Shouting. People arguing. Lacy opened her eyes and found herself in a bed. The dream had been so real, that she almost felt like she’d been there. She lifted her left arm, saw the missing lower half, and remembered…it was all real. The orbs…all the death…no fantasy created by her mind. It had happened.

Reggie…

She glanced up at Mo, who was embroiled in a heated exchange. Not her Mo…and yet…

*********

“Think of a network of roots beneath the ground,” said Mo, “like wild grass; here and there, a shoot rises up through the ground. But instead of shoots, there are orbs. Some of them are less significant, like leaves on a stem, but then others are the blossom at the top of the stem.”

“So where is Community’s blossom?” asked Grant.

Mo turned and pointed an index finger at him. “Exactly! That’s what we need to find out.”

“This sounds ludicrous!” grumbled Isaac.

“Does it, Isaac?” said Mo. “I don’t think you believe that.”

A hand fell atop his and Mo found Lacy staring up at him. “What’s going on?” she asked.

Mo placed his other hand top hers. “Trying to formulate a plan. How’re you feeling?”

She nodded. “Better, I think. Does that plan include a train?”

Mo’s eyes narrowed. “It might.”

Isaac rose from his seat and began pacing. Mo caught Grant eyeing him with what seemed like suspicion. But maybe that’s how Grant eyed everyone; Mo didn’t know him enough to discern his thoughts from a glance. Wasn’t sure he could trust him, either. However, he did lead them to Community to get Lacy medical help…at least he’d done that. But still. Mo glanced around the room. Hell, he didn’t know if he could trust anyone in the room, for that matter. He’d gotten this far by distrusting everyone, and he wasn’t about to quit that tactic now.

Then he glanced over at Wes.

Wes Watley.

It was weird as shit seeing duplicates of others he’d known in life. No, duplicates wasn’t the correct word. They were…counterparts. Equal in appearance, but each their own distinct person. He thought maybe he could trust Wes, but then again, just because one Wes behaved a certain way in one life, didn’t mean he’d behave the same in another.

Mo’s mind drifted back to the hospital, when Watley had…changed and wandered off on his own. He wondered what had become of him. Wondered if there was something more he could’ve done to help.

You could’ve shot him, blown his head off and saved him from whatever had stricken him.

Maybe, he thought. But a gunshot would’ve alerted those things – the humanoid things – to his presence. Then it’d be two people dead instead of one. Then he’d never have reached Lacy, and just in time to pull her free of the orb.

Fuck it, Mo, he told himself. You’ve made your choices, now live with them. Get your mind right. Focus.

“Isaac!” Charles shouted. “Can you hear me?”

In his introspection, Mo hadn’t paid attention. He saw Isaac leaning against the Med Hut door, his hands pressed flat against it, his head hanging down between his shoulders, like he was attempting to push the door over. Mo hadn’t known an Isaac where he’d come from, so trusting him wasn’t going to happen. Besides, from the moment he’d stepped into the Med Hut, something in his gaze was off. And the way he was conducting himself now was further proof that all was not well with the man.

“Isaac!” Charles called again.

Grant stood, waving Charles off. He shot a worried glance toward Mo, then pointed past him. Mo turned and saw his rifle, leaning against the chair Isaac had been seated in. Mo leaned forward, about to stand, when Isaac turned and moved to the chair. He picked up Mo’s rifle and taking it with him, returned to the door. He set the weapon in the corner and reassumed his previous position, pressing against the exit.

Mo returned Grant’s concerned expression.

“Isaac, what’s going on?” Wes’ turn this time. “You’re acting strange.”

Mo shook his head. Just like him to point out the obvious. Maybe this Wes was just like the one Mo had known.

Isaac’s palms continued to press into the metal door, like a drunk holding himself upright and trying to push off into a standing position. The man’s fingers began twitching, the nails scraping along the door, etching fine grooves.

Everyone searched one another’s face, probing for some insight as to what was going on. Lacy looked at Mo. “Mo?”

He just shook his head, urging silence. He turned his attention to Isaac, whose fingers scratched with increasing fervor.

“Grant?” asked Isaac in a quivering voice.

“Yes, Isaac,” returned Grant.

*********

I have a confession to make. I work for the benefit of the Organism. It promised that if I did what it asked – if I helped it - it would allow me to live. Because you see, the Organism needs my help…our help. It needs it. It’s dying and needs assistance to pass on to its next world to conquer. You need to stop it or else the daughter you saw that was just like your daughter, but from another place, will suffer similar consequences. You need to kill it. I’m tired and don’t want to assist it any longer. I just want to be free from its influence. So please, if you wouldn’t mind…could you kill me? Now. Quickly, before I do something terrible.

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

That is what Isaac had intended to say, but instead, all that he could muster was a strange, croaking sound.

Grant’s draw dropped. He composed himself. “Isaac? What’s wrong?”

Isaac eyes stared, unfocused. His arms began to tremble, then like a current of electricity, the agitation spread through his entire body. A line of drool fell from his mouth and hit the floor.

*********

Instinctively, Mo rose, preparing for an encounter. Wes, who had been leaning back in the folding chair, fell backward, hitting the floor. He scrambled to his feet. “What the fuck!” Charles backed away, into a corner.

A trembling moan came from Isaac as his shuddering became more violent. He gasped, drawing in a deep breath. His mouth opened impossibly wide as his head fell lolled back, his eyes cast on the ceiling. A wet, gurgling came from his throat and a venomous swill surged from the gaping mouth, splashing against the metal door.

“Jesus Christ!” cried Charles, retreating even further into the corner.

“Get back!” demanded Grant.

Wes scrambled back beside Mo, who’d bolted out of his chair and gotten Lacy to her feet.

As the wet discharge continued to exit Isaac’s body, his form began to alter. His back and shoulders caved inward; the churning tissue funneled through the mouth until there was nothing left of the torso. The arms and legs remained where they’d been, connected by glistening strands of flesh that seemed to barely support the head, hanging backward at a frightening angle. It was a hollowed out stick figure, somehow still standing. Ribbons of meat hung from the gruesome framework, thick strings of fluid falling to the floor with wet, slapping sounds.

“What the fuck is that!” yelled Wes, pointing hysterically. “What the fuck is that!”

Mo didn’t answer.

“Something not human,” said Charles.

The expelled innards clinging to the door and the wall moved.

“Fuck!” screamed Wes.

Isaac’s hands, still against the door, were covered with the reddish-black ooze. The skeletal framework collapsed to the floor and the remaining flesh on the limbs scrambled away from the bones, joining the mass on the door. It roiled there for a moment, then began to spread.

Grant crossed over the bed Lacy had been lying on and joined her, Mo and Wes. They back as far from the thing as was possible. Mo, who’d been caught off guard by the nightmarish exhibition, shook himself free of the hypnotic visuals and reached for the rifle. The movement must’ve prompted the mass, as it swelled with greater enthusiasm. Mo raised the rifle and returned to Lacy’s side. He’d seen some weird shit, but this was the most disturbing so far.

Uncoiling in the wet smear were what appeared to be structures consisting of tissue-vine unions. They reached out, then pulled more of the mass in the desired direction. This continued until most of the door and the tiny window were concealed.

“It’s trapping us in,” said Lacy.

Isaac’s head, still attached by some remaining strands of tissue, was pulled along the floor. When it bumped against the base of the door, it was hauled upward, fresh streams of fluid escaping the neck cavity and running toward the floor. It joined the mass and he gazed at them with eyes that had rolled over white. A release of air escaped the yawning mouth.

“Oh Christ!” yelled Wes. “Is he still fucking alive?”

“Killllll…” whispered Isaac. “Pleeeeease…”

“Oh, Christ!” cried Wes.

Mo, wishing he could put an end to the talking head, instead could only watch with horror at the inhuman thing. He thought of moving closer and stabbing it with some instrument, but just then the mass vibrated, then rippled. It began to spread up the wall and across the ceiling, heading toward the group.

*********

Charles frantically searched the cabinet beside him, looking for anything that might serve as a weapon. Wish I had a fucking blowtorch! he thought.

Wait…

Shuffling bottles, he reached and found what he sought: ethyl chloride. A refrigerant used to numb the skin for minor surgical procedures. But he also knew it was flammable.

*********

Suddenly, Charles took a step toward the mass and hurled a container, which shattered when it struck the door. Then he watched as the medic doused a rag with something from a bottle, and stuffed it into that same bottle. Next, he used a lighter to ignite the rag. Flames sprang to life and Charles tossed it where the container had struck. Fire erupted, engulfing the mass. It wriggled spasmodically, and began to contract, drawing itself together. It crashed to the floor in a fiery bulk. Then it stood and faced them.