Pod of Horror Announcement

Dave Wilbanks has decided to leave Pod of Horror. He has a lot on his plate and he says something has to go. I’m just sorry it’s PoH. His contributions will be missed.

But PoH rolls on. We’ll have our next episode up around April 8th, with two interviews, a new Tomb of Trivia clue and perhaps a surprise or two.

Now This Is A Blurb

"How can you not fall in love with something called Deadneck Hootenanny? How can you not slap your leg and let fly with a loud "Yeeee-HAW!"? I ask you. Get ready to laugh, sweat, and gag simultaneously as Mark Justice brings you Night of the Living Dead by way of Lil' Abner and Green Acres. Suspenseful, witty, and unabashedly absurdist, Deadneck Hootenanny is just so much damned fun you might feel guilty while reading it, knowing how miserable the rest of the world is because it isn't reading it."

--Gary A. Braunbeck, Bram Stoker Award- and International Horror Guild Award-winner, author of Destinations Unknown, Prodigal Blues, and Mr. Hands

The dead are coming back to eat you...then they'll drink beer and watch NASCAR.
Deadneck Hootenanny, this summer from Novello Publishers

Pod of Horror #31

Pod of Horror #31 has arrived like the first robin of spring...if that robin had a potty-mouth and pooped on your car. What’s up this time? Well:

* Fiction from Jeff Strand, as read by Dave.

* Steve Vernon talks writing and cooking fiddleheads.

* Dave has more Poop than would fit in the adult diaper of a cross-country-driving psycho astronaut.

* Amy Grech discusses her new story collection.

* Grim Rictus wears the bling.

* And a massive clue is given to The Tomb of Trivia.

Pod of Horror is hosted by Mark Justice and David T. Wilbanks. Download it at I-Tunes or direct to your desktop.

And be sure to drop by the Justice & Wilbanks message board.

The Recent Criticism of LOST

It's still one of the best-written hours on television, as proven by the recent Hurley episode and this week's Locke story. I've never finished a show and thought "that wasn't very good." As long as they're entertaining me on a weekly basis, I'm happy. And if the creators really do have it all figured out, that's even better.

Cha-cha-cha and Such

It was a first for me. I actually watched an episode of Dancing with the Stars. My wife’s mission to convert me into a girl is almost complete.

Actually, we watched because we both know one of the contestants. Take away the annoying judges, annoying hosts and annoying post-dance interviews and it wasn’t bad.


I’m reading The Myth Hunters by Christopher Golden. It’s a phenomenal book by an underrated author. How can a guy write a gazillion books and be underrated? I dunno. But Golden is consistently excellent, and it seems he flies below the radar of a lot of horror/dark fantasy fans. Do yourself a favor. Pick up this book. Or The Boys Are Back in Town or Wildwood Road or The Ferryman.

On the movie front, during my recent illness I managed to do nothing but collapse on the couch and watch TV. I caught Borat, Casino Royale, V for Vendetta and The Holiday. I enjoyed all of them on some level, but it may have been due to my fever.

First DEADNECK HOOTENANNY Review

Nick Cato says my redneck zombie novella will be reviewed in The Hacker's Source #23. Here's an excerpt from reviewer Eve Blaack:

"...I had to laugh out loud at this charming tale. And for you zombie fans out there, yes there is flesh munching gore spilling onto the pages. Imaginative, original, and zany, this novella is well worth seeking out."

Deadneck Hootenanny should be up for pre-order in a few weeks. I'll link to it as soon as it's available.

How I Spent My Weekend

I woke up with it yesterday morning and I've been sick all weekend. Next year, I really must get a flu shot.

I did manage to finish up the secret project I alluded to a couple of posts ago. As soon as the publisher gives their okey-doke, I'll announce it.

Review of Dead Earth: The Green Dawn

Joe Kroeger's full review of our novella can be found on the Horror World review page. Scroll down to read it.

What's the Haps?

Here’s a quick update of what’s going on here.

After a few weeks of finishing up several stories, I’m getting back to work on my novel. Expect a word count soon.

I’ve been invited to contribute a story to a new prose anthology for a comics publisher. My synopsis has been approved. I have to set aside some time in the next couple of months to write the thing. It's going to be fun.

I’ve also been asked to write another humor column for a local magazine. That has to be done by the end of the month, so I need to schedule a little funny time.

Nick Cato has nailed down an online chat to kick off the release of Deadneck Hootenanny. That’s a bit down the road, but I’ll let you know when it’s close.

Dave and I eagerly await the release of Dead Earth: The Green Dawn. We have to revise our novel-length sequel and submit it. We’re also starting a new collaboration this summer, a novel not tied into the Dead Earth mythos.

There’s more pulp work for Ron Fortier, too. Getting to tell my own pulp stories is the fulfillment of a dream I’ve had since I was about 12.

Finally, I got some great writing news a few days ago. I can’t say anything yet. But, believe me, as soon as I can talk about it, I’ll be screaming it from the rooftops.

Pod of Horror #30: David Morrell

PoH hits the big Three-Oh and on this outing we have:

* Our feature interview with best selling writer David Morrell

* James Cameron makes yet another Jesus discovery

* Dave’s Poop Fu is very strong

* Grimmy has a 4-way

* Scott Bradley reviews TAKE THE LONG WAY HOME and PRESSURE

* Free Books! Free Books! Free Books in The Tomb of Trivia. Did we mention Free Books???

Pod of Horror is hosted by Mark Justice and David T. Wilbanks. Download it at I-Tunes or direct to your desktop.

And be sure to drop by the Justice & Wilbanks message board.

Where you been, boy?

Well, let's see. I've been working. A lot. I was sick for a couple of days last week with some kind of bug. Norma had it too. It's the third time I've had the mini-crud since mid-December. Next year I'll think about getting a flu shot.

On the writing front, I finished a short story in time for submission to an anthology. Just in time. Nick o' time, you might say. I wrote it with a fever, between bouts of running to the can. I have a feeling it's really good or really bad. I haven't been able to make myself read it since the fever broke.

On Sunday I received an invitation to another anthology. This one required a brief story synopsis to be approved in advance, so I wrote that up yesterday morning. It got accepted today, so now all I have to do is a little research, then it's time to write the thing.

Yesterday I also heard from a editor about a story I sold him in April 2004. Yep, three years ago. It looks like it's finally going to be published. Sometime the wheels turn slow (and, no, the anthology isn't In Laymon's Terms; for the record, that story was sold in February 2003 and I'm patiently waiting on the book to come out).

I finally watched The Departed with my brother yesterday (cuz it sure ain't a movie my wife would like). Hey, is The Departed the Oscar winner with the most shots to the head? I'm no expert, but it seems like it to me.

First Review for DE:TGD

Joe Kroeger has reviewed the novella for Horror World. The full review will be up in March. Here's an excerpt:

"If you are hesitating to get your hands on this book because you think this will be just another shambling zombie story, then I am here to tell you that you have never been more wrong. The closest I can come to letting you know the genius of this novella is to say that I haven’t connected this much with a story since I first read THE BODY by Stephen King. DEAD EARTH: THE GREEN DAWN by Mark Justice and David T. Wilbanks comes with my highest recommendation as a reading experience that you cannot afford to miss."

That will having me smiling for the rest of the weekend. Here's a convenient link to order the book.

The Horror Library Volume Two

I have a story in this anthology, which I think is due in March. The story is called "The Losers vs Beelphegor", and it's more humorous horror. At least I hope it's humorous.

I let you know when the book comes out.

'Sup?

Been a while. I finished a longish (15k) story for a pulp anthology the other day, which got my pulpy juices flowing. Pulp stories are my crack, as I may have mentioned before. Over the past two weeks I've read a bunch of pulp novels, including two Doc Savages, a Spider, a Jim Anthony, an Avenger and a Phantom Detective.



The Avenger was the first of that series that I've read in several years. I had forgotten what a good writer Paul Ernst was. The word is he hated the Avenger yarns because he had aspirations of writing for the slick magazines. If it's true, his feeling don't show. The Avenger books are tight, fast paced, with a good amount of characterization for the pulps. The action is non-stop and the stories are logical. I've dug out several more and I plan to get to 'em ASAP.

***

I'm working on a short story for an anthology. It looks like that will carry me through the weekend. Then it's back to the novel and to Mad Reign of the Plague Master. That book has been back-burnered too long.

***

I saw Ghost Rider the other day. The bad reviews didn't matter. It was a movie based on a favorite childhood comic book, so I had to see it. And you know what? It didn't totally suck, which is more than I expected. I'd give it a C. Maybe a C plus. There are a few plot holes, and Nicholas Cage lapses into Elvis a couple of times, but it was okay.

The real fun for me is surfing the message boards and reading the verbal tantrums some self-appointed critics are unleashing against this movie. They seem so offended you'd think they expected this to be an Oscar-worthy flick, or that the filmmakers sat down and said, "How can we make a film that will completely piss off Joe Message Board Poster so much that he strokes out while typing his juvenile too-cool-for-the room review?"

Very amusing.

The Homophobic NBA Player

Pod of Horror #29: Tom Monteleone

On Pod of Horror #29, we shave our heads...uh, wait...that’s Pod of Britney. PoH #29 is even better:

* Tom Monteleone talks about his career in his usual quiet, reserved manner...NOT! Prepare to laugh as horror’s greatest entertainer unloads on PoH.

* Our Tom theme continues as Dave reads a story by Thomas Ligotti.

* Scott Bradley reviews three new titles and answers listener mail.

* Anna Nicole Smith reaches out from beyond the grave.

* Grim Rictus reveals anatomical details that we didn’t really need to know.

* All the news that fits in Dave’s Poop.

* And The Tomb of Trivia prize grows bigger.

Pod of Horror is hosted by Mark Justice and David T. Wilbanks. Download it at I-Tunes or direct to your desktop.

And be sure to drop by the Justice & Wilbanks message board.

The Greatest Outlaw I Ever Met

Billy Joe Shaver is a helluva guy. Keep rocking, brother.

Another Satisfied DEADNECK HOOTENANNY Reader

"What Shawn of the Dead did for the English, Deadneck Hootenanny has done to Dixie. And what a lively place this undead Dixieland truly is: the jokes in this book come right at you, over and again, like the machete arms of a very hungry zombie -- and you will laugh yourself silly at how much it tickles while they scoop out your brains. But it's the characters that will win you over, and that's what makes this book better than the usual "redneck zombie" fare. I don't know how Mark Justice knows what it's like to live inside the head of an undead hillbilly, but he's nailed it perfectly. Deadneck Hootenanny is hilarious fun." -- Michael Arnzen, author of Licker

The dead are coming back to eat you...then they'll drink beer and watch NASCAR.
Deadneck Hootenanny, this summer from Novello Publishers

The Sun God Comes Home--Part Four

“You’re going back there, aren’t you?”

He didn’t answer her. Sara had strolled out on the patio while Nick was going through his things. Chelsea was taking her afternoon nap. The Ra helmet was on the picnic table next to him.

“Have you seen them before?”

Nick nodded. “They’re called the Tast, a race of builders. Some of their science is amazing. But the ones we’ve seen most often are the drones, the ones who build the nest to protect the queen.”

“And that’s what’s out there?”

“Yeah.”

Sara crossed her arms over her chest. She was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt. “Can they be killed?”

Nick looked down at his battered knuckles. “Oh, yeah.”

Sara crossed he patio and placed a hand on his shoulder. “But so can you, right?”

Nick didn’t know what to say. He carried a lounge chair out into the yard and placed it next to a swing set.

“Can I bring you something to drink?” Sara said.

“No, thanks,” Nick told her. “I’m just gonna catch some rays.”

***

It was stupid, he knew, coming out here alone. But he had spent a lot of years letting down his family, his town. The least he could do was try to help.

He approached the cave in the fading light. He wore the helmet; its circuitry could help him see better at night. He also carried an older piece of equipment: his government issue Colt .45.

He found what was left of the Tast drone outside of the cave. It was only the vague shape of a body, outlined by a gelatinous substance.

Nick sat down in front of the cave entrance and waited. The Colt in his waistband dug into his back.

In thirty minutes the sun had gone down. Inside the cave, something stirred.

The first drone took a tentative step out of the cavern, its angular heading bobbing back and forth.

“Hi, ya,” Nick said, right before he shot it between the eyes.

The drone dropped to the ground. It didn’t move.

Nick stood and watched the opening. It looked empty. He stepped closer to the cave.

“You all coming out? Or do I have to come in and say howdy to your queen?”

“We are already here, fool.”

The voice came from behind him.

He turned to see dozens of the drones lining the hill behind him. Where the cave obviously had another exit.

“Oh, great,” Nick said.

They came for him.

Nick took his time and lined up his shots. He dropped the first six before he had to dig in his pocket for his spare magazine. He slammed it into place and shot four more of them before they were upon him.

They pushed him to the ground, their teeth and claws digging into him. His skin, hardened by years of alien treatments, would protect him for a short time, but, eventually, he would be torn apart. Their stench was almost overpowering, like being smothered with raw sewage. Nick thought death would at least bring a respite from the terrible odor.

One of the drones had been sawing at his neck with its fangs. Nick felt hot liquid on his throat and he wasn’t sure if it was saliva or his own blood.

Won’t be long now, he thought.

The head of the drone who was chewing on his neck exploded. An instant later, he heard the shot.

The others let go of him as they faced this new threat. Nick staggered to his feet to see who the newcomer was.

And he saw Noodge, Lester and dozens of townspeople–some he recognized, most he didn’t–all armed with shotguns or rifles. Sara stood with them, pumping a round into the police-issue shotgun she held.

“You all right, Nick?” Lester shouted.

“I am now,” he said.

“Sara told us you were comin’ out here,” Noodge said. “Man, them are some ugly characters, ain’t they?”

The drones standing between Nick and the crowd seemed confused, their heads waving in agitation.

“Start shooting,” Nick said. “Don’t worry about me.”

“This is for my little Ronnie,” Noodge said. He sighted over the barrel of his Winchester and blew apart the skull of the drone nearest to him. The other townspeople opened fire. Lester whooped like a warring Comanche. Nick dove to the ground, tackling as many of the Tast as he could manage, using his fists to batter them into unconsciousness.

It didn’t take very long.

Nick was the only living creature standing in the pile of Tast bodies. The thick cloud of gunpowder choked him but it was far preferable to the stench of the Tast. He heard shots in the distance: stragglers being eliminated.

“You look awful,” Sara said.

“She’s right, Nick. You look like dog shit.”

“And I feel worse,” Nick said. He smiled at them. “Thank you.”

“It ain’t nothin’,” Lester said. “We take care of our own.”

The ground beneath their feet shook.

“What the hell–” Noodge said, before he lost his footing and fell.

“The queen,” Nick said.

They turned to the cave, as the earth trembled again. Small pieces of rock above the entrance began to rain down. The darkness inside of the cave was slowly replaced by something else. It was a pale, oozing mass which squeezed out of the cavern’s opening. As long as a city bus, it rose toward the sky, and the assembled crowd could see that its belly was covered by dozens of mouths, all full of sharp teeth.

Nick heard someone scream, just before a volley of shots.

They might as well have been shooting BB guns for all the good it did.

The massive body of the queen towered above them, each of its hundred mouths making a horrible screeching sound. The stink from the creature was worse than any of the drones, and Nick heard someone vomit behind him.

“Get behind me,” he said, hoping he could be heard.

He took off the helmet of Ra and threw it aside. Nick stood directly under the queen, and watched it lower itself toward him. The hungry mouths sang a maddening song in a hundred different voices.

They had told him he was used up.

They had told him he was a dry cell.

But Nick Denton, Ra the Sun God, looked deep within himself and found a reservoir of strength he hadn’t been sure he possessed.

He screamed at the sky, and twin beams of destructive force discharged from his eyes, lighting up the night and incinerating the Tast queen. The screams from its mouths climbed to a shrill crescendo, then was silenced.

Pieces of smoking meat fell to the ground, landing with soft plops all around them.

“Holy shit,” somebody said. It might have been Noodge.

It was his last thought before the blackness took him.

6.

His first day home from the hospital was spent greeting visitors to the house. He sat in John’s recliner, and tried to smile as he accepted the best wishes of the town of Radiance. Late in the afternoon, the party moved to the backyard, where Sara grilled hot dogs and hamburgers provided by Handelman’s grocery as a thank-you to Nick. Chelsea clung to Nick all day long, and he was surprised at how happy it made him feel.

When everyone had gone home, Sara and Nick sat on the front porch, watching lightning bugs play in the trees. Chelsea slept in her mother’s lap. It had been a big day.

“So,” Sara said. “It looks like you’ll live.”

“Looks like it.”

“Is it over for you? I mean...”

“Yeah,” Nick said. “I’m really a dead battery now. Nothing left.”

They were quiet for a spell, just enjoying the hush of the night.

After a time, Sara cleared her throat. “Have you made any plans?”

“Other than making one more trip to Legion headquarters to punch that patriotic s.o.b. in the mouth? No.” It was Nick’s turn to clear his throat. “Except...”

“What?”

“I spent a lot of years away from home, Sara. I think it’s time I learned how to be a grandfather.” He wanted to look away from her, but he didn’t. “And I’d like to learn how to be a father. If you’ll have me.”

Sara didn’t answer him at first. He could see her tears in the moonlight. She shifted Chelsea from her lap to her shoulder, and she stood up.

“Why don’t we go in,” she said. “I’ll put Chelsea to bed. Then I want you to read something. Your son was a wonderful writer.”

She offered her free hand to Nick. He took it and stood up. Together they walked into their home.



Originally published in 2004 at Adventure Fiction Online.
Revised version © 2007 Mark Justice

The Sun God Comes Home--Part Three

4.

Private Nick Denton woke up in a hospital far from Vietnam. He was surrounded by a contingent of dour doctors and dour officers. They stood over Nick and whispered. Several times a day, different doctors and different officers entered his room. They all ignored his questions. He was too weak to raise from his bed and force them to answer him. On the third day, his door opened and in addition to the usual suspects, there was a new figure. It was a man he recognized, one that every American recognized. Dressed in red, white and blue, Sgt. Freedom, the greatest hero of World War Two, sat down next to his bed.

“Hello, son,” the hero said. He had a smile full of perfect white teeth. His face–at least what showed beneath the mask–was unlined, tanned and healthy. “I understand you’re a special young fella.”

Nick said something. It came out as a garbled whisper.

“What’s that?” Sgt. Freedom said.

Nick coughed. He motioned for the hero to lean closer.

The founder of the Legion of Freedom smiled at the onlookers. Someone took a picture. He bent forward, his ear near Nick’s mouth.

“I said,” Nick croaked, “why the fuck didn’t you super guys end this war in two days?”

Sgt. Freedom jerked upright and looked around to see if anyone had heard the impertinent question. He smiled and patted Nick on the shoulder. “Now, now, son. I appreciate that you’re upset. I really do. But you‘ve got to appreciate something, too. “

”What’s that?”

Sgt. Freedom leaned toward him again, and whispered, “Because, you ungrateful little shit, you’re a ‘super guy’ now.”

***

They let him go home for a while, before his training was set to begin. They told him that his ability worked like a battery. He’d been storing power, from solar radiation, for eighteen years. Now he was drained, so it was safe for him to be around people. The training, they told him, would include the implanting of devices that would enhance and control his power. He also learned the implants were derived from alien science. Since the Krayll had landed here in the first half of the century, other races had shown up, particularly the Runelleans and the Tast. Some had offered to freely exchange technology. Others had to be convinced. And soon, Nick would carry it around within him.

He came home to Radiance as a hero. The military had told the country that Nick had demonstrated amazing courage and an incredible new ability by stopping the communist threat at the ancient citadel of Hue. The war was nearly over. All that remained was mopping up. And Private Nick Denton, U.S. Marines, had been accepted into the Legion of Freedom training program.

There was a parade. There was a big picnic on the courthouse lawn, where Nick was presented the key to the city (a city that he and his friends had terrorized a few years earlier). There was a commemorative dinner at the Elks. And, finally, he was allowed to be home with his parents. His father was almost gone then, from the cancer. The once-intimidating figure was a frail skeleton on the couch in the living room, drifting in and out of lucidity, surrounded by an odor equal parts medicine and urine. His mother had aged. She was never a very happy woman; now her sadness was worn like armor. Her face held no warmth for Nick–or anyone else. He wanted to talk to her, to tell her about what had happened, about how frightened he had been and how scared he still was. He tried to find his friends, but Talmadge Green had joined the army and was still in ‘Nam. Bart Cooley’s father had moved his family to Canada rather than let the government take his son. Nick ran into a few kids he had graduated with. Most seemed scared of him.

Except for Grace Fleming. She had barely spoken to Nick in high school. Now she was a student at Marshall University, as pretty as she had been when he saw her leading cheers at football games when he was a freshman. She seemed fascinated by Nick’s experiences and wanted to know every detail. He realized that she was only interested in him because he was a celebrity. And that was okay with Nick. He was desperate for companionship. Having a beautiful girl pay attention to him was more than satisfying. So when she let him take her to the lake and show her the caves in the woods, and take off her clothes and lie down next to her, he felt that maybe he deserved all of it.

Weeks later, when he was in the midst of painful testing and training at the Legion’s hidden base in Cheyenne Mountain, he received the telegram. His father was dead.

After the funeral, when family and friends were milling about the house, eating fried chicken and laughing like they were at a birthday party, Grace showed up and told Nick she needed to talk to him.

In the back yard, sitting on the patio in old lawn chairs, Grace said, “I’m pregnant.”

Nick’s head began to ache. Only the implants, freshly installed beneath his skin, and the training he’d already received, prevented him from unleashing a fiery bolt of destruction. He was able to bring his pulse rate and his blood pressure under control. Finally he said, “We’ll get married.”

Grace nodded. They held hands and watched the sun go down.

***

When John was born, Nick was in Russia, along with other rookies from the Legion, battling a squad of Soviet soldiers who guarded a weapons plant. Nick was now Ra, the Sun God, wearing an elaborate Egyptian-inspired headdress and armor. The outfit was as hot as hell. Nick hated it. But the headdress had a visor which focused his eye beams, allowing him to control the duration and intensity of the blasts. The mission was a success, over quickly, with no casualties on their side.

On the plane ride back, Nick sat next to The Serpent, a skinny kid from California who could produce a dangerous venom from his fingertips. He was useless at a distance, but deadly at close range.“Man, that was some kind of fun, huh? I nailed six of those suckers.”

Nick didn’t answer. He was too busy trying to remove his damned helmet.

"I heard they send all of us rookies over here to beat up on the Rooskies,” The Serpent said. Nick wished the kid would shut up.”It’s easy, and it builds up our confidence. Plus, I hear The Crusader and The Flying Spy watch us from a couple of miles up, just to make sure nothing happens. How many did you kill, Nick?”

Nick finally got the helmet off and tossed it in the aisle. “I need a beer,” he said. “I just became a dad.”

***

He got back home as often as he could. Grace and the baby were living with his mother. Grace’s parents had wanted her to “move away” until the baby was born, then give it up for adoption. She refused, so they kicked her out. Nick’s mother had taken her in with the same stoic indifference with which she handled everything in those days. Grace went to work at the clerk’s office in the courthouse and his Mom took care of the baby. When Nick was home, he cared for his son, as best he could. While he didn’t love Grace–and he was sure she didn’t love him–they had a certain respect for each other. And Nick had an obligation to provide for them His salary from the Legion was much better than military pay, and he sent most of it to Grace.

When he was working, he availed himself of the affections of the Legion groupies. He wondered sometimes if Grace had another man. He decided that he hoped she did.

On one visit home, when John was two, Nick’s old friend Talmadge dropped by the house with a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon. The two of them proceeded to get drunk. After the beer was gone, Talmadge pleaded for a demonstration of Nick’s power, which Nick was happy to provide. He intended to vaporize a stump in the back yard, but he stumbled, twisting his ankle and falling to the ground. When the blast was released, it took out the top of Mr. Callihan’s garage next door.

The next day, as he nursed his hangover amid his humiliation, Grace came to him and said, “I don’t think you should come back.”

***

He still sent most of his check home to Grace. They never divorced. And when his mother died soon after, he made certain Grace got the house.

***

The years blurred together. Ra and his colleagues fought communists and mad scientists, time-traveling despots and sentient plant life, undead creatures and–during the Reagan years–villagers in small South American countries, whose desire for freedom from oppression ran contrary to the USA’s alliances in the region. Nick quit for awhile after that (preceded by an argument with Sgt. Freedom, which almost came to blows), going freelance. He found out there wasn’t much money in the freelance life, at least until he started doing commercials for a major heating/air conditioning company. The money was good, but the first time he actually saw the spot–which revolved around a family trying to hire Ra to heat their home for the winter–he took the Legion up on their offer to return.

Over the years, he made it back to Radiance as often as he thought was reasonable, always with Grace’s permission, to spend a few hours with John. On his son’s thirteenth birthday, Nick showed up in a Legion shuttle and proceeded to give the kids in the neighborhood a ride across the country and back. As his son got older, during his high school and college years, Nick visited less, though he did make it back for Grace’s funeral (she was taken by cancer, just like Nick’s father), and John and Sara’s wedding. After 9/11, he and the rest of the Legion were too busy to look up for at least two years, tracking down every last terrorist they could find. Over the last few months, Nick had gone from executing Osama Bin Laden in a cave in Afghanistan to the battle with the Runellean Armada. He was told he would never use his power again. And he learned his son was dead.

No wonder he was feeling old.

5.

He walked up the asphalt road, past the turnoff to the boat ramp and the lodge, past the camp ground and the swimming area. He skirted the western edge of the Lake and followed the well-worn path through the woods. He saw no deer, no squirrels, no birds or raccoons. He stopped at the entrance of the largest cave. It was the first time he had stood there since the night Grace had gotten pregnant. The cave wasn’t large, certainly not by Kentucky State Park standards. But it was big enough. Nick cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Trick or Treat, scumbags!”

The only response was the echo of his own voice.

“Okay, one more time. You come out, or I come in. And you won’t like that very much,” Nick bluffed.

He heard a faint shuffling noises and soon spotted the two pinpricks of yellow light, growing larger as they approached. The Tast drone stopped six feet from the cave’s entrance, remaining well out of the direct sunlight. Its skin had the color and texture of a plucked chicken and it smelled like a dead animal. The Tast examined Nick, its head drifting from side to side on the tall stalk of a neck. Two tongues, flicked out of the mouth to caress the long, sharp teeth.

“We know you,” the drone said, its voice like wind whistling through bare-limbed trees.

“Good,” Nick said. “Then you know what I can do. You know who I can bring with me. And you should know that this town is under my protection.”

The head of the alien began to bob up and down. “Yes. And we have heard that you aren’t the...man...you used to be.”

“Really? Want to test that?”

Nick took a step into the cave. The Tast drone backed up, it’s head swaying from left to right.

“What happened? Did you crash nearby? Are you part of an advance force?” He took another step forward. “And where’s your queen?”

The drone stepped forward, hissing at Nick, reacting instinctively to the mention of the hive’s matriarch. Its tail swung around from its place of concealment behind the body, the razor tip slashing toward Nick’s legs. Nick leaped up and forward, slamming the drone to the ground, the smell of decaying flesh smothering him. He hammered his fists into the alien’s face again and again, until his knuckles were split and his hands were coated with the Tast’s thick, black blood.

He dragged the drone out of the cave, where its pale skin began to redden and smolder in the sunlight. As the alien screamed from its broken mouth, Nick returned to the cave’s entrance. In the distance, he saw dozens of the yellow eyes in the distance.

“You killed my son, you alien pricks. I’m coming back for every one of you and your queen.” He walked away from the cave, stepping over the now-smoking body of the drone. The screams had stopped. He made his way to the path and started back toward town.

***

Sara seemed a little surprised when he returned for lunch. “Hey, I said I’d be back.” Chelsea ran from her room, Shouting “Grandpa Fly Guy!” When he squatted down to hug her, he saw Sara looking at his scraped knuckles. She didn’t say anything.

After lunch (Campbell’s tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, Chelsea’s favorite), Nick carried his duffel bag to the back patio. He unzipped it, and dug past the helmet of Ra (which had been modified several times since its debut), the rolled up socks and underwear, the other components of his uniform, until he located a small device the size of an I-Pod. He activated it and punched in a seven digit code. The device beeped twice as the display lit up, revealing the face of a young woman in a domino mask. Her blond hair was short and spiky.

“Ra,” she said, without any warmth.

“How’s tricks, Myrtle?”

“Only code names on open channels. You know that.”

“Oops. Sorry.” Nick smiled. “How’s tricks, uh, Dangerous Ass?”

The young woman looked like she’d walked in on her father and sister making love. “Danger Lass! Danger. Lass.”

Nick slapped his forehead. “D’oh! My bad. Getting old, I guess.”

The blond girl absently ran a finger over a bump on her forehead. that makeup had failed to cover. “What do you want?”

“I want to talk to someone who doesn’t use acne cream. Who else is there?”

Myrtle turned red, sputtering something that Nick didn’t hear. The screen went dark for a moment. When it activated once more, Myrtle’s face had been replaced by the red, white and blue cowl of Sgt. Freedom. While the soldier looked decades younger than his true age, the effects of plastic surgery and alien skin care procedures could only do so much. He appeared to be only years older than Nick. “Ra. How are you feeling?”

“What are you doing there?” The Legion’s founder was usually only trotted out for publicity appearances these days. The leadership of the group rotated through the membership. Even Nick had chaired the Legion for a year in the late Eighties. It wasn’t the finest phaseof his career.

“The United Nations Security Commission is touring here today. You know, you quite upset Danger Lass.”

“She’ll grow out of it. Listen, I’m back in Kentucky, looking into what happened to my son.”

Sgt. Freedom adopted an expression of sympathy, honed through many years of wartime visits to families of dead soldiers. “A real tragedy, son.”

“Anyway, he was killed by a group of Tast drones, hidden in the caves a few miles from here. The Tast have nabbed a few other residents, too. You know what that means. They’re feeding their queen. They’re ready to expand their hive.”

Sgt. Freedom smiled contentedly, his eyes unfocused, his thoughts seemingly elsewhere.

“Hey, flag-face, you gettin’ all this?”

The old soldier looked directly into the screen. “I really have to run, Ra. Is there anything else?”

“Hell, yes! I want two assault shuttles, fully stocked. And one of the big guns, Hammersmith. Or Peace Officer. We’ll clean out the nest in no time. Save a few lives, maybe. Remember when that’s what we did?”

“Request denied,” Sgt. Freedom said. “I can’t justify the waste of resources. Besides, we’re monitoring the Tast situation. The Kentucky cell is small and poses an acceptable threat at this time.”

“Acceptable threat?” Nick said.

“Oh, and don’t use this channel again, unless you’re rescinding your latest resignation.”

“Wait! Let me talk to Hammersmith. Or The Corpse–”

The connection had been closed.

Nick was on his own.

To Be Concluded

Originally published in 2004 at Adventure Fiction Online.
Revised version © 2007 Mark Justice