno," For some reason, I felt compelled to lie about what I 'saw,' "I just…I thought I heard something from that direction and didn’t want to find out what it was.”

“Well, it may have saved our lives, so I guess we should be thankin’ you. What’s your name?”

“Ed. Ed Devlin. I’m traveling to Boston from Toomsboro, Georgia.” I reached out my hand, which Randall enveloped in his. The dude must be huge.

“I guess after sharing a near-death experience, introductions are appropriate.” The woman replied, “I’m Maxine Gunn. I’ve been living in Baton Rouge. What’s your deal, truckstop?” I assumed she was talking to the dude with the twangy voice.

“Name’s Elvis Wickham. Came out from Dodge City, Kansas, and this has been the absolute weirdest day of my entire life.” I heard the sound of water running and quick, slurping gulps as Elvis drank deeply from the faucet. I hoped it wasn’t the one that I puked in.

“How about you Randall?” Maxine asked.

“Yeah, Randall Cobb. I’m from Morristown, New Jersey.”

“Well,” Elvis began as he sat down on the floor, “Now that we know each other’s names and have nearly been flayed alive by sadomasochists, I guess we’re ready enough to spend the night in a filthy bathroom together.” We all murmured some form of agreement.

Episode 2.3 "Bathroom of Solace"

“Something…something’s coming,” I muttered and pointed in the direction of these three shapes that I could see for some completely unknown reason, “We’ve got to get out of here.” At this point, the shapes broke into a full sprint, and the screaming started up again. I heard the sound of a jagged knife cutting through steak (not chains ripping through what was left of the passengers), the man next to me grabbed my shoulders and yelled, “Move!” once more.

We ran for what seemed like hours. My legs didn’t want to cooperate, and my lungs burned. I kept looking back towards our bus and felt somewhat relieved that the blazing forms had subsided, leaving me to my familiar blank vision.

“Quick! Let’s duck in here!” I heard a panicked woman gasp. A door hinge squeaked open, and I was taken inside with the rest of the survivors. The thick smell of stale air freshener mingled with human waste led me to believe that we had just ducked into a rest stop bathroom that was in dire need of some maintenance. The stench nearly caused me to gag, but on the plus side, I wasn’t getting sliced in half by razor wire.

“I bet some weird shit has gone down in here!” Another voice, nasal and twangy, echoed out against the restroom walls.

“Did you guys see those…things? What the hell were they?” This was the woman again, speaking in a slightly more calm tone of voice that revealed a subtle Southern drawl, “Oh shit! And what about those people’s heads popping like zits! I’ve never seen so much blood!” Her description confirmed the grim suspicion that was gnawing at me. Instinctively, I ran to the sink and turned on the cold water so I could rinse what I now knew to be blood off of my face. My heart felt like it was trying to break out of my chest and I was having trouble breathing. What in the hell was going on? Exploding heads? Fiery creatures wrapped in razor wire? And I swear this must be the filthiest rest stop in the state.

“You doin’ okay, Shades?” The Southern woman spoke, “You’re lookin’ greenish.” I placed my hands on the edge of the sink and breathed in a cloud of toilet smell. I thought the oxygen would help clear my head, but it didn’t. It made me barf. I did my best to guess where the sink was, but I heard some of it splatter on the ground at my feet. Amid surprised shouts of disgust, the woman grabbed my shoulders.

“Oh, dude! Here, let’s have you sit down for a bit. Come on. It’s okay.” She led me to a bench that must have been bolted to the wall. I was grateful for this puzzling addition to the rest room. The guy who yanked me off the bus didn’t seem to be fazed by my sudden surge of puke. He was talking quietly to himself, working out the events that had just transpired.

“They looked like people, but they moved way too fast…and the chains…they were almost like…a part of their body?” I couldn’t tell for sure, but he sounded black. Based on the voices and breathing that I could hear inside the slightly cramped bathroom, I guessed that there were only four of us, including me. I felt dumb for puking all over the place. Now we had that awesome smell to deal with. In order to occupy my mind, I thought about my dad. I hope he’s okay.

Episode 2.2: "What Could Be Worse Than Exploding Heads?"

Whoever took the wheel managed to bring the bus to a shaky halt, and I heard frantic footsteps racing to the exit. I followed suit, making my way through the aisle as best I could. Every other seat that my hands touched was covered in the same sticky fluid that I could feel running down my neck, and I kept tripping over some lumpy obstructions that were splayed across the aisle. Even though I had no other explanation for it, I kept telling myself that I wasn’t touching blood, and that I wasn’t tripping over corpses.

Eventually, I called out for help and someone grabbed my shoulder crying “Move! I gotcha, just move!” as he led me outside.

“What…what’s going on?” I panted as our feet hit the hard interstate asphalt.

“The driver,” he spoke in a baritone that was shaking to keep control of itself, “his head…it just splattered all over the windshield. Then…other passengers…their heads just…burst like water balloons. Don’t know why…” The remaining passengers rallied around us, frantically panting while shouting out unanswerable questions.

During this roadside pandemonium, something started to take shape in the area behind my impotent eyeballs. My blindness has been with me since birth, so I don’t even know how to describe it, but three separate forms started to insert themselves into the familiar blankness that usually covers my eyes. The forms looked the way that a blazing campfire feels when it’s too close to your skin. They started to gain intensity until they began to take on the shapes of people, as I understood them. Two arms, two legs, one head…but there was something slightly not human about these fiery shapes that were materializing before me. Where their eyes should be, there were two painful looking slits; thin and sharp like razorblades. Strands hung from their arms, legs, and shoulders and as they drew closer, I could see that they were chains. Whatever the hell happened on the bus was just the beginning.

Episode 2.1

EPISODE 2: "I'M WITH THE BAND"
STARRING: ED ON LEAD VOCALS
SOMEWHERE OUTSIDE PROVIDENCE, RI



The rain started up on the way out of New York and had been pelting the top of the bus ever since. Thunder rumbled and growled in the distance, and I could hear the germinating dread in the sighs and whispers of the other passengers. Despite the fact that storms come and go all the time, there are certain manifestations of nature that remind us of our place on this hostile planet. It’s all tied into that same primordial part of our brains that, thousands of years ago, motivated our ancestors to sacrifice their fellow humans on altars dedicated to the torrential chaos of nature.

Anyway, back to the bus. I’d been riding in this cramped metal box for close to three days now. Seat F3. Greyhound. Atlanta to Boston. I could smell the different cities on the clothes of each passenger that shuffled past me to their seats. As a blind dude, the way people smell kind of takes the place of the way they look. Occasionally I’d catch a whiff of some exotic type of perfume and assume it belonged to a beautiful woman, and then sometimes I’d inhale the stench of rancid breath and picture some kind of freakish vagrant.

I’m on my way to Boston because of a fairly mysterious message I got via MySpace. I’ve played a few gigs around Georgia, and apparently some booking agent liked one of them enough to invite me to an indie showcase up in Boston. I can strum a decent guitar, but it’s the blindness that people pay to see. Folks like a blind musician. Makes them feel all warm and fuzzy, especially when they’re getting drunk.

I did the math, and playing a show in a city with more than 600 people could significantly increase my chances of becoming a well-known singer/songwriter. It meant leaving my dad alone for a week or so, but he assured me that he’d be able to make ends meet. I had a feeling that dad just wanted me to have a chance to visit Boston. He’s damn proud of his Irish roots, and he’d be happy to drink any of those Boston micks under the table.

The bus careened through the storm for another hour or so when things unexpectedly and abruptly went to shit. From the very front of the bus, I heard a popping sound that reminded me of a piece of meat that has spent too much time in the microwave. Then screaming. Loud, panicked wails that caused me to dig my fingers into the seat in front of me and clench my teeth as I waited for the inevitable impact of the bus crashing into who knows what. The bus started to slowly veer to the right, but someone must’ve grabbed the wheel and corrected its course. A few more pops echoed through the bus, and I jumped as something warm and sticky splattered across my face. The screams were going full throttle, like a church choir speaking in tongues.

Episode 1.10: "Marla Manslaughter"

“Um…I should…I should get going then…” At this point, I regained most of my composure. I didn’t want the only other capable human being that I’ve met so far to ditch me because I laughed at his stupid name.

“No! Wait, don’t go, Max,” I panted, “I’m sorry for laughing. It’s just been…it’s been a hell of a day.” Max shrugged, and I continued.

“Let me come with you, wherever you’re going. You obviously know how to handle these…interlopers, and I don’t. We’d have a better chance of surviving, don’t you think?”

“Surviving? Together?” He gave a sarcastic little snort and his voice rose slightly, “Listen, Marla. If sticking together actually increased humanity's ability to survive, do you think we'd be in this mess? All bets are off, Marla. Humanity’s getting flushed down the toilet as we speak. Civilization has made us weak, and governments have made us forget how to think for ourselves. Our leaders wound up betraying us, and we were too busy worrying about what was happening on Jersey Shore to give a damn. You saw how the military got chewed up back there. If we’re going to get rid of these things, we can’t depend on…on… hierarchies… and…chains of command…and…shit like that. No, Marla. It’s guerilla style from here on out. Every man for himself, fighting chaos with chaos.” I could kind of see where Max was coming from with this rant. He did show up out of the blue and take down an enemy that was straight up pulverizing the military.

“What about people who don’t know how to fight? Or people who don’t have access to experimental, four-barreled missile launchers like you? If humanity is waging a guerilla war against these things, shouldn’t they be prepared? Shouldn’t they be taught how to fight?” Max flicked his cigarette to the ground and lit up another, exposing more of his average-looking face.

“You’re right, Marla.” He stepped closer to me, and opened his duster to reveal a kevlar vest, combat fatigues, and a belt that sheathed the biggest knife I had ever seen. I heard the sharp, crisp sound of the blade coming unsheathed. I was still sitting on the cold cement as he held his gleaming blade inches from my face.

“Marla Killian,” he began, “On behalf of the planet Earth and her children, I hereby dub you Marla Manslaughter,” He quickly flipped the blade in his hand so the flat end was facing down, and lightly tapped each of my shoulders with it. I shivered slightly at the cold steel’s touch, “May you be guided to the survivors that will be ready and willing to take up arms in defense of our world, and may your encounters with the enemy be victorious and drenched in their blood.” As he spoke these last words, I stood up. Despite the obvious pomp with which Max had saturated this strange blessing, I couldn’t help but feel moved inside.

Max approached his ammo cart and flipped one corner of the flag over. He rummaged through the cart as his donkey vacuously chewed on a few tufts of grass.

“Here we are,” he said triumphantly. In his hands, he held a weapon that looked like a 12 gauge shotgun with a fat, cylindrical drum that hung between the stock and the barrel. Hanging from his arm were five different sized bandoliers fully stocked with shells, and a canvas belt attached to a leather sheath inhabited by a fairly large knife. He handed the gun over to me, and though it looked like it weighed about sixty pounds, it was surprisingly light and easy to handle. He draped the three larger bandoliers around my neck like explosive Hawaiian leis of black leather and red plastic. He clipped the two smaller belts to my right thigh while I wrapped the belt around my waist and buckled it. I slowly pulled the knife out of its sheath, and beheld a jet-black blade that must’ve been a foot long. I noticed a pair of aviator goggles attached to a worn leather cap. They happened to look badass, so I asked Max if I could have those too. He chuckled softly and nodded. The cap hugged my head comfortably, and I slid the goggles up so they rested above my eyebrows. Max took a step back, pleased with his creation.

“Not bad, Marla Manslaughter. You will bring many survivors to the light, and many foes will fall at your feet.” He smiled and took one more drag on his cigarette before he gathered up his donkey’s bridle and walked off into the gathering smoke and darkness.

Marla walked off in the opposite direction. Streaks of pink and orange had begun to bleed into the light blue sky. As she headed down the car-choked street in front of the still-flaming ruins of Fort Douglas, she heard a car door creak open. Her eyes found the source of the noise. A slightly chubby Japanese-American girl who looked no older than sixteen sat on the edge of the car seat looking around at the destruction. When her eyes met Marla’s, she stood up, cautiously reaching for the gun that she had been sleeping with. Marla noticed her apprehension and raised both of her hands to show that she was unarmed. She smiled, and waved the girl over. The Japanese girl kept her gun, but exited the vehicle and made her way to the sidewalk where Marla stood. The Japanese girl had streaks of pink and orange coursing through her long black hair.

“Why aren’t you dead?” Marla asked.

“Because I’m clever.” Replied the girl. This made Marla smile once more. She was no longer looking at a mere survivor. She was looking at her first recruit.

Episode 1.9: "Max Bodycount"

 

Upon seeing this giant mechanism of death, I decided to go right back the way I came and find a nice quiet place to await the end of the world. But that's when He came along and made me reconsider humanity’s chances in this conflict. He jumped up on the hood of the Prius and punched his chest, which caused four massive, missile-loaded barrels to protrude from somewhere on his back. He took hold of the two joysticks that extended in front of him, and I heard the precise whistle of warheads singing on their way to a target. I stared at the invading machine through the driver’s side window and laughed in amazement as I saw two bright orange and red blossoms of fire blast huge chunks off of the machine’s torso and arms. The machine looked pissed and extended one coiled arm towards us, but the mystery man let two more missiles loose. They found their target, and the dome-headed machine fizzled, sputtered, and crashed to the ground, consumed in greenish blue flames.

He must not have noticed me, because He jumped off the Prius and started walking back towards the campus.

“Hey!” I yelled, not really knowing how to casually approach a mysterious man who just brought down an alien menace. He stopped, but didn’t completely turn around. I could see that he was wearing a wide-brimmed cowboy hat and a vintage-looking duster. He turned his head back slightly, and I could see that a lit cigarette was dangling from his mouth.

“Who’re you?” He asked, sounding as grizzled and pissed as one would infer from his appearance. I stood up, trying to act like I didn’t just witness a military base get decimated by aliens.

“My name’s Marla. Marla Killian. I study English Lit at the U…well, I studied it, anyway…” He turned to face me, and took a few steps in my direction.

“Why aren’t you dead?”

“Well, I guess it’s because I got knocked out by an errant brain and couldn’t afford a Vonix phone.”

“Makes sense. The part about the phone, anyway. That’s how they’ve infiltrated our planet.” Score one for Jeff.

“Who are you? Where’d you get that four-barreled missile thing? I’ve never seen one of those before.” The man smirked slightly. Now that He was closer, the cigarette lit up his features. I had expected Sawyer from Lost, based on what I’d seen of him so far. However, He was astoundingly average looking; like a greeter at Best Buy. His reply to my question was a shrill whistle. I paused for a moment, not quite understanding how to carry on a conversation that had been derailed by whistling. Suddenly, I heard the faint and obnoxious chime of a cowbell heading our way. A small donkey pulling a cart materialized from the smoke that had begun billowing around us. The cart looked to have been fashioned out of the hindquarters of a circa 1970’s Ford pickup. A tattered American flag struggled to contain several gun barrels of differing lengths and widths. Ammunition belts flopped over the side of the cart like the tongue of a thirsty bulldog. He punched his chest again, and the four barrels retracted back to their hiding place.

“I found it,” he said nonchalantly, “Along with all these. Came in handy though, didn’t it?” I nodded my head in agreement. Despite the deluge of traumatizing shit that I had witnessed over the course of this utterly bizarre day, a cowboy and his ammo-toting donkey weren’t so bad.

“As for my name,” he took a long, dramatic drag on his cigarette, “It’s Max. Max Bodycount.” That pushed me over the edge. In the span of roughly six hours, I’d seen decapitations (plural!), gallons of blood, actual evidence of extra-terrestrial life, and half a military base consumed by lasers. Now, at the end of it all, I was talking to a guy named Max Bodycount in front of his gun-toting jackass. I couldn’t control it any longer, and I let out a torrent of laughter. My knees started to buckle and my ass hit the ground while tears streamed from my bloodshot eyes. The laughter wouldn’t stop, and for a few moments, I was genuinely worried about vomiting.

Episode 1.8: "Out Come the Big Guns"

“Jeff, here’s what’s going to happen,” I said calmly, replacing my shirt, “I’m going to take your gun with me while I try to figure out what’s going on. Do you understand?” Jeff clenched his teeth and nodded as he sucked the cold night air into his blood-coated mouth.

“Good. I’m going to leave you here, now. I hope you find someone to help you propagate our species, but I would suggest going about it the old fashioned way and ask her out to dinner before giving her the “genetic responsibility” speech. Bye, Jeff. Thanks for the gun.” I proceeded to walk away from Milton Bennion Hall, the mutants that had shacked up there, and poor, lonely, one-armed Jeff.

To his credit, Jeff was right about the campus police, because no one answered when I picked up the phone. I hung up and paused for a moment to consider my options. The logical thing to do would be to contact any friends or loved ones, but in all honesty I didn’t have much of either. My useless alcoholic dad back in Oregon never answered his phone when I called on a regular day, and I doubt an international crisis would change that. My mom left me to fend for myself when I was ten, so I doubt she cared what I was doing right at this moment. After weighing my options, I decided to head up to Fort Douglas. It was fairly close, and if there was a safe place to be right now, it’d be with the military…right?

As I made my way to the fort, I could see chaos overtaking the city below me. Clusters of red, white, and blue sirens dotted the streets, and there were at least three fires that had begun consuming some of the larger buildings downtown. Occasionally I could see small, frightened groups of people wandering around campus, screaming incoherently into their phones. They’re probably trying to reach their loved ones, desperately hoping that their circle of friends and family had remained unbroken during this sudden tribulation. Right up until the moment Professor Channing’s head blew up, I had dealt with a consistent sting in my stomach that came from my lack of close friends, and my inability to do anything about it. However, now that the chips were down, I found a small bit of comfort in the fact that I was on my own. It’s pathetic and sad to have no friends, but in the worst-case scenario that was unfolding before me tonight, I appreciated the fact that all I had to look out for was myself.

As I got closer to Fort Douglas, I could hear the microwave popcorn sound of machine gun fire, and I developed a sick feeling in my stomach that told me that I might not be able to find any help here. A traffic jam of unattended vehicles blocked the street for miles in both directions making it difficult to make it to the fort directly.

I began zigzagging through the cars, but the closer I got to the fort, the more my gut was telling me to turn around and find some other place to hide. The grounds outside the fort were also littered with headless bodies; soldiers, students, doctors, men, women, children… these things saw us all as potential hosts, regardless of race or religion. The entrance to the fort was locked, but I could see through the thin black bars of the outer fence. It looked like they had created a barricade of chest-high brown sandbags on the north side. I aimlessly wondered what the barricade was for, since the gates were locked. Around two minutes later, I understood. Metallic shrieks echoed throughout the cold air, and bursts of machine gun fire blasted out a reply. A popper (that’s what I decided to call them) flung itself over the sandbags and into a soldier’s surprised face. Two, three more followed, heralding a literal flood of writhing, biting, and clawing hostiles (that’s what the military would call them. Probably.).

The poppers rushed the fort, gnawing on anything that got in their way. For a moment, the sheer amount of weirdness that my brain was processing caused me to freeze. As I was thinking frantically about what my next step should be, I was knocked off my feet by a thunderclap of force…the result of Fort Douglas’s armory violently exploding. The impact sent me over the hood of a vacant Toyota Prius, which was now between the fort and myself. I slid my back up against its wheel and quickly checked myself for injuries. My shoulder got scraped pretty badly when I hit the ashphalt, causing small pinholes of blood to well up within the angry red cuts that crisscrossed my shoulder. I pressed my shirt against the wound and peeked slightly over the hood of the car. In the wake of the deafening explosion stood…no…hovered a giant mechanism that was definitely not manufactured in the U.S. of A.



It was about the size of a bulldozer. A huge glowing dome dominated the top of the vehicle; flickering and flashing like an overcharged light bulb. The dome was connected to what looked like a torso composed of steel and thick cords. Two arm-like appendages jutted out from the vehicle's upper portion, terminating in chrome satellite dishes which pulsated with a greenish white glow. It was held together with tightly wound fibers of glimmering wire, and thick cables coiled around the mechanism like shiny black pythons. Jagged bolts of greenish white electricity supported the base of the machine, occasionally clinging to the trees and overturned vehicles within its vicinity. It pointed one of its arms to the next building, and a blinding beam of acid green energy reduced it to a smoldering pile of brick and dust after another deafening explosion.

NEXT: "WHO IS MAX BODYCOUNT?"

Episode 1.7: "Game: Marla"

“If you’re serious about this craziness, you’re not going to shoot me, Jeff.” I had seen plenty of hostage situations in movies, and this was a universal truth.

“No,” he replied, aiming the weapon at my leg, “At least nowhere important. You can still fulfill your end of this deal with a shattered kneecap.” He had me there. I couldn’t just go along with this, though. My mind started racing for some way out of this awkward and very creepy situation. Okay, what do I know about Jeff? He was definitely a pervert. And the way he’s handling that gun like it might go off at any moment led me to believe that in addition to being a pervert, Jeff was also a pussy. I decided to exploit both of these character flaws to ensure my escape from his deranged clutches, and get a Glock in the process.

I slid the handle of Shawn’s hammer into one of my belt loops and held my hands out. I’d have to play this guy out just right.

“You seem pretty passionate about this idea, Jeff,” I tried to make my voice sound all smoky and sex-crazed, “And right now, you’re the only person I can trust. I’ll need someone like you to keep me safe from these…things.” Jeff lowered his gun, his eyes widening slightly. I wasn’t a pro at seducing men by any stretch of the imagination, but whatever limited experience I had was working on poor, lonely Jeff. From his reaction to the slight change in my voice, it became painfully evident that Jeff’s only sexual experiences had come by way of Madame Palm and her five daughters.

“So, when do you think we should get started?” I asked, stepping closer to Jeff.

“Well, uh…I thought that…when…whenever, really.” Jeff was on the ropes. I pulled off my shirt. It was laundry day, so out of necessity (and quite serendipitously) I was wearing one of my two “sexy” bras. I heard Jeff release a weak sigh, and I knew he was toast.

“I think sooner would be better than later.” I spoke quietly. He let the hand holding his gun fall limply to his side, and I slinked closer, sticking my chest out like I was in a Jay-Z video. I put my arms around his neck, and nearly blew my cover when I saw the expression on his face. Body-wise, I’m like, a 6 out of 10 at best, but keep in mind that Jeff was a very lonely kid.

At this point, I probably could have just asked him for his gun, but I opted for a more vengeful solution. I slid my left hand up Jeff’s neck so I was gripping the back of his head, and then I thrust my head forward directly into Jeff’s pathetic face. The impact stung slightly, and I heard a small crunch that I assumed was Jeff’s glasses, his nose, or maybe both. He groaned and swore through blood-soaked teeth, and I took this brief opportunity to remove Shawn’s hammer from my belt loop. I flipped the hammer in my hand so the clawed end was facing forward, and swung for Jeff’s gun-wielding forearm. It connected, and I felt the hammer dig into Jeff’s muscle and crack bone. He shrieked as he dropped his Glock and reached for his injured arm. His screaming continued as he dropped to his knees, looking at his shattered arm.

Episode 1.6: "Jeff's Weird Plan"

“Those Vonix phones were popular,” I added, “Lots of little mutants running around now, I guess.” Jeff nodded his head.

“Exactly. You know what this means, don’t you?”

“I guess it means that I’m glad I could never afford one. And hopefully someone on campus police couldn’t afford one either. Let’s try to call over there.”

“Pointless,” Jeff responded, “It’s already too late. We’re done. Humanity is done.”

“Let’s not jump to that conclusion yet, Jeff. I’m sure the government is dispatching experts to mop this up as we speak.” He did that nerd thing they do when they look at you over their glasses that have slid too far down their noses.

“Our government? Helping out in a crisis? You are obviously unaware of the teensy incident involving a huge hurricane and New Orleans. If you think our government is doing anything but trying to figure out how they can make money off of this, then you’re completely ignorant, and I may not want to father the next human race with you.”

“Okay, first of all, I’ll bet you’ve never been to New Orleans. You’ve just jumped on the same hipster, anti-government bandwagon that everyone’s on. And second, I’ll bet you’ve got your share of student loans and…hold on, did you say something about fathering something? And did that somehow involve me?”

“Yes, I did. It did. I was hoping to find someone with more intelligence, but you’ll have to do.” I folded my arms tightly as I assessed this strange turn of events.

“Are you…are you being serious? Or are you just trying to lighten the dismal mood by saying something incredibly stupid?” Jeff put his hands in the front pockets of his hoodie.

“I’m very serious. We’re looking at the end of the human race as we know it. You and I will retreat into the mountains. They won’t find us there. Once we are successfully hidden, we will focus on repopulating the planet. It’s our genetic responsibility.” My stomach wrenched itself into a knot and my throat went dry; the same sensations I get moments before vomiting.

“Hate to wreck your plan there, Jeff, but there’s no way that’s going to happen. At least not with me, anyway. Best of luck finding yourself a baby maker, though. I’ll just…um…be on my way then.”

“I’m afraid I can’t risk that, Marla,” Jeff produced a Glock from his hoodie and cocked it, “It’s for the future of our species.” He pointed the gun at me. I guess it’s a sign of the times when the first person you meet during Armageddon is a guy like Jeff.

NEXT: "MARLA GETS FREAKY"

Episode 1.5: "Hooked on Vonix"

“Yaaahhh!” I screamed as I swung my hammer at this mysterious interloper. I held back when I saw that it was another student, head intact, complete with Buddy Holly glasses and shortly cropped hair. I lowered my hammer.

“What are you doing creeping around in the dark like that? I almost bashed your head in!” I took a deep breath while my heart settled down.

“I’m sorry,” He said as he held his hands out, palms facing me, “I’m not here to hurt you. But I do have one question. That phone you were about to use…is it a Vonix?”

“Yeah, but it’s not mine. I…” He interrupted me by slapping the phone out of my hand and stomping it to shiny black pieces. I stared at him in disbelief. After a few hard stomps, he looked back at me.

“Just what in the hell do you think you’re doing? Now we’re just left with campus rent-a-cops!” I nodded towards the security phone booth. The guy caught his breath and removed his glasses. Squinting as he wiped them off with his sleeve, he replied, “I’m saving your life!” which was not the response I was expecting.

“What, from Shawn’s phone? I think I could have handled a Blackberry, dude.” He put his glasses back on.

“That,” he paused for emphasis, “was no Blackberry. You don’t know what’s going on, do you?” I guess he had me there.

“Apart from some freaky mutants eating their way out of people’s heads, I really don’t know what’s going on. Enlighten me…” I extended my hand, gesturing for him to tell me his name.

“Oh. I’m Jeff. Jeff Wiggins.” We shook hands.

“I’m Marla Killian.”

“Charmed. Listen,” he began, “Those things, whatever they are…well they were implanted into peoples’ heads via Vonix Smartphones.” I looked at him incredulously, trying to visualize how that would even work.

“How would that even work?” I asked him sharply. I don’t know why I bothered raising an argument on the subject. I guess parasitical cell phone waves are as good an explanation as any for this mess.

“I have some ideas. And I guarantee that if we search the pockets of every headless corpse on campus, we’d find a Vonix phone. They’ve been planning this for years now…just waiting for the right moment.”

“Who’s been planning what? Explain it to me like I have no idea what you’re talking about. Which I don’t.” Jeff let out a nasally sigh and rubbed his temples, which I automatically took to be a sign that he was a student of the computer sciences.

“In short…aliens are behind this. They manufactured these phones to somehow electronically transmit a microscopic embryo that grows into the things that we’ve been seeing emerge from peoples’ heads. They played upon our weakness for phone gadgetry, and we have paid dearly for it.” Since I really had no explanation for what was going on, I felt like I had to take Jeff’s idea until a more practical one came along.

NEXT:
"JEFF'S WEIRD PLAN"

Episode 1.4: "The Wrong Button"

“Shawn? Shawn are you there? There’s all kindsa crazy shit goin’ on ‘round here! Heads blowin’ up and shit! Shawn!” It continued, and I felt obligated to talk to this lady. I was, after all, about to use her dead acquaintance’s hammer and cell phone to help prolong my own life.
“Yes, hello?” I said calmly.
“Who in the hell is this? Where’s Shawn? Don’t make me cut yo’ ass! Speak up!” I tried to remain calm.
“Yes, my name is Marla, and I have some…well, bad news about…Shawn, was it?”
“Shawn? You seen him? Tell him to get his ass home! They’s heads blowin’ up and shit all over down here!”
“That’s the thing, ma’am. Shawn’s…well, his head has blown up too. I wasn’t going to answer, but I hit the wrong button and…”
“What? Shawn! Shaaaaawwn! Noooo!” I held the phone away from my ear to help mute the sound. Suddenly, I heard a digitized version of the sound Professor Burbidge’s head made when it blew up, and the conversation ended. I clutched Shawn’s hammer in my hand, and put his phone in my bag. I hadn’t ever told a person that someone they cared about has died. There was a sick feeling in my stomach, and a cold sweat had slithered its way across my skin. I heard the mutant scream, but this time it was answered by yowls and screeches from different parts of the building. My heart pounded as I visualized one of these things slithering out of a vent above me and sinking its teeth into my skull, and I got the hell outside.
Campus has always been a bit creepy at night, and given the circumstances, it was downright terrifying. I jumped whenever the old pines and birches shook their branches in the wind, and my mind started to see shadows moving in and out of the corners of my eyes. I noticed the dull blue glow of a nearby campus security phone booth, which I’d always secretly wanted to use (not to report a rash of head-mutilating creatures that were running amok on campus, however). I was tempted by this sudden emergency, but I decided that given the gravity of the situation, campus police just wasn’t going to cut it. I pulled out Shawn’s cell phone and started to dial 911 when something grabbed my shoulder.

Episode 1.3: "Scavenging"

I must have been MIA for awhile, because it had gotten dark outside. My dick classmates just left me on the floor, pathetically covered in Professor Burbidge’s brains. I dragged my hands across my face and ran them through my hair, trying to get as much of the gunk off as I could. When my head stopped buzzing, I stood up and collected my things. The classroom looked like…well, it looked like a mutant creature blew up a college professor’s head and the students reacted accordingly. Desks were overturned, textbooks and notebooks were scattered across the floor, and there was a good amount of blood smeared all over the front of the classroom. I thought of the mutant, and my body stiffened slightly. Was it still in the room with me? I cautiously approached the remains of Professor Burbidge. There was a long crimson streak on the floor that led from Professor Burbidge’s neck to the door.

“I’ll miss your class, Professor Burbidge,” I blurted out, as if the guy still had a head, “Sorry about what happened. I don’t imagine you wanted to die like this. It’s kind of exposing to have everyone see what the inside of your head looked like. Anyway, I’ll do my best to avenge you. Don’t expect much though. I’m not a great writer, and I’m sure as hell not prepared to kill whatever did this to you. But I’ll try.”

I left his headless body and walked towards the door, gripping the strap of my bag tightly just in case I needed it to flail at the dreaded mutant. The door creaked slightly and I stepped out into the fluorescent-lit hallway of Milton Bennion Hall. As gross as the classroom looked when I left, nothing could have prepared me for the scene of horror and violence that awaited me outside.

Several more headless bodies were sprawled across the hallway. Gallons of blood had gathered into tidepools where the floor was uneven, and it had been spattered across the white brick walls like a Jackson Pollock painting. The sweetly metallic smell of it stung my nose as I tried to avoid stepping in anyone’s fluids while I made my way outside. A mutant screech echoed from somewhere else in the building, and it was a bit too close for my liking. I held up my backpack, facing the impending reality that I was in danger, and a damn backpack wasn’t going to be able to protect me. I looked around the hallway for anything I could use as an improvised weapon. Really, anything hard or sharp would be more effective than a leather bag containing two textbooks.

I wasn’t having much luck until I noticed some legs wearing brown Timberlands, now spotted with blood, sticking out from beneath the body of a girl wearing scrubs. A surge of adrenaline pulsed through me as I remembered seeing a maintenance guy wearing these on campus a few times. I thought he was stupid for paying $150 for Timberlands and then actually working in them, and he and his tool belt stuck in my memory.

As respectfully as I could, I rolled Scrub Girl’s body off of the mystery legs, which revealed the previously mentioned tool belt attached to Timberland Guy’s waist. I removed a claw hammer from its holster and felt slightly more confident in defending myself against the evil that had besieged the campus. Not much more confident, however, because I dropped my weapon as soon as I heard Timberland Guy’s cell phone blare out a refrain of “Yeah” by Lil’ Wayne. This made me remember a horrifying detail about today, and that detail was that I left my cell phone at home. Damn. That’s what I get for trying to be a more respectful student in class. The thought of outside contact made me realize that I hadn’t really considered the scope of my situation. Were people’s heads blowing up all across the state? The country? The world? Timberland Guy’s phone kept ringing, and I decided that I’d need a cell phone, at least to contact the police. I removed Timberland Guy’s phone from his back pocket, and instead of hitting the “silence Lil’ Wayne” button, I pushed the “Hello, who is it?” button. As a result of my unfamiliarity of these cool new Vonix Smartphones, I was greeted with the shrill voice of a hysterical woman.

NEXT:
"CONTACT"


The Bug: "Catch a Fire"

Episode 1.2 "Brains Are A Lot Harder Than You'd Think"

When whatever this thing was turned to face us, I could see what it’s arms were busy with. They were busy stuffing Professor Burbidge’s brain into its Predator-esque jaws, which also revealed the origin of the terrible slurping sounds that the creature was making. I remained frozen in place, but my rebellious, thrill-seeking eyes hopped around the classroom searching for some new form of grotesquerie. Jerry, who works at Whole Foods, puked all over his desk and passed out, letting his dirty-blond dreadlocks sop up the pool of vomit that he had produced. Jin and Han, the foreign exchange students, were holding onto each other as if Jin was trying to incorporate Han into his own body. Whitney and Haley, who always wear sweat pants with the words “juicy” or “pink” written across their asses leapt up and ran out of the room, their screams echoing down the hall. Everyone else was either trying to get cleaned up or huddled in the back of the room, afraid to see what fresh heaps of weirdness were in store for them.

As I was observing how the chaos affected my classmates, I heard a hellish noise from the front of the class. It was an unholy union of a dial-up modem struggling to connect and long, jagged nails scraping down a chalkboard. I turned to look at the creature just in time to see Professor Burbidge’s half-gnawed brain for a split second as it splattered into my face. Quick note: Brains are lots harder than you’d think. Also, I’m pretty sure I got some in my mouth. I don’t know if it was the impact of a brain hitting me in the face or a safety mechanism that my body employed when it couldn’t handle anymore batshit craziness, but I blacked out.

NEXT:

"MARLA GETS A CLAW HAMMER"

Oingo Boingo: "Grey Matter"

Episode 1.1 "Pity the Front Row"

STARRING:

Salt Lake City, Utah

About twenty minutes in to his lecture about religious imagery in Milton’s Paradise Lost, I was surprised to witness the explosion of Professor Waylon Burbidge’s head. Other than the obvious, two things struck me as odd about this occurrence. First, I had watched David Cronenberg’s film Scanners just last night; second, the sound of the aforementioned head explosion wasn’t as dramatic as those of the myriad heads that exploded in Scanners. It was nothing more than a quick, wet pop.

Despite the fact that my professor’s head just blew up, I couldn’t help but focus on the unfortunate students in the front row. Some of them were screaming as they stared in disbelief at the thick, viscous goo that persistently clung to their arms and hands. Some of them pressed their backs into their chairs, leaning backwards as far as they could go in a futile attempt to escape the rain of gore, and some of them struggled frantically to remove little bits of Professor Burbidge’s head from their clothes and hipster beards.

My eyes narrowed as they focused on the glistening mound of hamburger that was once Professor Burbidge’s head, and I wondered why he hadn’t fallen down yet. I mean, a guy’s head blows up and you’d think he’d be down for the count. But…wait a minute. Is there something moving…inside his neck? It looks like movement and…holy shit! His neck is, like, giving birth to...a slimy, bald head and two arms that seemed to be busily occupied with something that I couldn’t quite see. At first, the thing struggled to emerge from the stump of Professor Burbidge’s neck. I was briefly reminded of a video I watched as a kid that depicted a slick, pink baby chicken violently head butting its way out of an egg.

When it fully emerged, I could see its translucent, pale skin stretched across a jagged column of vertebrae. From the other side of the creature, I could hear muffled grunts and slurps. At this point, the screaming commenced once more. Some of the more sensitive students had finally become aware that some kind of mutant had popped out of Professor Burbidge’s neck. The creature seemed to notice this sudden cacophony and stopped whatever it was doing. It turned slowly to face us causing a sound that resembled a wooden spoon churning a bowl of overdone noodles to emanate from Professor Burbidge’s neck. Despite the fact that my lit history professor’s head randomly exploded, and despite the fact that we were now face to face with a little mutant that had emerged from the stump of his neck, things got weirder.

NEXT:

"MARLA GETS HIT WITH A BRAIN"

Eels: "Fresh Blood"