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: 70: ‘They can’t have filled all the dumpsters,’ Bob thought.
‘They can’t have filled all the dumpsters,’ Bob thought. While the sight of them was unnerving, he couldn’t quite decide why they were there. ‘Why treat most of the dead like trash but not these?’
Bob glanced over but didn’t see any slugs returning through the gap in the plantings, nor exiting the Bowl-a-Rama. Figuring he might as well gather what information he could while there was a chance, he moved swiftly down the rows looking for why these people where separated out.
‘Clearly the slugs know they are dead and can’t be inhabited or they would have taken them when they started dying from the salt.’ In the background Bob could hear the screams as the slugs tried more of the salt covered people he left behind.
‘They are going to run out of slugs soon.’
He didn’t know how many slugs were with the slug army but there had to reasonably be a finite number. He tried not to think about potential millions hiding out in other buildings throughout town. Bob forced himself to focus on those laid out on the stretchers. Halfway down the first row, Bob paused recognizing a face. He frowned trying to remember where he saw the face.
‘Eddie’s last explosion,’ Bob recalled. ‘He was with the police force responding.’
That time Eddie’s explosion got out of hand and the Centerville police reacted as though it was some sort of terrorist attack. Bob was fairly certain the person he saw on the stretcher was in some sort of command position.
Having identified the man even generally, Bob continued on. There were more recognizable faces. The mayor, a few city council members, and a local car salesmen whose commercials Bob saw regularly on late night television.
‘Noticeable and notable,’ Bob thought, spotting a few folks from the local news station. He recognized the reporters and weatherman from his morning viewing. While he generally had it on so he could hear about traffic issues while dressing for work, he recognized the faces.
Bob heard the sound of the disks getting louder and raced to a strip of low bushes at the edge of the diner parking lot. He crouched behind them, staying low enough that he was practically laying on the ground. Hald his body was on the dirt, the rest pressed against asphalt.
‘At least the parking lights aren’t near me,’ he thought. Several of the other plantings were directly under parking lot lights and would have spotlighted his presence. Bob held still and watched as three of the disk riding slugs returned from their foray in the other parking lots and went to the door of the Bowl-a-rama. The large double doors were opened and the slugs were allowed admittance. Bob blinked, their entrance reminding him of the arrival of Big Mike.
Big Mike was a bowler extraordinaire. His team taking the trophy for eight years running, at least the last time Bob saw him. It was probably more now. His Aunt Margaret loathed him, mostly because prior to his team’s winning streak Bob’s Father’s team had been the winners. They held the trophy for fifteen years. Before them it had been his grandfather’s team and before them his great grandfathers. Bob hadn’t even made it on to a team but that didn’t stop his Aunt from complaining that his name instead of Big Mike’s should be on the trophy.
Ten til Midnight 