ECOPOCALYPSE CH.6 - CALL IT QUITS

ECOPOCALYPSE CH.6 - CALL IT QUITS By

“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.

“Oh… uh… I can understand that.” You stand up. “Well in that case I’d better head over and give myself up.”

Madge stares at you. “You serious?”

“I… well… um. I did cause it…” You smile uncertainly. “I’ll pop over to the White House and do it publicly.”

Madge begins to stand up. “I’ll come with you.”

You shake your head. “No, you stay here, sis. You’re safe here and you can help get the changes rolled out. I’ll zip over in my ‘copter.”

Every one in the room stares at you and you slide out the door like a slug from a lettuce; slowly and carefully, looking around to make sure no one is following you.

As the door shuts, you hear Sneedon say: “What’s he up to?”

“I don’t know.” Madge replies. “Before today I would have said that he was going to run away, but after what I’ve seen him doing to fix this catastrophe today, I think he might just do it.”

You sigh with relief and head up to the roof.

As you take off, you try to think what you are actually going to do. You can’t go and hand yourself in, that would mean you’d end up… at best… in jail for the rest of your life. At worst, the new president (being the bastard that he is) would probably hand you over to the Middle East for execution.

“I’m too young to die.” You murmur, heading north as slowly as you can. “Why should I die for something that wasn’t my fault? It was the board’s money pinching that caused all this…”

A sudden blast of air pushes the ‘copter to one side and you see a pair of jets coming round to flank you. The radio crackles.

“ECOGen One. You are instructed to keep pace with us. We will land at the Airforce base where you will be taken into custody. Over.”

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit! What do you do now? There’s no way this little helicopter can outrun F16’s.

Experimentally you weave a little and predictably, the radio crackles into life again.

“ECOGen One. Do not try to resist arrest. We have orders from the president to shoot if you run. Over.”

Damn. You’re dead either way. How on earth do you… an idea occurs and you take a deep breath, slapping the radio button on the joystick.

“ECOGen One to escort. I’m low on gas and I can’t keep up with you. Over.”

You let your airspeed drop and the jets slow as well. Now what speed was a stall for this helicopter? Oh, that’s right… Now if you can just bring her to rest somewhere safe and get away from the jets before they can react.

“ECOGen One. We will keep pace with you. Keep moving forward. Over.” The pilot seems more than a little pissed off.

A field bounded by a large wood appears and you let your airspeed drop further, feeling the craft shudder and the nose tip upward. Now, if you just…

A whoosh of air on both sides of the helicopter buffets it from side to side and the resulting turbulence  knocks the pitch of the blades awry.

“Thanks Escort, that was a great help…Not!” you snap into the radio as you fight to keep the craft level. You speed up a little, but the turbulence from the low flying, circling jets as well as the wind scrables your pitch further and…

Shit! Not  retreating blade stall, anything but that, you’re too close to the fucking ground to…

The helicopter tilts left.

Time slows.

You drop the controls hoping that the autocorrect will kick in, but the tilt continues and you watch the advacing blade bite into the soft earth of the field. It ploughs into it deeply and you fight with you harness, hoping to get free of the helicopter before…

The blade snaps.

The suddenly freed rotor spins faster and the second advancing blade follows the first. The helicopter cartwheels and the tail rotor comes into contact with the ground. The tail snaps off, there are sparks and a sudden plume of fire heralds the fact that the fuel line has bought it.

Your harness lets go and you tumble out of the craft, a sudden flare of hope making time speed up again. As you hit the grass and turn to try and run, the helicopter’s body is catapulted toward you by the fire from the tail.

“Oh shit…” you moan.

* * *

“Well that was anticlimactic.” President Gantly says having reviewed the pilot’s footage of the air accident. “I was looking forward to listening to the idiot’s explanation of his company’s antics in this matter. Besides, I wanted to shoot him myself.”

He turns to an aide. “Was there anything recovered?”

The aide nods. “We have his head. It was apparently chopped off by a stray piece of rotor, long before the helicopter actually hit him.”

Gantly smiles, a red glint showing in his eye. “Did Doctor Skin take it?”

The aide looks faintly sick. “Yes, Mr. President. He’s working on the process now.”

“Good.”

You wake up.

You’re vaguely aware that the sun has risen. Shades of pink paint the inside of your eyelids, while the memory of last night is a blur of fire and dirt coloured nightmare. You just want to sleep it off, but your eyes are forced open by insistant fingers.

“Welcome back. Although I’m not sure how welcome you are going to be.” A face with a surgeons mask and cap appears in your eyeline.

“Where am I?” Your voice has a vaguely artificial sound. “Why can’t I feel anything?”

“Good, he’s awake.” President Gantly’s braying baritone brings you fully awake. “Turn him so he can see me.”

You are turned and liquid swirls in front of your eyes. “What the shit?”

“Shit is right. You’re in it.” The president stands and moves up close. He looks a little green and you realise this is because you are in a glass vat of green liquid.

“I appear to be in water.”

“Shut up. You didn’t survive intact, but Dr Skin is a genius when it comes to brains and revival. You shall pay for your crimes… more than once.”

“What?” Gantly is right in front of you so you can’t see what’s behind him. “What on god’s green earth are you talking about Arthur?”

“This.” He steps aside and you blink in astonishment. Behind him, in shackles stand rows and rows of you.

“You cloned me? Why?”

“I wasn’t about to let you get away with dying cleanly in an air accident. Every single country of the world has a grievance against you…”

“What, even Taiwan?” you quip, feeling more worried by Gantly’s smile than the clones. “Wow, we’re a good looking bunch, aren’t we. Ladies beware.”

“Enough. Each Clone is wi fi’d into what is left of your nervous system,” He picnches the clone closest to him. You wince, feeling the sharp pain. “you will feel the pain that the clone is put through.”

“But…”

Gantly plows on relentlessly. “As you have been sentenced to death in every single country of the world, you are going to die one hundred and ninety six times. I hope you survive, because after that, I am going to make your afterlife hell.”

Oops...Return to Chapter 6

ECOPOCALYPSE CH.2 - WHERE TO, HOT SHOT?

ECOPOCALYPSE CH.2 - WHERE TO, HOT SHOT?
By Jax Hix

“Well, Hot Shot, where to?  Back to the Future, Marty?” asks Milo sarcastically as he runs his hands along the instrument panel of the DeLorean.

“I—uh, well, uh…” you stammer, still struggling to shake off the hangover fuzz that has enveloped your brain. “We should . . .“

“We should what? “ screeched Milo, looking nervously at the stairway, the DERP on his forehead rippling as he raised his brow. “Hello, McFly?  Lynch mob?  Remember them?”

“Oh, well, it’s a thick door…ish,” you blurt out, looking at the keys in your hand and back at the screen, your heart sinking  at the video feed outside of your bedroom door as the protestors tear it to wooden shreds with your priceless collection of Samurai swords, battle axes and battering rams.   The sinking feeling is replaced with panic when you see they have Rosalinda with them, realizing that you’d given the entrance to the secret room and the authorization code away to her by entering it in a drunken stupor resulting from the last company holiday party, when she was turning down your bed.

You turn your eyes away from the splintering bedroom door and toward the feed around your secret garage and the only remaining escape route.  You snarl to yourself when you realize the news crew has set up next to it, as of yet unprepared to film your getaway for the 5 o’clock news. 

“Just great,” you mutter sarcastically. “Let’s see Public Relations put a positive spin on THIS.”

“What?” replied Milo, talking into the glove box he was now exploring.

“Oh, nothing.  I was just wishing I’d equipped the DeLorean with a flux capacitor, that’s all,” you reply flippantly and lift the driver door to get in.  You mumble a silent prayer as you put the key in the ignition, hoping for the best.   The engine turns but doesn’t catch. 

Milo looks at you with hostility. “In all that planning, did it occur to you to put gas in it?”

“Well, of course!” you lie as your eyes fall quickly to the gauge relieved to find it full. “It’s just been sitting awhile.  Let me try it again.”

This time the engine catches and you rev it for good measure, tossing a wink at Milo. “You see?  This is why I’m the head Muckety Muck.”

“Pedal to the metal, Mr. Cluckety Cluck,” shouts Milo as he puts on his seatbelt. “Where we headed?”

“Out of this mess and into damage control,” you declare as you gun the engine, squealing the tires on the concrete floor and shooting up the ramp to the hidden garage door like a torpedo, leaving the Batcave in a cloud of engine fuel and burnt rubber.  As you round the corner on the ramp, you catch a glimpse in the rear view mirror in time to see Rosalind and the protestors entering the secret room.  “Forget quitting, she’s fired,” you grumble.

The motion of the car opens the door and Gail Silverman and her camera crew dive out of the way just in time as you dash past them and down the driveway, swerving to avoid flying feces and screaming protestors.  You can see the cameraman filming your escape in the taillights.

“Well, that was fun!” declared Milo. “Let’s NEVER do it again, shall we?”

“Oh, come on, Milo!  You love my parties!  Remember that time in Aspen?”

“Hey, now, I had to pay quite a bit of money to that farmer to compensate him for the trauma to the donkey.  I’m still under a gag order and so are you, you know, “ Milo shot back.

“Gagged something, is right,” you giggle, giddy at your escape.  Reaching over to crank up the music, you turn the steering wheel toward Smart EcoGen and try desperately not to think about your mint condition comic books covered in poo.

The next 20 minutes are relatively uneventful, although your nose announces you may not have done as great a job as you’d have liked at avoiding the flung feces.  You turn in to the executive parking garage entrance to the building and reach for your wallet card, only to realize your wallet is back at the house in your pants.  You shoot a quick glance down and realize your shorts are actually boxer shorts and are also not yours, and judging by the brown stain on your crotch they are also on backwards.  You grin to yourself and think perhaps you did manage to avoid the flung feces afterall.  You ask Milo if he happens to have his wallet card on him and are greeted with a look of surprise, quickly followed by searching and then a shrug.

Steeling yourself for the upcoming interchange, you roll up to the security guard side of the gate.  “Hey, Hal, how are you today?”

“I’m doing well, and how are you?” replies the guard as he looks up from his paper, his question dwindling away as he takes in the sight of his CEO wearing backwards boxer shorts and the VP DERP in the passenger seat.

“As you can see, neither of us have our wallet cards to get into the building, Hal,” you respond, “And we’d be greatly appreciative if you’d let us in and perhaps send Dolores down with a couple of suits?  You do great work here, Hal, so great, I think you are overdue for a raise…if you can keep this, ah, between us?”

“Sure thing,” Hal says through gritted teeth, trying desperately not to laugh or smile as he buzzes open the gate. “I’ll have Dolores meet you at your parking spot.”

“Thank you, Hal,” you say with as much mustered dignity as you can manage under the circumstances.

“Well, that went well, didn’t it?” says Milo.

“Shut up, Milo!”

“Yes, SIR,” Milo giggles.

Dolores is waiting for you at the edge of your parking spot. “We’ve got a real crisis on our hands!  The board is upstairs and there is panic of a level I have never seen before!”

You and Milo scramble to get dressed, and you curse internally when she mentions the DERP to Milo. “I’ll catch up, I’ve got to go take care of the DERP, and screw you for not bringing it up!”  Milo spits in his hand and starts rubbing his forehead.

“You missed a spot, Milo.” Smirking, you follow Dolores upstairs in the executive elevator. 

You enter the boardroom, feeling very much like you’ve been sent to the Principal’s office.  You secretly wish you had been sent to the principal’s office.  The board room is buzzing with screaming and flailing of arms, pie charts and media reports. 

“What’s the situation?” you declare as your presence causes silence to fall.

“This has gone viral!  VIRAL!” screams the head of Public Relations, Paul Poppins. “And you, with your great escape – a nightmare!”

“Our stocks are down 60% and falling, we’re tanking, we’re finished!” pipes in the Head of Mergers and Acquisitions, Scott Black.  "The governments of Korea, China, India and Sweden have pulled their contract offers!"

The Head of the Legal Division, Todd Brammers, cuts in. “Lawsuits are already being filed! We must regroup under Chapter 11!” He is also cut off as everyone again begins shouting, all at once.

“An environmental disaster that will blacken the Earth for generations!”

“We’ve got to get ahead of this bad publicity!”

“Can I get some coffee over here?!?”

“What are our projections for the European market?”

“Quiet!” You yell, your head pounding.  The room falls silent.  You look at their stoic faces and can’t decide where to start.  After all, you’re a science geek at heart, not a CEO.  Stick with what you know, Kiddo.

Will you...

1. Head to the lab to talk to the development team to find out what went wrong?

2. Start planning damage control on the administrative side of things?

3. Run back downstairs to the DeLorean and see if you really can't travel back in time?

ECOPOCALYPSE CH.1 - MONDAY

ECOPOCALYPSE CH.1 - MONDAY By Tomara Armstrong

You’re vaguely aware that the sun has risen. Shades of pink paint the inside of your eyelids, while the memory of last night is a blur of alcohol-scented flesh-colored money. You just want to sleep it off, but the swamp of saliva you’re resting in keeps bubbling and tickling 

your nose, preventing a deep, restful sleep.

The door rattles and footsteps cross the room. You’re pretty sure it’s Monday, which means Rosalinda, your cleaning lady, is here to clean up your weekend shenanigans.  She kicks a gaming controller across the floor on her way to the kitchen and flicks on the television. You don’t care that she’s cursing you in a foreign tongue—your leather sofa is like a cloud 

sent from heaven, cuddling you ever so gently.

Your head throbs, and you groan as Rosalinda pitches last night’s bottles and cans into the enviro-bin. You roll over, covering your head with a pillow, exposing your bare ass.

At what point last night did you lose your pants?

You shrug it off and smile, trying to ignore the draft and push further into your cavernous sofa.

She turns up the volume on the television, loudly announces that she intends to run the vacuum, and strongly suggests that you seek the comfort of one of your many bedrooms. You grunt, pulling the pillow tighter around your head, trying to drown out the TV.

… Our investigative reporter Gail Silverman is live on the scene. Gail?

Thanks, Dave. I’m standing outside of Smart EcoGen, President and CEO...

Your eyes pop open. Did she say your name?

Surely not. You close your eyes again, trying to get comfortable.

Picketers have started camping out in front of the mansion since reports first started pouring in that their popular waste recycling generator, the Environaut, is responsible for a slew of health related problems cropping up around the world. President and CEO…

You sit up. She definitely said your name. You fumble for your glasses and accidentally spill a beer on your cover of Scientific American. “Shit!”

...has yet to make a comment, but a Smart EcoGen representative stated early this morning…

You jump up, flinging the beer across the floor and onto the TV. Rosa shoots you the stink eye and stomps off down the hall.

…are looking into the reports, but insisted that the safety of the public has always been first and foremost…

You’re ashamed. Ashamed that you had too much to drink, ashamed that you had too many friends over, and ashamed that you burned the other copies of Scientific American to make s’mores—ten copies with you on the cover, sacrificed in the name of snacks.

…What started as a peaceful display of vulgar signs and chanting has become more…

While you mentally make the vow to NEVER drink again, something hits your window.

…Oh my god, Dave! Protestors are flinging…feces at the mansion! This peaceful protest just got ugly.

Your stomach turns as the clods of human waste thud against your home. Rosalinda is going to quit for sure.

“What happened to your pants?” You swing around and see your best friend, Smart EcoGen VP, Milo Sabe, sprawled out on an angora rug. While he has pants, he also has a moustache and “DERP” written across his forehead—you’re guessing with Sharpie.  You keep the information to yourself as you dig a pair of shorts out from under your couch.

“You hear what’s going on?” you ask, slipping on your shorts.

“Protestors outside—throwing shit? Yeah, I heard.” He rubs his eyes, shaking his head.

“What’s that about?” You walk over to the window and peer outside. “Uh…”

Outside, picketers have scaled the outer walls of your property and are quickly crossing the lawn toward the house. They’re dirty—real dirty. So dirty, in fact, you think that they’ve covered themselves in the very stuff they were flinging at your home moments earlier.

Milo jumps as a window breaks. You back away slowly at first, but as the bodies begin pulling themselves into the room and blood drips down the broken class, you decide it’s time to go.

“Come on!” You pull Milo’s shirt and run off down the hall, leaving the protestors' incoherent shrieks behind you. They’re still trying to get into the house and starting your way.

Heading toward the center of the house, you slip in a puddle of water in the hallway. You skid to a stop, but Milo slams into you, sending you through a bathroom door. You quickly hop to your feet, averting your eyes. “Sorry, Rosa.”

She is sitting on the toilet with her head down. The water is on, and the tub is overflowing.

“Rosa?”

She lifts her head, and looks at you, chewing on her thumb.  “Are you ok?”

Her bloodshot eyes stare through you, as she peels the fingernail off with her teeth and spits it at you. You watch it hit your chest and fall to the floor, sinking into the pool of water collecting at your feet. Drops of blood swirl for a fraction of a second then disappear with the current.

You feel beer vomit tickling the back of your throat as Milo pulls you back into the hall and gives you a shove. “Time to go!”

The sickness fades as you run toward your bedroom. Once inside the room, you slam and lock the door.

“What now?” Milo’s eyes scan the room as you palm your bookshelf, remembering the access combination for the secret passageway. “Plan ahead” was your motto when you had the house built five years ago—it’s finally paying off.

“Aha!” The door swings open and you pull Milo into the dark hallway.  You can hear protestors banging on the door as you close the entrance and head down toward the emergency bunker below the house.

Your hand traces the wall, flipping on the light. The fluorescent bulbs buzz and pop, illuminating a massive room filled with cutting edge technology.

“What the hell, Bruce Wayne? How long have we been friends? You never told me you had a Batcave. I hate you,” Milo says.

“Oh, shut up. What’s the point of having all this money if I can’t indulge in a little frivolous spending?”

“A little?” Milo snorts, looking over the extreme gadgetry and flickering control panel. “I want a raise.”

You fire up a large display, push several buttons, and instantly you can see the whole perimeter of the house as well as many of its rooms. It’s quickly filling with protestors. You see their painted faces and wild eyes on the monitors. A thought creeps into your head and you shiver. They’re hunting you.

Milo is staring at the screen too—the color drained from his face. “What button do I push for the Batmobile? You have one right?”

“Uh… Yes and no.”

You press a button and the room begins to vibrate. A door opens, revealing an impressive display room filled with boxes of comics ordered alphabetically. Action figures fill glass displays—some loose, others with original packaging. In the middle of the room, on a pedestal, sits the Batmobile—a miniature replica fit for a circus clown.

“Shit.” Milo deflates. “That’s not going to get us out of here.”

“No, but I have a car.” You smile and press another button. A garage door opens, exposing a custom DeLorean DMC-12.

“Of course you do,” Milo rolls his eyes. “Does it run?”

“Sh-yeah.”  You think it does anyway.

Milo hops in the car and you grab the keys, pondering your plan of action. 

Should you:

A. Head to Smart EcoGen HQ and see if you find out what's going on;

B. Hold your ground and take back your house; or

C. Screw this! Just drive!