Die Already, II
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Part 1 appears in this issue. |
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conclusion |
The fact that von Brink has been standing outside this long relating his comeback doesn’t go unnoticed by Jack. The fact that he is now removing his outer layer is a bit more worrisome. The fact that there are 5000 pounds of munitions en route is another important tidbit to keep in mind.
“After I had recouped for a short time, I noticed something unusual. Something I’d never expected. A toughened outer layer had begun to form on me. A pellicle. It was protecting me from exposure. I had started to adapt to the environment.”
Jack: “Mm, like pudding skin.”
“No, not pudding skin, you fool! A toughened outer layer. A pellicle, dammit!”
“Right.”
“Anyway, I’m conditioning myself. Every day, a little while longer out in the sun, toughening the pellicle. I’m up to three hours now; in a few more weeks I’ll be fully mobile in strong sunlight. And then it begins.”
“Taking over the world.”
“That’s right, Creed. I’ve got it all worked out. Through an aggressive campaign of bribery, coercion, threats, assassinations, and blackmail, I will gain control of several essential pressure points of power. You’ll understand if I don’t go into much detail here, but suffice it to say that I will then wield that power for my own nefarious purposes.”
Laughing, Jack says, “C’mon now, von Brink... do you really think a fungus can infiltrate the government? No one will notice? People gonna vote for you, the Fungal Party?”
“Oh, how simple we are, Creed. You forget that I am a scientist! I have no use for your silly dog and pony show of a government. None. I’m talking about real power, Creed. I’m talking about grains. I’m talking about food. Big agribusiness. Control the source of food and you control the world.”
Okay. Sounds like the beginning of a pretty good plan, Jack has to admit. Fungi and foods aren’t a great match. It’s certainly no condiment. He didn’t see this one coming.
Von Brink is smart, but not smart enough to keep his mouth shut. The major flaw of all megalomaniacs is that they can’t seem to stop bragging about themselves and their villainous schemes.
The fungus continues: “Try to imagine what a super-fungus can do to a grain crop. It isn’t pretty. A horde of locusts ain’t got nothing on moi. I can annihilate a grain crop overnight. No grains, no bread or pasta. No beer. And you can’t feed your livestock anymore so there are no more meats. No milk. No eggs. Nothing.
“Grain is king. Once I have control of the grain supply I will be able to incite food riots on either coast at my leisure. We will see what becomes of your petty government then.”
It shrugs. “There’s no storage. There’s nothing in case of emergency. Nothing but what’s on the shelves right now. And that will disappear in a second once the panic strikes. People aren’t used to seeing bare shelves, and they sure as heck aren’t used to seeing hundred-dollar loaves of bread, let alone fighting over one.
“But not to worry, Von Brink Foods will soon introduce a new line of genetically-modified fungus-resistant superfoods and all will return to normal. Almost. My superfoods are going to be costly, so people are going to have to make some sacrifices. But I expect they won’t mind giving up their cell phones, lattes, and Internet connections in order to keep from starving to death. The once mighty telecom companies will be brought to their knees, and guess who will be there to buy them up? It will be none other than Von Brink Industries, that’s who.
“I will soon control the media and the food. Which means I will control the information that goes into people’s heads and the substances that go into their bodies. And, as is the de facto prerogative of an evil fungal-führer overlord, I will manipulate and alter those two assets according to my own mycological whimsy.
“I’m not completely certain at this point, but I’ll probably take over the school systems too and begin a gradual dumbing-down of the populace. The whole of humanity will soon become the new underclass. The Fungus Race will be the new elite.”
Jack nods. “We wouldn’t expect anything less.”
The fungus sighs, dismayed at not being taken seriously. Not yet anyway. “All right, Creed, enough jibber-jabber. I suppose you have a motive this evening.”
After checking his watch for the last time, Jack shrugs and frowns. “Drove all the way out here. Stands to reason I’ve got a motive.”
“You keep looking at your watch. Got a hot date, Creed?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, you had better run along then, big guy. ’Cuz there isn’t anything happening here tonight. See, I learned a few things after your last visit; the most important of which being to never leave your perimeter unguarded. Right now there is a small army of fungal warriors encircling this town. They moved into position as you were playing tough guy to my security detail here. So, you are not going to stop me this time. Might as well just hit the road.”
Jack unclips the radio from his assault vest. Calls to Simmons back in the van: “Simmons, see anything out there?” Jack is less concerned about being surrounded by fungi than he is in the possibility of alternate targets for the bombing run.
“Roger that, boss. Buncha cowboys.”
Von Brink smiles at Jack. Smug. Self-satisfied. Like he just landed a good yo’ momma joke.
“How far out?”
“About two hundred meters. All around.”
“Right.” Good. As long as the fungi army is based entirely in or near Copper Springs it will be destroyed in toto.
“There you have it, Creed,” von Brink says. “I win.”
Jack nods slowly. “I suppose so.”
Feeling that he not only has the upper hand, but owns it, the future fungoid-fascist gets righteous and attempts to impose a lesson on Jack Creed. He says, “Y’know, I don’t know where you get off with this whole act of yours. Going around blowing stuff up. I mean, what gives? You can just show up, destroy an entire air base, then drive away? Aren’t there laws against things like that?”
“I didn’t destroy an air base,” Jack says. “It was struck by a two-ton nickel-iron meteorite.”
“Ah. I’ll have to remember that trick during my conquest.”
“So how’s this going to work? You let us just walk away?”
“That’s it, Creed. Just walk away. Today is your lucky day. I’m expecting company tomorrow and I’d rather not have the place messed up. However, if you insist on things getting ugly, then by all means we shall get right to it.”
He may have been a brilliant scientist, and he now seems to be a pretty robust fungus, but tactically speaking, Dr. von Brink is an absolute moron — and that’s all that matters in Jack Creed’s world. The fungus is about to let them walk away, with full knowledge of his plans no less.
Jack almost wants to tell von Brink all the things he is doing wrong. At least give him a shove in the right direction toward taking over the world. But it’s a list of items too numerous to count. Laughable. If tactical stupidity were money, the fungus would have an embarrassment of riches.
All Jack says is: “Right.” He waves his hand in the air, signaling his men to pull back.
“Wise choice, Creed. Wise indeed.”
“Mm. But let me say one thing before we go.”
The fungus nods his permission.
Jack waits a moment, then says, “Destiny’s sister is the mother-in-law of misfortune.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Means you’ve been in the desert for too long.”
The fungus is clearly puzzled by this. Doesn’t know what to make of it. It sounds and feels profound, but von Brink plays it off as nothing. A thin sardonic smile. “Thanks, Creed. I’ll try to keep it in mind. Now, if you wouldn’t mind...”
“Right. We should get going.”
Jack and his crew load the vans and roll out of Copper Springs. It is dark. And the air is cooler now; it comes through the open window and blows on his face. His arm extended out, palm flat, rising and falling as he cants his wrist. Playing airplane. Like he used to do in the family’s old Buick. Trips to the lake.
He closes his eyes and rests his weary head against the seatback. It is quiet in the desert, and the only light for miles and miles comes from the headlights of the speeding vans.
* * *
Dr. von Brink stands on the front steps of The Golden Pickaxe Hotel and Casino. Under the stars. Under his destiny. So filled with confidence now, he could crap a brick of it. Ebullient, practically gagging on it.
Tomorrow comes his departure from Copper Springs. A tour bus carrying a terrible rockabilly band will arrive to play a non-existent three-day music festival called “Rockin’ the Desert.” The band is scheduled to arrive a little after noontime. They will pull into Copper Springs and assume right away that they took a wrong turn somewhere. Someone will get out to ask one of the cowboys for directions. Then...
“Ahahahahahahahaha!”
Leaning against the banister, the fungus considers a name change. Has been for a while now. Something more evil. Frightening. Dr. Malevolent? Hugo the Harmful. The Ayatollah of Iniquity. The Malignance. Mr. Malice. Von Vicious. Von Brink the Brutal.
Then comes a curious sound piercing through the black sky. A high-pitched whine. Coming from the stars. Von Brink looks upward. It knows that sound from somewhere. As the sound grows in intensity, the fungus suddenly remembers. Head snaps back toward the east side of the town, where Jack Creed once stood. Fingers clench into a tight ball.
The super-fungus shakes his fist at the road. “Damn you, Creed!”
Copyright © 2008 by O. J. Anderson
