Two days later Chet found himself sitting beside the hairiest man he’d ever seen. Although he wasn’t hairy in the sense he looked like an ungroomed gorilla, but rather an Afghan hound, or the Lhasa Apso. He sported a silky ponytail that tickled the patch of hair that peeked from under his shirt. The hair on his arms resembled the combed-over hair of a balding man who just can’t let go. His beard reached up to the bags of his eyes.

“That’s why you should switch to the flip phone man, you’re more connected to the world,” Theo said.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Chet responded as he scrolled through the PIP app, specifically, the bounties he’d favorited. He clicked on one to get more information, the page refreshed and the phone’s white light blinded him. The knot on the back of his head throbbed.

Theo tapped on his shoulder with his dainty, spindly fingers, “See you say that fish, but I can tell, deep inside. You’re not really consolidating the vibe.”

Chet sighed and pocketed the phone, “We’ve been sitting here and staring at this door for two hours, what do you expect me to do?”

Theo tapped his temple, “Feel the moment man, that’s what this is all about. One day you’re going to wake up and realize you’re old and you’re about to die. Then you’re going to think about ole’ Theo and regret not listening to these words of wisdom earned through hardship,” Theo tapped Chet’s left pec, just above the heart, “and love.”

Chet was incredulous, “Hold old did you say you were again Plato?”

“Twenty-five.”

Theo touched his own chest with two hands in the shape of a bird and stared at the light-polluted sky above, “But those twenty-five years were so action-packed with love that spiritually… I’m sixty and a Goltic Farmer.”

‘Report in Chet,’ said Gary in Chet’s earpiece.

Chet tapped his earpiece, “The abandoned wall I’m currently staring at has demonstrated any aggression.”

Instead of Gary, a dainty man’s voice interjected, ‘Walls are dangerous, I was walking downtown the other day and one jumped out of nowhere.’

Theo tapped his earpiece and spoke up beside Chet, “That’s because your spirit is still tethered to the mortal realm Juice.”

‘My spirit is just fine where it is.’

‘This is not appropriate mic behavior,’ Gary said.

Juice wasn’t having it, ‘Shove it out of your ass Gary.’

Theo elbowed Chet and raised his eyebrows in an “oh shit” look.

The coms were silent. Chet listened intently, he hadn’t heard someone speak to Gary like that since Gary shoplifted and their parents caught him. Although, the situation was a bit different since the item he stole was a marble and Gary hadn’t yet breached three feet in height.

‘We will speak after. Chet, do you remember your role?” Gary asked.

If there was anything Chet hated, it was condescension, ‘Are you talking about my extremely limited and basic role? Then yes, I remember.’

‘I’m ecstatic to hear it, Chet.’

The coms went silent after that. He adjusted his position on the rock that overlooked the warehouse side door and scratched at the bandage on his left forearm.

“I thought you were going to argue about the other part of your role, it’s not easy being on the hook, fish.”

Chet was already annoyed, being called after a non-breathing, zero-legged animal was not what he wanted to hear.

“I’m fine with that part, it’s the uselessness that annoys me. A monkey could have filled my position on the team.”

Theo clasped his mammoth fingers around Chet’s not-small shoulder. He didn’t like it there.

“I like monkeys,” was all he said before he removed his hand.

Chet didn’t appreciate the Neanderthal-looking man proclaiming his monkey enjoyment.

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

They resumed waiting. A common theme of this stakeout. He wondered if this is what soldiers in the U.R.A. would do before a skirmish. Chet followed the train of thought and imagined himself at the forefront of a war. Power thrumming at his fingertips. The world before him-

“You know what’s the problem with being in the moment?” Theo said.

“What’s that Theo.”

“It fucking sucks sometimes.” Theo reached into this duffel bag and rummaged around inside. He pulled out the longest pistol he’d ever seen and placed it on the rock between them.

Catching Chet’s slack-jaw visage, Theo informed him further, “Colt Buntline, twelve-inch barrel.”

Theo placed two more firearms between them to ‘free up space’ before he pulled out the item he was looking for. A long bong.

“Cosine triple, eighteen inches,” Theo gestured for Chet to take the glass object, “Want a few puffs?”

Chet hesitated.

Theo tapped his earpiece twice and leaned closer, “Trust me fish, you’re gonna want to take a few puffs.”

Chet studied Theo’s face and accepted.

ɸ

Chet roared with laughter and rocked back and forth on the boulder.

“-And I launched the squirrel probably fifteen feet. Last time I ever hand-feed one of those dirty scoundrels with bread,” Theo said.

Chet waved Theo to stop as he grabbed his knee for support.

“You’re in a better mood,” Theo said with a smile. The white teeth oddly juxtaposed the black of his beard.

Chet leaned back and stretched, “Feel better than a freshly jerked off horse at a breeding farm. Clearest I’ve felt in days.” Chet tried to focus on Theo, “You’re pretty much the same though.”

His narrow shoulders sagged, “You gotta have somethin’ to keep you goin’ ya kn-” Theo stiffened and reached to his ear.

Chet wasn’t listening, “Anyway, animal bites. I had this friend with terrible plumbing. Just terrible. And he had some really saggy nuts. Like almost falling out of his shorts saggy. Then one day this snake swam through the pipes and-”

“Gary gave the signal, it’s a go fish,” Theo interrupted.

He stood up and dust flew off his shaggy hair. Theo grabbed Chet by his armpits and hauled him to his feet.

“I’m up, I’m up,” Chet said lazily.

Theo grabbed his shoulders, “Get focused now, you have the scent vial? Mask”

Chet wiggled out his grip and stomped toward the beckoning door, “Yeah yeah, flask smashk.”

Sooner than he expected, his hand was on the oxidized handle. Rust paper-cutting his skin. Chet pulled the gas mask over his head, it obscured more of his vision than he hoped. He pulled the door open, the hinges squeaked at the hinges.

It was a stereotypical empty warehouse: pillars of concrete jutted from the ground and connected to the ceiling; mold canvased the walls. Fortunately, most of the warehouse was suspiciously well-lit. Although that made sense, OSHA probably requires a bright workplace. However, OSHA would probably have a stroke if they saw one of the four corners.

The corner, or quadrant due to the large amount of space it took up, was completely dark. It was as if the light was afraid to enter, and the bulbs had long lost the power to glow. Glass shards, probably from broken bulbs, were scattered against the ground. Pipes were piled on top of each other like Native-American burial grounds.

‘Chet is in visual, proceed to center, nice and slow,’ Gary commanded.

Thirty steps away, he approached five baseball-sized lumps of metal in a hexagon formation around a white lump in the middle of the warehouse.

Chet stepped into the hexagon. Immediately, the metallic balls at each corner hummed. It reminded him of bees. The small white lump in the center turned out to be picked-clean, thin bones. A rabbit? He nudged the pile with his boot, they clattered around. Not even flies bothered to fly from them.

‘This doesn’t inspire confidence,’ Chet said as he grabbed the vial’s cork.

‘Hold position.’ Gary instructed his voice seeming tense.

‘Don’t worry kid, look up.’

Chet did so. In the rafters, Juice waved his rifle. He was easy to spot because his legs hung from the steel beam, like a toy on a bedframe.

‘You got a harness?’ Chet asked.

‘Nah, nothin' getting me up here.’

Theo chimed in on the comms, ‘Don’t worry fishie. The goat was a test run, we have enough ammunition now. And if we don’t, see the PS-2’s? They’ll hold true.’

Another noise joined their whispers in the warehouse. Scratches, like nails on chalk. That annoyed him, he was very relaxed. He made a fist and squeezed. It reminded him of Sunday mornings as a kid. He usually slept in on those days. On those mornings, he would be so sleepy that he would squeeze his fists. Just to feel them protest the effort. Looking back now, he thought that was to make up for all those early Sunday Church sermons. They didn’t go much after the aliens appeared over the South Pole.

Chet tried to focus on the tiny metal balls, ‘And if they get through? Shouldn’t I have a big-dick machine gun?’

'That’s not going to happen. Uncork the vial Chet,’ said Gary.

‘They’re getting antsy…’ murmured Juice.

He stretched his back, his spine cracked satisfyingly, ‘I don’t know it feels a little incongruent. Give the bait a knife at least.’

The scratching intensified. If he faced the wall opposite the door he entered, Chet swore he could see something move in the far-right corner. Curiously, that was also the quadrant that Chet deemed a safety hazard. Wait. He squinted. The darkness was… writhing.

‘Uncork the vial!’ Greg whisper screamed.

He popped the vial open and dabbed it on his wrists and neck.

The skittering paused, and the darkness shifted. Thousands of pinpoints of light appeared. No. Not light, pupils.

Three canisters dropped from the rafters, grey smoke followed their descent.

The sea of black erupted. Rats, each the size of a Doberman, with scales like a viper, and eyes the size of tennis balls, bounded toward Chet.