This year I am working on a story called Bob vs. The Alien Slug Monsters. Instead of an outline I have a basic list of plot points I want to cover between meeting Bob and sending him off to fight the king of the slugs. There is more of a cast of characters than an actual outline, so we will see how the story develops. And with that intro we continue with Bob Versus the Alien Slug Monsters…
Day 69: One group took the goo filed disks away and five more slugs were dispatched to get five new stretchers.
One group took the goo filed disks away and five more slugs were dispatched to get five new stretchers. ‘I guess resistance is futile.’ Bob thought looking at the scene.
Before, he had to admit he did feel a little bit of guilt for the death of the slugs by salt. Even his video games tended to feature more mystery and problem solving than a lot of shooting. He could justify it as a way to prevent deaths but it still made him feel a bit squidgy inside. The squidgy-ness was fading as the slugs proved they were willing to kill their own in order to keep pushing through.
Bob watched in fascination as the slugs tried again and again. When the parking lot was full, the lot of them went through the gap in the plantings between the parking lots to access more of the stretchers. Bob was relieved that they were heading away from the people he had not yet protected with salt, but didn’t understand quite why. He watched as a messenger of sorts was sent back to the Bowl-A-Rama and a new group of slugs on their disks filed into the other parking lot. Once they were through, the combined lot with the diner and the Bowl-a-Rama was empty of slugs. Bob chewed on his lip for a moment wondering if they left a sentry.
He leaned forward and saw no one.
Deciding to take his chance, Bob slipped from the booth where he was hiding and made his way to the door. He cracked it open. There was no sound of any disks near by. He couldn’t even hear the slugs arguing in their guttural tones.
He kept an eye on the gap in the plantings and occasionally darted a glance to the Bowl-a-Rama’s front door. Nothing moved. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath, racing to the nearest line of stretchers. These were the people he hadn’t yet covered with salt. He suspected that if they were to continue, eventually they would run out of people and double back for those on the stretchers here. Bob reached the first stretcher and reached into his bag for a handful of salt. If he was quick, he could add salt to them and be hidden before the slugs doubled back.
Bob lifted a hand full of salt but before he could release it he looked down at the person on the stretcher. He didn’t look like the others. The others were in a deep sleep and if he stared long enough he could see their chest moving. This man did not look like he was sleeping. He looked dead. His face was a gray ashen color and no matter how long Bob looked he didn’t see the chest rise or fall.
Bob stretched out the hand not filled with salt and felt the man’s wrist for a pulse. The man was cold and stiff as a board. Bob swallowed hard.
‘Dead,’ he thought.
He looked at the nearby stretchers. All of those near by had the same gray cast to them. Bob let go of the man’s wrist and wiped his hand on his jeans. He frowned. This didn’t make sense. He saw the dumpsters filled with the dead. Yet here were quite a few dead still laid out on stretchers.
‘They can’t have filled all the dumpsters,’ Bob thought.
Ten til Midnight 