ECOPOCALYPSE CH.6 - APPEAL TO ARTIE

ECOPOCALYPSE CH.6 - APPEAL TO ARTIE

By John Elrod

So in the Monopoly game of your no good, very bad, shitastic day, you’ve just managed land on “Go to Hell”; go directly from potential savior to dead man walking, and do not collect $200. You’re pretty much fucked, but you’ve come too close to solving this thing to give in, now.

“This is alright. This is fixable. I’ll just hop on a flight to D.C. and talk to this Artie character. I’m sure I can show him the new shitbox and convince him to let me fix this. I mean, I’ve given speeches to rooms full of billionaires and scientists--and billionaire scientists, of which there aren’t very many; I can convince some second-tier Jefferson Smith to--” Your spiel is interrupted.

“He’s actually on his way here.” Sneedon’s interjection is weighted heavily in condescension.

This information kind of kills your zeal for confrontation; you won’t have nearly enough time to prepare for the meeting, but that shouldn’t be a problem… because of the earlier thing about all the speeches--billionaires, etc--that really had a lot more pop when it was coming from you a few moments ago. That doesn’t matter now. What does matter now is that this jackass is coming to get you and probably plans to make use of pomp and circumstance to parade you around in front of big crowds, to make sure everyone knows “we” are committed to international diplomacy, even if it means throwing you--their potential hero--to the proverbial lions (you assume the lions would merely be proverbial, but who really knows?).

Sneedon eagerly returns to the room, after having exited toward a private conversation, “Artie is going to meet with you right upstairs. There’s a nice conference room up there for you two to try and come to some kind of an agreement, okay? I’m really pulling for you to get out of this.”

You try to slowly walk out of the room and make your way toward the elevators, but Sneedon is really pushing you along. Maybe he wants some alone time with Madge? You could tell him he’s barking up the wrong vagina, there, but it’s always more entertaining when they find out for themselves. You barely have time for parting remarks before he’s ushered you into the elevator and you’re back to the solitary confinement of one of these moving boxes. This elevator differs greatly from your own, though; it’s littered with fliers and the air is smothered by that damn Muzak… and the torturous dinging. How any of these CDC bastards can get any thinking done is beyond you.

Following your dreadful ride up 18 floors, you exit Dante’s infernal elevator to a dark, cavernous corridor, and you’re carrying an even emptier head. Sneedon rushed you out of there so quickly, and the elevator ride was so hellish, that you’ve not managed to prepare a single coercive word for this Artie fellow.

I’ll wing it; piece of cake.

Your thoughts have returned, but they aren’t quite as helpful as you would have hoped. Nevertheless.

Your feet chirp against a clearly government-issued linoleum, as you struggle to make your way toward a single light at the end of the seemingly abandoned level of this building. With every step, your knees grow weaker, your stomach churns tighter, and each breath of the cold, medicinal air reaches ever heavier heights. There’s something wrong here. Wouldn’t Artie have security guards? Shouldn’t Secret Service members be frisking you harder than a horny TSA agent, right about now? This isolation doesn’t make any sense. Then it hits you; Admiral Ackbar is screaming out from the mind of the childhood movie marathons you and Madge used to have on rainy weekends: this is a trap.

You turn for the elevator, but it’s too late. There, amidst the silence that permeates everything that isn’t you, barks the smallest crunch of splintering glass. There is to be no pageantry to your death; you will not be paraded across the world’s stage to appease the chattering crowds of a global lynch mob. Your demise is a relatively uneventful one; an assassination carried out by some Jack Bauer wannabe from the roof of some adjacent building. He’s probably not even occupying his carefully chosen perch, anymore. No, he did his duty, and now you’ve been left to ponder what could have come of your plan to save the day, as your shoe lets forth a final chirp against the cheap flooring, and you stumble into the light.

Oops...Return To Chapter 6

ECOPOCALYPSE CH.6 - "C.D.C, A.S.A.P."

ECOPOCALYPSE CH.6 - "C.D.C., A.S.A.P." 
by James McShane

Your trip to the Centre for Disease Control Headquarters allows you time to calm yourself down and indulge in a little family bonding with your sister. You and Madge never saw eye-to-eye on many things over the years, but when she brought back her first girlfriend and introduced Suzi Ching to Mom, you stormed out of the house and wouldn’t come back until they’d both left. This incident made Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays a hornets’ nest for the next fifteen years. It’s not your fault you’re a bigot; society made you that way. You wish you could turn back time and make things right again, a-la Sam Beckett and Quantum Leap. But going by your recent experience with inventions, any time machine you built would probably result in the Nazis winning World War II and the San Francisco 49ers winning Superbowl from now until Doomsday. Neither of these possible events sit well with you. You are who you are – now deal with it.

You turn to Madge and say, “Hey, sis, remember that time you and Suzi…”

“Shut the fuck up!” Madge replies into her headphone. “I’ve not yet forgiven you for that,” she continues. “However, if you can in any way make this"—she points down below at the shit- and blood-stained streets—"better, maybe this Christmas I’ll buy you something nice.”

“I always wanted a pony,” you say wistfully.

“I was thinking more of a one-way trip to fucking Jupiter.” She turns to you. “I hear it’s nice this time of year.”

Madge has mellowed over the years, you surmise.

“Are we there yet?” you ask, changing the subject. You’re the pilot, and you know how long the journey takes, but you really want to move on from all this bitterness.

“Two minutes,” Madge replies. “I rang ahead. The president’s guy at the CDC is expecting us. You better know what you’re doing.”

“It’s like we said earlier, Madge. Whoever’s lost is gone forever. The only way I can fix this is so it never happens again. I hope this joker listens to me.”

“Who else is he going to listen to? The Ayatollah?”

You grunt in mock agreement. The sooner this finishes, the better civilisation can get going again. You will make this right.

You hope.

As you bring the helicopter down on the roof of CDCHQ, you experience a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach. There must be at least twenty CDC goons as your welcoming party. They have guns. Lots of guns. As you and Madge step out, a goon in a hazmat grabs you by the arm and throws you to the ground.

“So you’re the fucker who’s responsible for this eco-Apocalypse?”

You raise your hand and introduce yourself. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” you add. He slaps you across your face with a gloved palm. “I didn’t think I was this popular,” you mumble.

A voice from behind your assailant calls out. “Easy, Ernie. Let’s not give the CEO too hard a time. After all, amends must be made. Bring them down to the lab.” The new guy, who you assume must be the president’s eyes and ears in CDC, points to Madge, who is carrying the new and improved Environaut from the helicopter. He pulls you up and offers his hand.

 “Jack Sneedon, President’s Liaison, CDC.”

You both shake. “I take it you’re aware of what we have here?” you say. “With the improvements I made to the original design…”

“Yeah, I know,” he says as his colleagues move Madge and the devise into the roof elevator. “Your sister filled me in over the phone. Some shit about co-coolants. I don’t get it.” He fixes you with a steely glare. “But I’m hoping you do.”

Once more, you hope.

Down in the lab, you unpack all your equipment and prepare for a demonstration of the Environaut. You look around and see that the place is spotless. No blood. No shit. “You’ve been cooped up here all this time?” you ask. “No breaches of security? No Shithead Zombies?”

Sneedon shrugs. “One or two got through the main gate, but that’s all. Our guys are clean and good to go. What about you?”

Your head drops. “I lost my Mom and my best friend.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Sneedon replies curtly, “but we’ve no time for sentimentality. We can grieve our dead later – provided we don’t become one of them. Set her up and let’s see what she can do.”

The demonstration works like a charm. After thirty minutes of further testing, Sneedon and his cohorts are less agitated than they were when they met you on the roof. It didn’t stop Hazmat Man from slapping you once more, this time with feeling.

Sneedon takes out his phone. “Wake up the president!” he barks. “Tell him I have good news.” His face loses several shades of natural colour. “What the fuck?” he roars. “When the hell did that happen?” He finds a nearby chair and just about manages to flop into it. He rubs his hand over the top of his head. He appears to be sobbing. “Artie’s in charge? Holy sweet fuck!” He ends the call and looks at you.

You feel a hand at your shoulder. It’s Madge, getting all sisterly like. “What’s going on?” she asks.

“Turn on the TV,” is Sneedon’s response.

On the big screen there is a shot of the White House. The ticker at the bottom of the screen reads: “President and Vice-President invoke 25^th Amendment. Speaker of the House, Arthur Gantly becomes President of the United States. News conference to follow shortly.”

You look at Sneedon. “They must have fallen foul of…the foulness.” Now you sound like a badly written twelve volume fantasy epic.

“You got that right,” Sneedon says. “Artie is out baying for blood. Your blood.”

“What do you mean?” Madge asks before you can even formulate the question yourself.

“My man at the West Wing says China, Russia and the entire Arab nation wants your head on a platter. They’re having their own problems and the only way they can placate their citizens is to ask for your public execution.”

You gulp.
Now that your life is on the , do you:

A. Offer to turn yourself over to the bloodthirsty masses, hoping your self-sacrificial gesture will change Artie's mind?
B. Appeal to Artie directly and show him your new and improved Environaut? He's not that much of a nut, is he?
C. Do what every self-respecting person would do in a situation like this - run?