A Slimy Revenge
by Michael C. Keith
Genre: Fantasy/Sci-Fi
Swearwords: None.
Description: Nature can get upset over the smallest things.
_____________________________________________________________________
Man is Nature’s sole mistake. – W.S. Gilbert
From the single engine Cessna, the water below appeared pleated like the lining of a ski parka. Discolored snow trickled into Lake Mogg from the hills surrounding it. Dead wildlife cluttered the shoreline having apparently expired as they drank. Predators feeding on the carcasses soon came to the same end next to their convenient feasts. An alarm bell from the vacant Goodman Company building rang continuously, echoing throughout the increasingly lifeless valley. It could be heard up in the small plane circling the factory’s towering smoke stack.
“What the hell happened down there? And who set off that alarm?” asked Peter Sampson, the Selby County sheriff.
“Whatever it is, it looks like it’s killing everything in its path,” replied the pilot, Harvey Beckman.
“It’s leaving an oily coating on everything. Jesus, I think I can actually see it move. At this rate, it will hit Curran in about a day. Let’s get back. Got to get people evacuated.”
“What the hell were they doing at Goodman to cause this?” asked Beckman, banking hard for a return to the town runway.
“Think something besides recycling plastic,” observed Sampson, feeling a growing sense of urgency.
* * *
Twenty minutes later they landed at the tiny airstrip in Curran. As soon he got in his car, Sampson called the state’s emergency management agency to report the toxic flow. To his surprise, he was told that several similar events were occurring throughout the region.
“What is it? Do they know?”
“No, only that it destroys whatever it comes into contact with.”
“How’s Route 10 to Bayville?”
“Okay, as far as I know.”
“Assume the ocean shoreline hasn’t been affected?”
“Not as far as we know.”
“Well, I’m going to get my people to Bayville then and wait this thing out.”
“Roger that, Peter.”
All of Curran’s 322 residents were summoned to an emergency meeting at the local school, and nearly all attended.
“Those of you that have folk who couldn’t be here make sure they’re told what I’m about to tell you,” said Peter.
Word of the situation had already moved through the small village, and anxiety filled the expressions of everyone in attendance.
“We got something deadly moving our way and only a limited amount of time to escape its path,” said Sampson, gauging people’s reaction.
“What is it?” shouted a voice from the audience.
“Not sure. It appears to be some kind of toxic ooze, and it’s cutting a wide swath between here and up at the lake.”
“It’s the Blob,” offered Chuck Belmont, half-joking.
“Well, that might be an apt description. It’s running over things and killing what it comes into contact with. I estimate it’ll reach town in about 14 hours, and that means everybody’s got to leave ASAP! Given the direction of the crawling stuff, I think it makes most sense for us to evacuate over to Bayville.”
“Is it anywhere else, or just here?” inquired Sue Bathgate, Curran’s town administrator.
“I talked to MEMA, and they say that several other parts of the region have reported a similar thing.”
“How about out of the state?” continued Bathgate.
“Haven’t heard. But wherever else it is, the main thing is that it’s about to hit us, so we got to get the hell out of the way . . . pronto!”
“If anybody needs transportation, I can fit six in my van,” offered Belmont.
“We can load up the school bus, too,” added Bathgate.
“All right, then. Let’s give ourselves an eight-hour window to be out of here, just in case the . . . Blob speeds up. Really, this is serious, folks. A matter of life and death, I’d say, from what we saw out there.”
The sheriff’s last remark set off a round of whimpers from the gathering, which very quickly dispersed to gather and pack up their things.
* * *
The small plane dropped to within inches of the roiling surface and then turned right and lifted.
“It’s picked up speed. Can’t be more than six hours from town,” reported Sheriff Sampson, back to Sue Bathgate in Curran. “We’re returning now. No way this thing is going to stop. How’s it going there? Are people leaving?”
“Yeah, but not fast enough.”
“Well, they better get moving. Spread the word we got real nasty stuff incoming. It’s devastating everything in its path.”
“Just heard that this is happening all around the country . . .”
“Jesus, what the hell is going on? Anything about what it is?”
“Heard someone say it’s coming from down deep in the Earth. Something like lava, but without the heat.”
“Well, maybe no heat but something sure destructive in it. We’ll be landing in fifteen minutes. Over and out.”
As the plane approached Curran, Sampson was relieved to see a long line of bumper-to-bumper vehicles on Route 10 heading out toward Bayville.
“Guess they got the message, Harvey. Let’s get this thing on the ground and get our own families the hell out of here.
* * *
“Is it going to reach us, Peter?” asked Clare, as her husband climbed from his police SUV.
“It looks that way. You packed? Kids ready? We don’t have much time. Should leave right away,” answered Peter, giving his wife a quick, reassuring hug.
“This is so crazy. They say it’s all over the country. What does this mean?”
“C’mon, let’s get the kids in the car and get to Bayville. We’ll talk on the way.”
The single lane road east was bumper to bumper as residents of Curran made their way away from the noxious crawler.
“Damn!” mumbled Peter, peering at the traffic ahead.
“Use the siren,” suggested Clare.
“No, that wouldn’t be fair. We’re all in this together.”
“Yeah, Daddy. Put the whistle on,” said the Sampson’s eight year-old daughter, Kathy.
“The lights, too,” added their 12-year-old son, Tyler.
“This isn’t police work, kids, so it wouldn’t be right to do that. Just sit back and relax. We’ll get to Bayville.”
“Is the Flob thing going to kill us, Daddy?” inquired Kathy.
“Blob, baby. It’s from a silly old movie.”
“Is the Blob going to eat us?”
“Not if it doesn’t catch us, and it isn’t going to catch us, sweetie.”
“But, what if it does?”
“It won’t, so don’t think about it, okay? Read your book or play your game.”
“But, what if it does?” repeated Clare, leaning into her husband and whispering.
Peter shrugged her off and nodded at the road ahead. “See, it’s speeding up. We’ll be at the shore in no time.”
“And what do we do when we get there, Peter?”
“We’ll keep a watch on the toxic flow. If worst comes to worst, we can get on Brett de Silva’s boat for Pinewood Island. This thing might not enter the water.”
“What if it does? You said it covered Lake Mogg.”
“Look, I don’t know. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It may have already stopped moving, for all we know.”
“Can you check on the two-way radio?”
“There’s no one left back there to talk to.”
“I’ll call mother over in Deacon,” said Clare, dialing her cellphone.
“She’s probably on her way to the shore, too. MEMA has recommended that everybody get to the ocean.”
“The call is not going through. There’s no service,” said Clare, with panic in her voice.
“Don’t worry. The cell phone towers are probably jammed with calls. Try again in a few minutes.”
Clare did attempt to reach her mother ten minutes later but without success.
“I hope she’s okay. We should have picked her up.”
“I’m sure she’s fine. You know her. She can take care of herself, honey.”
“I hope. What if she couldn’t get away because of this . . . this thing?”
“Did the Blob get grandma?” asked Kathy.
“Of course not, honey. Shush, Clare, okay? Don’t make matters any worse than they are already.”
* * *
An hour later, they pulled into crowded Bayville.
“Oh, my God! It looks like everybody in the state is here.
“Mommy, look, it’s grandma!” shouted Kathy.
The elderly woman stood in a crowd lining the town’s main street.
“Stop, Peter!” shouted Clare, who leaped from the car and dashed to her mother.
“Tell her to get into the car. We’re going to the police station to see Brett de Silva.”
“Who is he, Dad?” asked Tyler.
“Bayville’s sheriff. Went to the academy with me. He can help us.”
“Are we going on the boat, Dad?”
“I think that’s the plan. Of course, everybody here’s going to try to get to Pinewood Island.”
Clare returned to the car with her mother, who immediately embraced Kathy and Tyler.
“Oh, I’m so glad you’re here. I was worried I wouldn’t ever see you again because that awful thing is going to kill us all.”
“That’s great to tell the kids, Myrna,” snapped Peter.
“I’m sorry, but that’s what they’re saying. Thousands of people have already died. They say there’s nothing anyone can do to stop it.”
“Please, Myrna! Let’s try to stay positive. It may not be able to move once it hits the ocean, so we’ll get to the island. The sheriff here can get us on his boat. It’s a big one. I’ve already talked with him. So, let’s go.”
Peter suddenly hit the siren and swerved out of the line of traffic.
“Daddy, I thought you said we couldn’t do that,” blurted Kathy.
* * *
In minutes, the Sampsons arrived at the Bayville sheriff’s office. A crowd surrounded the small building, forcing Peter to push his way to the entrance.
“C’mon, guys, let’s get inside. Hold onto your sister’s hand, Tyler. You okay, Myrna?”
“Don’t worry about me,” replied Clare’s mother, elbowing anyone blocking her path.
A young deputy at the door met Peter and his family.
“Here to see Sheriff de Silva. Let us in, please,” said Peter displaying his badge.
The deputy hesitated, and then Peter saw Brett approaching from behind him.
“Let them in, Hank, before the crowd crushes them,” said Sheriff Collins.
“Yes, sir.”
The deputy quickly pushed the door shut behind the Sampsons as they slipped inside.
“Jesus, man. People are going crazy out there,” sighed Peter.
“Can you blame them?” asked Brett, extending his hand to his friend.
“No, not with what’s happening. This is my family, Brett. You know Clare. These are my kids, Kathy and Tyler, and my mother-in-law, Myrna.
“Good to meet everyone. Let’s go to my office. You kids like donuts?”
The Sampsons followed the sheriff. As they did, Myrna slumped to the floor.
“Mother!” squealed Clare, prompting everyone to turn around.
As quickly as she had fallen, Myrna was back on her feet, although she was swaying and clutching at the wall.
“I’m okay. Just felt a little woozy. Give me a minute, and I’ll be as good as new.”
“You need more than a minute. Can we get her a place to lie down?” asked Clare.
“A couch in my office. Come in,” said Brett, waving everyone inside.
“Now, don’t worry about me, Clare. I’m fine now. Don’t need to lie down.”
The Sampsons found various places to sit in the sheriff’s office, and Peter began to ask questions.
“Have you heard anymore from MEMA? I tried to reach them earlier, but no go,”
“Communication links are apparently down. We’ve been getting through occasionally. Last I heard this rolling wave of shit . . . sorry, is advancing steadily. Guess it’s emerging from fissures all around the world. Some signs that it’s less destructive than first thought, but it sure as hell . . . I mean heck, is doing enough damage. Thousands of casualties . . . maybe millions.”
“So what the hell can we do?”
“Guess they’re dropping stuff on it . . . napalm. That’s the last I heard. As I say, telecommunications links are gone.”
“No, I mean what the hell are we going to do,” repeated Peter.
“Everyone’s trying to get on boats and head to the island, hoping this crawling crap won’t breach the Atlantic.”
“So can we . . .?”
“Yep, you guys can come on my boat with my family and some others. We’ll head out shortly. Got my son guarding it. People are taking over everything that floats.”
There was a sudden knock on the door, followed by a voice calling for the sheriff.
“Come on in, Craig,” answered de Silva.
A young uniformed officer entered. His face was filled with purpose.
“It’s about five miles east, sheriff. I saw it coming. Wall of slimy-looking stuff just rolling over things in its path. Greenish colored. I thought I saw teeth in it.”
“It’s got teeth, Daddy?” whimpered Kathy.
“Jesus, it sounds like some kind of animal. Oops . . . excuse my language,” apologized de Silva, emerging from around his desk.
“Rate it’s going, should be here in a couple hours, sheriff,” said the anxious deputy.
“Okay, clear the office. You guys get to the police boat. I’ll see you on the island.”
* * *
After fending off the frenzied crowd, the Sampsons and de Silvas floated away from the small dock. Jeers and taunts followed them from those left behind.
“Damn, I wish there were enough boats to take everyone to Pinewood, but what the hell can I do? It really comes down to every man for himself,” bemoaned Brett de Silva. “I feel like crap bailing out of town, but there’s no other choice.”
“Are they going to be killed by the Blob, Daddy?” asked Kathy, staring anxiously at the crowd on the receding shoreline.
“They’ll be okay, honey. Don’t worry.”
“They don’t stand a chance,” replied Myrna. “That thing is just going to ooze right over them and suck them dry.”
“For God’s sake, Myrna. Be a little more sensitive!”
As the flotilla of escaping vessels gained on Pinewood Island, everyone watched as the effluence began sliding down the streets of Bayville. Despite being at least a couple of miles away, they could hear the screams of those back on land.
“Everyone’s jumping into the ocean,” observed Sheriff de Silva. “Not sure that’s going to do them any good. It took to the water at Lake Moog, you said. Right, Peter?”
“Yeah, it looked like it crept right over it. All kinds of dead animals.”
“Oh, God! It’s at the water’s edge. Those poor people,” cried Clare, clutching Kathy and Trevor.”
“Wait a minute! Look!” said de Silva.
“Something’s happening to it. It’s stopping.”
“The stuff is reacting to the ocean. It’s withering up . . . and dying. Look, the reaction is spreading. It’s all rotting away, flattening and leaving a silvery stain in its wake. Damn, I think the frigging thing must have been a land slug.”
“Slug? Didn’t know they came that big. Talk about the wrath of nature. What the hell could have caused that?” said Peter, nodding toward shore.
“I’m sorry! It was my fault. I didn’t know this would happen!” blurted Tyler, his eyes filling with tears.
“What’s your fault, son? What are you talking about?”
“A few days ago I found a slug in our yard, and I poured salt on it to see it disappear.”
“You did what?”
Swearwords: None.
Description: Nature can get upset over the smallest things.
_____________________________________________________________________
Man is Nature’s sole mistake. – W.S. Gilbert
From the single engine Cessna, the water below appeared pleated like the lining of a ski parka. Discolored snow trickled into Lake Mogg from the hills surrounding it. Dead wildlife cluttered the shoreline having apparently expired as they drank. Predators feeding on the carcasses soon came to the same end next to their convenient feasts. An alarm bell from the vacant Goodman Company building rang continuously, echoing throughout the increasingly lifeless valley. It could be heard up in the small plane circling the factory’s towering smoke stack.
“What the hell happened down there? And who set off that alarm?” asked Peter Sampson, the Selby County sheriff.
“Whatever it is, it looks like it’s killing everything in its path,” replied the pilot, Harvey Beckman.
“It’s leaving an oily coating on everything. Jesus, I think I can actually see it move. At this rate, it will hit Curran in about a day. Let’s get back. Got to get people evacuated.”
“What the hell were they doing at Goodman to cause this?” asked Beckman, banking hard for a return to the town runway.
“Think something besides recycling plastic,” observed Sampson, feeling a growing sense of urgency.
* * *
Twenty minutes later they landed at the tiny airstrip in Curran. As soon he got in his car, Sampson called the state’s emergency management agency to report the toxic flow. To his surprise, he was told that several similar events were occurring throughout the region.
“What is it? Do they know?”
“No, only that it destroys whatever it comes into contact with.”
“How’s Route 10 to Bayville?”
“Okay, as far as I know.”
“Assume the ocean shoreline hasn’t been affected?”
“Not as far as we know.”
“Well, I’m going to get my people to Bayville then and wait this thing out.”
“Roger that, Peter.”
All of Curran’s 322 residents were summoned to an emergency meeting at the local school, and nearly all attended.
“Those of you that have folk who couldn’t be here make sure they’re told what I’m about to tell you,” said Peter.
Word of the situation had already moved through the small village, and anxiety filled the expressions of everyone in attendance.
“We got something deadly moving our way and only a limited amount of time to escape its path,” said Sampson, gauging people’s reaction.
“What is it?” shouted a voice from the audience.
“Not sure. It appears to be some kind of toxic ooze, and it’s cutting a wide swath between here and up at the lake.”
“It’s the Blob,” offered Chuck Belmont, half-joking.
“Well, that might be an apt description. It’s running over things and killing what it comes into contact with. I estimate it’ll reach town in about 14 hours, and that means everybody’s got to leave ASAP! Given the direction of the crawling stuff, I think it makes most sense for us to evacuate over to Bayville.”
“Is it anywhere else, or just here?” inquired Sue Bathgate, Curran’s town administrator.
“I talked to MEMA, and they say that several other parts of the region have reported a similar thing.”
“How about out of the state?” continued Bathgate.
“Haven’t heard. But wherever else it is, the main thing is that it’s about to hit us, so we got to get the hell out of the way . . . pronto!”
“If anybody needs transportation, I can fit six in my van,” offered Belmont.
“We can load up the school bus, too,” added Bathgate.
“All right, then. Let’s give ourselves an eight-hour window to be out of here, just in case the . . . Blob speeds up. Really, this is serious, folks. A matter of life and death, I’d say, from what we saw out there.”
The sheriff’s last remark set off a round of whimpers from the gathering, which very quickly dispersed to gather and pack up their things.
* * *
The small plane dropped to within inches of the roiling surface and then turned right and lifted.
“It’s picked up speed. Can’t be more than six hours from town,” reported Sheriff Sampson, back to Sue Bathgate in Curran. “We’re returning now. No way this thing is going to stop. How’s it going there? Are people leaving?”
“Yeah, but not fast enough.”
“Well, they better get moving. Spread the word we got real nasty stuff incoming. It’s devastating everything in its path.”
“Just heard that this is happening all around the country . . .”
“Jesus, what the hell is going on? Anything about what it is?”
“Heard someone say it’s coming from down deep in the Earth. Something like lava, but without the heat.”
“Well, maybe no heat but something sure destructive in it. We’ll be landing in fifteen minutes. Over and out.”
As the plane approached Curran, Sampson was relieved to see a long line of bumper-to-bumper vehicles on Route 10 heading out toward Bayville.
“Guess they got the message, Harvey. Let’s get this thing on the ground and get our own families the hell out of here.
* * *
“Is it going to reach us, Peter?” asked Clare, as her husband climbed from his police SUV.
“It looks that way. You packed? Kids ready? We don’t have much time. Should leave right away,” answered Peter, giving his wife a quick, reassuring hug.
“This is so crazy. They say it’s all over the country. What does this mean?”
“C’mon, let’s get the kids in the car and get to Bayville. We’ll talk on the way.”
The single lane road east was bumper to bumper as residents of Curran made their way away from the noxious crawler.
“Damn!” mumbled Peter, peering at the traffic ahead.
“Use the siren,” suggested Clare.
“No, that wouldn’t be fair. We’re all in this together.”
“Yeah, Daddy. Put the whistle on,” said the Sampson’s eight year-old daughter, Kathy.
“The lights, too,” added their 12-year-old son, Tyler.
“This isn’t police work, kids, so it wouldn’t be right to do that. Just sit back and relax. We’ll get to Bayville.”
“Is the Flob thing going to kill us, Daddy?” inquired Kathy.
“Blob, baby. It’s from a silly old movie.”
“Is the Blob going to eat us?”
“Not if it doesn’t catch us, and it isn’t going to catch us, sweetie.”
“But, what if it does?”
“It won’t, so don’t think about it, okay? Read your book or play your game.”
“But, what if it does?” repeated Clare, leaning into her husband and whispering.
Peter shrugged her off and nodded at the road ahead. “See, it’s speeding up. We’ll be at the shore in no time.”
“And what do we do when we get there, Peter?”
“We’ll keep a watch on the toxic flow. If worst comes to worst, we can get on Brett de Silva’s boat for Pinewood Island. This thing might not enter the water.”
“What if it does? You said it covered Lake Mogg.”
“Look, I don’t know. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It may have already stopped moving, for all we know.”
“Can you check on the two-way radio?”
“There’s no one left back there to talk to.”
“I’ll call mother over in Deacon,” said Clare, dialing her cellphone.
“She’s probably on her way to the shore, too. MEMA has recommended that everybody get to the ocean.”
“The call is not going through. There’s no service,” said Clare, with panic in her voice.
“Don’t worry. The cell phone towers are probably jammed with calls. Try again in a few minutes.”
Clare did attempt to reach her mother ten minutes later but without success.
“I hope she’s okay. We should have picked her up.”
“I’m sure she’s fine. You know her. She can take care of herself, honey.”
“I hope. What if she couldn’t get away because of this . . . this thing?”
“Did the Blob get grandma?” asked Kathy.
“Of course not, honey. Shush, Clare, okay? Don’t make matters any worse than they are already.”
* * *
An hour later, they pulled into crowded Bayville.
“Oh, my God! It looks like everybody in the state is here.
“Mommy, look, it’s grandma!” shouted Kathy.
The elderly woman stood in a crowd lining the town’s main street.
“Stop, Peter!” shouted Clare, who leaped from the car and dashed to her mother.
“Tell her to get into the car. We’re going to the police station to see Brett de Silva.”
“Who is he, Dad?” asked Tyler.
“Bayville’s sheriff. Went to the academy with me. He can help us.”
“Are we going on the boat, Dad?”
“I think that’s the plan. Of course, everybody here’s going to try to get to Pinewood Island.”
Clare returned to the car with her mother, who immediately embraced Kathy and Tyler.
“Oh, I’m so glad you’re here. I was worried I wouldn’t ever see you again because that awful thing is going to kill us all.”
“That’s great to tell the kids, Myrna,” snapped Peter.
“I’m sorry, but that’s what they’re saying. Thousands of people have already died. They say there’s nothing anyone can do to stop it.”
“Please, Myrna! Let’s try to stay positive. It may not be able to move once it hits the ocean, so we’ll get to the island. The sheriff here can get us on his boat. It’s a big one. I’ve already talked with him. So, let’s go.”
Peter suddenly hit the siren and swerved out of the line of traffic.
“Daddy, I thought you said we couldn’t do that,” blurted Kathy.
* * *
In minutes, the Sampsons arrived at the Bayville sheriff’s office. A crowd surrounded the small building, forcing Peter to push his way to the entrance.
“C’mon, guys, let’s get inside. Hold onto your sister’s hand, Tyler. You okay, Myrna?”
“Don’t worry about me,” replied Clare’s mother, elbowing anyone blocking her path.
A young deputy at the door met Peter and his family.
“Here to see Sheriff de Silva. Let us in, please,” said Peter displaying his badge.
The deputy hesitated, and then Peter saw Brett approaching from behind him.
“Let them in, Hank, before the crowd crushes them,” said Sheriff Collins.
“Yes, sir.”
The deputy quickly pushed the door shut behind the Sampsons as they slipped inside.
“Jesus, man. People are going crazy out there,” sighed Peter.
“Can you blame them?” asked Brett, extending his hand to his friend.
“No, not with what’s happening. This is my family, Brett. You know Clare. These are my kids, Kathy and Tyler, and my mother-in-law, Myrna.
“Good to meet everyone. Let’s go to my office. You kids like donuts?”
The Sampsons followed the sheriff. As they did, Myrna slumped to the floor.
“Mother!” squealed Clare, prompting everyone to turn around.
As quickly as she had fallen, Myrna was back on her feet, although she was swaying and clutching at the wall.
“I’m okay. Just felt a little woozy. Give me a minute, and I’ll be as good as new.”
“You need more than a minute. Can we get her a place to lie down?” asked Clare.
“A couch in my office. Come in,” said Brett, waving everyone inside.
“Now, don’t worry about me, Clare. I’m fine now. Don’t need to lie down.”
The Sampsons found various places to sit in the sheriff’s office, and Peter began to ask questions.
“Have you heard anymore from MEMA? I tried to reach them earlier, but no go,”
“Communication links are apparently down. We’ve been getting through occasionally. Last I heard this rolling wave of shit . . . sorry, is advancing steadily. Guess it’s emerging from fissures all around the world. Some signs that it’s less destructive than first thought, but it sure as hell . . . I mean heck, is doing enough damage. Thousands of casualties . . . maybe millions.”
“So what the hell can we do?”
“Guess they’re dropping stuff on it . . . napalm. That’s the last I heard. As I say, telecommunications links are gone.”
“No, I mean what the hell are we going to do,” repeated Peter.
“Everyone’s trying to get on boats and head to the island, hoping this crawling crap won’t breach the Atlantic.”
“So can we . . .?”
“Yep, you guys can come on my boat with my family and some others. We’ll head out shortly. Got my son guarding it. People are taking over everything that floats.”
There was a sudden knock on the door, followed by a voice calling for the sheriff.
“Come on in, Craig,” answered de Silva.
A young uniformed officer entered. His face was filled with purpose.
“It’s about five miles east, sheriff. I saw it coming. Wall of slimy-looking stuff just rolling over things in its path. Greenish colored. I thought I saw teeth in it.”
“It’s got teeth, Daddy?” whimpered Kathy.
“Jesus, it sounds like some kind of animal. Oops . . . excuse my language,” apologized de Silva, emerging from around his desk.
“Rate it’s going, should be here in a couple hours, sheriff,” said the anxious deputy.
“Okay, clear the office. You guys get to the police boat. I’ll see you on the island.”
* * *
After fending off the frenzied crowd, the Sampsons and de Silvas floated away from the small dock. Jeers and taunts followed them from those left behind.
“Damn, I wish there were enough boats to take everyone to Pinewood, but what the hell can I do? It really comes down to every man for himself,” bemoaned Brett de Silva. “I feel like crap bailing out of town, but there’s no other choice.”
“Are they going to be killed by the Blob, Daddy?” asked Kathy, staring anxiously at the crowd on the receding shoreline.
“They’ll be okay, honey. Don’t worry.”
“They don’t stand a chance,” replied Myrna. “That thing is just going to ooze right over them and suck them dry.”
“For God’s sake, Myrna. Be a little more sensitive!”
As the flotilla of escaping vessels gained on Pinewood Island, everyone watched as the effluence began sliding down the streets of Bayville. Despite being at least a couple of miles away, they could hear the screams of those back on land.
“Everyone’s jumping into the ocean,” observed Sheriff de Silva. “Not sure that’s going to do them any good. It took to the water at Lake Moog, you said. Right, Peter?”
“Yeah, it looked like it crept right over it. All kinds of dead animals.”
“Oh, God! It’s at the water’s edge. Those poor people,” cried Clare, clutching Kathy and Trevor.”
“Wait a minute! Look!” said de Silva.
“Something’s happening to it. It’s stopping.”
“The stuff is reacting to the ocean. It’s withering up . . . and dying. Look, the reaction is spreading. It’s all rotting away, flattening and leaving a silvery stain in its wake. Damn, I think the frigging thing must have been a land slug.”
“Slug? Didn’t know they came that big. Talk about the wrath of nature. What the hell could have caused that?” said Peter, nodding toward shore.
“I’m sorry! It was my fault. I didn’t know this would happen!” blurted Tyler, his eyes filling with tears.
“What’s your fault, son? What are you talking about?”
“A few days ago I found a slug in our yard, and I poured salt on it to see it disappear.”
“You did what?”
About the Author
Originally from Albany, New York, Michael C. Keith has paternal family roots stretching back to Clan Keith of Caithness and Aberdeenshire. A leading scholar in electronic media in the United States, he is the author of over 20 books on electronic media, as well as a memoir and three books of fiction. Much more about Michael and his publications can be found on his website: http://www.michaelckeith.com