The Cockleburrs
Jean twisted the dial on the radio until the volume of voices came out louder than the ubiquitous static. The past couple of days had sparked a revival of AM radio not seen since audio theater, with people in the Heartland panicking at the thought of little green men. It was real this time though. Jean and Walter had witnessed the monster fly in, and the mob of black helicopters and jeeps that followed.
“… haven’t even allowed the press inside to document it! What we have is some grainy, Bigfoot-type footage of a flyby. But there’s no denying the fact that miles of Rocky Mountain peaks are gone!” One of the voices argued vehemently.
A deeper, condescending voice replied, “They have been manipulating this kind of footage for years. It’s exactly what they want you to think, because everyone is too afraid to say the word ‘Terrorist’. Plain and simple. This country, and this administration cannot afford another Nine-Eleven!”
Jean and Walter wrinkled their noses in unison as she searched for another station. As siblings, their thoughts and expressions were often in harmony. They were brought to the balcony by the behemoth’s otherworldly keening, wearing faces of wonder as it passed overhead. People in the streets held hands to their heads, temporarily deafened by the bellow.
“… myriad possibilities, but most experts agree that it crashed due to some sort of navigation malfunction. Theories range from a rash of intense solar activity three weeks ago, to an overpopulation of communications satellites in orbit above Earth. One fact that could help determine the cause would be to conclude whether the object is organic or not.”
A static shush overtook the program, forcing the siblings to find yet another channel. They looked warily at each other as they resumed the search, waiting for their father to join them from outside. The booming, overtly Southern drawl of a televangelist roared from the small speakers.
“Cans’t thou draw out Leviathan with a hook? Or bore his jaw through with a thorn? Behold, the hope of him is in vain. Shall not one be cast down, even at the sight of him? Brothers and Sisters, this an Old Testament sign from an Old Testament God. An angry God. A God that will hold us accountable, Jehovah-Jireh!”
The preacher clipped his last words with unbridled enthusiasm. Father entered the room through the remnants of a sliding glass door, turned a slick gray by a duct tape patch job. All the windows in town had been blown out when the creature crashed, some smaller structures completely obliterated as the beast un-domed McGregor Mountain and turned Bighorn into a crater. The grizzled man threw a clipboard onto the worktable and made his way to a gun cabinet, unshelving a giant A-Square .557 Tyrannosaur, meant to take down Kodiak bears and rhinos. It was the largest caliber modern weapon a man could use with only his shoulder as a backstop.
“End o’ the fucking world and that bastard is still begging for money.” Father gestured to shut off the radio. He tapped the clipboard he had previously discarded. “They’re all accounted for. Twenty-two Blackhawks, fifty-six Jeeps, thirteen Humvees, and three Lincolns. Gone as fast as they came in. And unless they sectioned the thing up Russian mob style and drove off with the pieces, it’s still out on the range.”
He continued trekking between the table and the weapon racks, bringing back a pair of thirty-aught-sixes and three flare guns. One for each of them. Father looked the teens in the eyes as he spoke. “Those spooks don’t give a good goddamn about us or our neighbors. We’re gonna go find survivors or answers. Both if we’re lucky.” He kissed his children on the forehead then strode to the front door. “Mount up.”
The jacked-up truck took a right, off Fall River Road and onto Lawn Lake Trail, which wound its way around Bighorn Mountain. Estes Park was a ghost town on the way out. Father drove slow to accommodate the pickup’s wide berth and keep an eye out for the monster’s final resting place. They had to brake hard near the river. The trail was blocked by exploded detritus that formed a star-shaped pattern back to ground zero. The three unpacked the bed of the truck, shouldered their supplies, and hoofed it up the mountainside.
Over a crest, they spotted the colossus at the epicenter of leveled trees. It lay flat on its side, the ground-side half shredded away by rock and trees, leaving tracks of gore from the initial site of impact. The term leviathan truly fit, as the beast was longer than a football field and whale-like. Instead of flippers, it sported a long line of cilia that glowed a bioluminescent violet. Small pits scored its otherworldly belly.
Father ran his hand along the blubber cavities. “Wonder what made these? Doesn’t look like damage from the crash.”
Walter caught a pair of does sneaking into one of the opaque plastic tents the military had left behind. He clicked his tongue to call attention, pointing at the tent. Father nodded and gestured at Walt’s rifle, “Keep an eye peeled for anyone still around. And be careful.”
Father walked the length of the beast as Walter disappeared inside the tent. The smell of pine and dirt mingled with alien decay. Despite the grisly nature of the scene, the animal was beautiful. Its skin was a midnight blue, lit by the cilia, with the purple glow changing to a deep teal at the baleen. A gold-flecked eye gave off an air of royalty, where it would have otherwise looked scared and confused. Upon closer inspection, the holes in the whale’s belly were filled with pin-prick points.
“What the hell….?”
Walter emerged from the tent, pale and wearing a thousand-yard stare. His voice was barely audible. “Dad. You need to come see this.”
The old man whistled, a cracking sound that reverberated through the calm clearing. Jean responded in kind, and was by their side shortly. Father led them inside the plastic building, and they all stopped abruptly at the door. It stood in the corner, plastered to the flimsy walls by a waxy substance. The camouflage hat gave it away as military, one of the only characteristics that confirmed the thing was once a person. Several dozen holes were bored into the body, the waxy fluid pouring out of them gave it the appearance of a human honeycomb. The two deer, a rabbit, and a blue jay lapped from the gruesome fount.
“Wait outside,” Father growled. They did as he bade, without question or hesitation. Not out of obedience, simply that neither wanted to stay in the tent for a second longer. He stepped closer to the figure, clicking his tongue and shooing the woodland creatures away from the desecration.
He inched his face closer to the leaking cavities. Within each one, something writhed. A tail, striped black and white. They wiggled and whipped inside their holes, betraying the presence of something larger. The man looked around for some kind of utensil to extract the wormy creature, and found a pair of forceps on a stainless-steel cart. It held a variety of surgical instruments. This tent was probably where any dissection and scientific research would have occurred, had the military units stuck around. It took him a couple of tries to pin one of the tails between the tines. As he pulled, the thing resisted, and he felt the body’s chest move. Then the sound of inhalation. He looked up, into gold-flecked eyes. They stared back at him, as the corpse moved its mouth without speaking.
The blast of the Tyrannosaur erupted throughout the mountainside. Jean and Walter covered their ears, spinning around to face the tent. Father walked out of the plastic flap soundlessly. He didn’t try to speak, the ringing in their ears would be the sound of their worlds for the next few hours, if it ever went away. Tears spilled from the corners of his eyes. He tugged at the edges of his jacket, popped the collar, and pulled his cowboy hat down low over his face. Jean moved to touch his shoulder, but he brushed her off callously and led the way back to the truck.
The next day, Father rode in the back of the pickup all the way to Doctor Findlay’s house. The Doc was no longer taking patients at the clinic. Most of the people in Estes Park had packed and moved out in the middle of the night. A few trucks lingered to remind that there were some still inside, shuttered and locked in, convinced that they could keep the impending change from entering their modest lives.
They pulled onto the gravel drive, the stones crunching. Father dropped the tailgate and hopped from the bed. Jean opened the driver side door, but he laid a forceful hand against it to stop her.
“You both stay here. No sense in taking any more risk than you’ve got to.”
Jean pushed back, the fire of defiance in her eyes. “We need to hear what the Doctor has to say. You know if you go in there by yourself, if it’s bad, you won’t say nothin’ to us. You’ll think you’re protectin’ us, but you’re not. We need to hear the truth. We’re your children for Chrissake. We deserve to know.”
His pupils narrowed, tiny hints of gold contracting in the iris before he gazed at the ground, unable to look his kids in the eye. He finally relented, Walter and Jean exited the vehicle to join his side. Still, they kept a physical distance.
Inside the cabin, Doc Findlay was busy at a shelf. He ushered the guests in without turning around. He grabbed a couple of mason jars and set them on the living room table. Each contained a spiny specimen, striped black-and-white with a long flagella, suspended in a clear liquid. The tail attached to a circular body, roughly the size of a child’s palm, covered in points. It resembled a cockle burr. Those strange little brown blooms that stick to your socks and shoelaces when walking through tall grass.
“I know why you’re here, Hank, and I don’t know what to tell ya. Did ya tell Walt and Jeannie?”
Father looked at the kids. He started to speak, but Jean cut him off. “He hasn’t showed us, but we had our suspicions.”
Walter stared at the specimens on the table. “We seen them before, kinda. Up on Bighorn. Not like this, though… all whole and everything.” He reached out and gingerly touched the glass. The thing inside whipped its flagellum to mirror his contact.
“Darndest thing,” the Doc said, “that there’s almost pure alcohol. Sumbitches still ain’t dead. Took that one out of Wendy Yustman. Had to sedate her to get it. When I tried it without the drugs, she knocked me plum on my ass. I thought she was gonna kill me. Then I had to cut around the thing to extract it. It was still tryin’ to… burrow inside of her.”
The Doctor turned to the children. “Kids, I’m gonna have to examine your dad. That means I’m gonna have to check some very private areas. Would ya mind steppin’ outside?”
They looked at each other and reluctantly left. Once the cabin door had shut behind them, Hank began removing his shirt. He turned around, showing Doc the hole at the base of his neck. He started to unbutton his pants, but Findlay held up a hand to stop him. “I haven’t checked myself anywhere else,” Hank said, “The parts I can’t see and whatnot. I wasn’t gonna get the kids to do it, either.”
Doc lifted his own shirt, revealing eight hollows in his chest and abdomen. They were so deep the flickering tails could no longer be seen.
“Mine don’t hurt. Do yours?” Doc asked. The father shook his head. “Unless you try to pull ‘em out. I tested an extraction method on myself. After the other patients showed up with ‘em. I know one of them sonsabitches infected me somehow. Anyways, when I tried tuggin’ on it, it burned like hellfire. Like every single one of my nerves was covered in acid. I didn’t try again.”
“Can you cut them out? If you get them all, can I be saved? I’ve seen how this all ends. I don’t want that, Doc.”
“I haven’t seen it, but somehow, I know,” Findlay replied. “Like I can hear ‘em talkin’ to each other. It started with the one. I passed out when I tried to get it out. Woke up with the other seven on me. But in my dreams, I felt them callin’ out. Like a beacon. Do you hear ‘em yet, Hank?”
Father rubbed his face roughly and sobbed once into his hand. “Yeah. They don’t want to come out. It took all of my will to let the kids drive me up here.”
Doc put a hand on his shoulder. “I couldn’t cut ‘em out if I wanted to. I’d bet dollars to donuts yours is attached to your brain stem. You must have incredible resolve. Most people can’t fight ‘em for longer than half a day. Wendy’s was at the base of her spine. Mine’s in my heart, Hank. I could see it in my mind before I took an x-ray of it. Only confirmed what I already knew. Six more people come into my office yesterday. All of ‘em left of their own accord before I could perform the necessary amount of tests. Those two out of Mrs. Yustman were the only ones I removed. They hadn’t gotten far enough to any of the vitals. I was gonna try for a third, but she up and left without a single word.
“We’re already dead. These things are just keepin’ us alive. Truth be told, I’m more excited than scared to find out why. I know that’s not me talkin’. The real Findlay would be callin’ up the CDC, tryin’ to get to the bottom of this. But I just wanna curl up in a corner and see how this all plays out.
“You want my advice, Hank? Fill that truck’s tank with gas, hand those kids of yours the keys, and tell ‘em to get the hell outta Dodge.”
Hank nodded, turned, and walked to the door.
“Hank? You give up yet?” Findlay asked.
“I’m still here, Doc.” Hank threw up a little wave before he left the cabin.
Jean was on him the moment he came through the door. “What did he say?”
Father pushed her off and jumped into the bed of the pickup. “Don’t touch me. He said not to touch me. Just take me home.”
She stood rebelliously at the edge of the truck for five minutes. No words were exchanged. Then she climbed into the driver’s seat and took the family home.
When they arrived, Father took out his wallet and laid it on the table. “There’s two-hundred dollars in there. You both know the PIN number for the bank card. Take the truck and get the fuck out of here.”
Walter moved toward him, but Father shoved him back. Walt lost his balance and fell back on his rear. “We’re not going to abandon…” he started.
“Just leave!” Father yelled, then stalked to the basement, slamming the door behind him. The lock clicked loudly into place.
“Dad!” Jean attacked the door with balled up fists. Her banging echoed through the house. “Let us in! Dad!”
When there was no answer, she turned to help Walter up off the floor.
Jean entered the house, arms laden with groceries. “There was nobody at the market, so I didn’t even bother with paying.” She set the bags down and began putting the food away.
“It’s been five days, Jeannie. If he don’t get some water soon, he’s gonna die. If he isn’t dead already.” Walter fiddled absent-mindedly with the sleeves of his sweater.
“Don’t you talk like that, Walt. We’re gonna bust that door down and get him some food and drink. I don’t give a shit about his privacy or his pity party. We’re a family goddammit.” She grabbed a couple of water bottles and a value-size bag of chips. “Help me kick it in,” she ordered.
They took turns putting their boots to the door until it finally yielded. A faint light guided them to the bottom of the steps. There, in the corner, Father stood plastered to the wall with the same waxy substance that encased the military woman. He was honeycombed as well, with luminous orange spider silk anchoring him to the surrounding surfaces. Roaches, pill bugs, beetles, and spiders crawled in and out of the flesh pits. They paused to suck at the alien juice that seeped from the voids before scurrying away. The insects shone a rainbow of colors, a scuttling spectrum of visible light.
A bright red beetle creeped close to Walter’s shoe, and he stamped on it. Walt cried out, and he lifted his leg, the bug running away unharmed. “It was like stomping on a rock!” He said, hopping on his right foot.
The siblings jumped back when Father lifted his head. His eyes shimmered that dazzling gold as he drank in the sight of them. A ragged hole ate at his neck, the details illuminated with a vivid tangerine glow. One of the cockle burrs inside worked its thin spines, playing at the strings of his vocal chords like a harpist with some, and pushing at the meat slab of his tongue with others. The concerted movements produced Hank’s raspy baritone.
“I thought I told you kids to leave?” He smiled as he spoke. “Glad you didn’t. You’re a sight for sore eyes.” Father saw the worried looks on their faces. “Don’t be scared. The things in me are staying there, not coming for you. And there’s no need to fret over me. It doesn’t hurt.
“Quite the opposite, in fact. I’ve seen and felt the most beautiful things since I’ve been down here. Me, other people, the animals. It’s like we’re all connected through these critters. Do you know what it feels like to fly as an eagle? Or hunt as a wolf? I do.” He looked skyward and shook his head slowly. “I watched a star die last night. Absolutely beautiful…” he trailed off, reverently.
“Do you want to know what I can’t wait to feel? The depths of the ocean. Some kind of squid or shark. We’ll get there eventually. You know it’s coming, right? We’re almost there and it’s just… It’s heaven on Earth.”
Jean took a step back. “Walter, get in the truck. Now.” She commanded.
Her father regarded her with such empathy that she almost burst into tears. “Oh, baby. I wish he could. Just show her, Walt.”
Walter looked at the floor.
“What’s he talkin’ about, Walter?” Jean demanded.
The boy lifted the sleeve of his sweater, revealing a deep burrow in his forearm. “It’s wrapped around my brachial artery,” he whispered. “It told me so.”
“When?” She cried.
“Yesterday. When I went outside to sneak a cigarette. Dad’s right. I never even felt it get inside me.”
Jean fell to her knees. “What do I do, daddy? What do I do? Is it even any use running? I don’t know where I’m supposed to go. Where could be safe. I don’t think I can leave you and Walt.”
Father shushed at her sobbing. “We’ll be fine, sweetie. As fine as this new world will have us. We’re a part of something… bigger now. A part of this great, wide world like we’d have never been before. But I know you, baby. You got the fire in ya. You run as far and as long as you can. See everything you can. Do everything you can. If you get away, you’ll have truly lived a life. If you don’t, think of all the wonderful memories you’ll have ready to share with us. With everyone and everything.” A sunset pink cellar spider crawled from a hole where his ear used to be and disappeared behind his head.
She looked at her brother with desperation in her eyes. “Walt?” She squeaked.
Her brother sniffed back a hint of sadness and answered, “I’m supposed to be somewhere. I’m not rightly sure where yet, but they’ll tell me when I’m ready. I’m gonna stay here with dad ‘til then.”
“I love you both.” Jean said, reaching out instinctively before drawing her hands back to her chest. Her father and brother smiled at her as she clambered up the basement stairs and left them in the dim orange fluorescence.
Jean visited Arches National Park on her way through Utah. She walked across the Landscape Arch at dawn, sat near the Double O around midday, and took a picture sitting in the Delicate Arch at dusk for posterity. Somewhere along the hike she ran into a hive made from a tourist in the remnants of khaki shorts and a Panama hat. He spoke to her in her father’s voice. She told him of her drive through the Eisenhower Tunnel. Of her plans to visit Nevada before heading to the Coast. Jean no longer felt the empathic connection to Walter. He was lost to her. She wasn’t ready to ask after him just yet.
She found that not all of the infected people turned to hives. In Las Vegas, some sat in the casinos as they normally would, playing out hands of blackjack or pulling the levers of one-armed bandits. They wore long sleeves, turtlenecks, hoodies, anything that covered a majority of skin. Every once in awhile, a zebra-striped tail would whip from beneath the layers of clothing, betraying their presence.
One thing Jean noticed was that there were no hives made of wildlife. They seemed to relegate themselves exclusively to humans. Animals were always nearby them, though. Feeding from the sticky honey they constantly oozed. Lemon yellow rams and pastel lilac cougars prowled through the infamous Strip. One evening, a colony of magenta-toned bats took flight as she sat in an unmoving roller coaster atop a fancy hotel, soaking in the skyline.
When she’d had her fill of the glitzy neon, Jean got in her truck and ran some more.