Chad

        They’re plotting against me, Chad Lynne thought. 
He was seated on a stain covered couch.  The only light in the house was provided by an oil lamp that lit a dismal gloom.  His eyes bulged from their sockets, dark circles rested under his eyes and his thin, sunken, cheeks were covered in scabs.
         --plotting down there plotting hear them do you hear them I hear them how can I not they babble all day and all night always plotting and plotting and plotting--
         He tapped his foot on the floor in a quick, nervous beat.  He rubbed his legs with his hands.  His neck twisted and ticked.  How many days had he been awake now?  How many nights had he listened to the twisted ceremonies they held in the damp shadows below the house?  Below his very feet!
         God might know.  Chad Lynne did not.
         --more more I need some more just a little more and I’ll figure this out I’ll figure it out--
         A smell like burning plastic took to the air as he lit the foil.  He tasted chemical marshmallows and breathed deep, all the way to the bottom of his lungs.  By the time he exhaled he felt alive again.  Felt like a god, felt like he’d finally found the answers to all the questions of the universe.
         “All hail the Crimson Queen.”  The whisper came from the air duct behind him.  Chad jumped to his feet—
         --down there see see they’re down there see see you can hear them oh yes they’re there and they’re plotting and plotting and they’ll come for you soon plotting they plot and plot and plot--
         —without thinking and with one sweep of his arm slid the couch away from the wall.  It collided with a less than sturdy coffee table.  The table’s legs gave out and it fell to the floor with a crash, spilling two ashtrays and a half full beer.
         Chad did not notice.  He was too intent on listening to the sounds within the ducts.  There was a grin pasted on his face, ear pressed to the vent.
         Silence.  Absolute silence.  They had heard him.  He’d given away his position, and in war it was crucial to keep your whereabouts a secret; Nam had taught him that.
         “I HEARD YOU!”  He screamed and laughed at the same time; putting his finger up by his ear and pointing with both pinky and forefinger.  He spoke through clenched teeth, spraying spittle.  “I KNOW YOU’RE DOWN THERE YOU LITTLE FUCKS!  I’LL GET YOU,” he rose and began to pace, raking at his scalp until his fingernails came away bloody.  “Oh I’ll get you.  I’ll get you, you little motherfuckers.  Little CUNTS!”
         “All hail the Crimson Queen.”  The whisper came again.  Chad became still immediately, a grin spread across his face.
         They were taunting him; fucking with his head.  He was familiar with the tactic.  He’d experienced similar occurrences in Nam.  But no matter how you sliced or diced it, it all meant the same thing.
         They were readying their armies and pronouncing a call to war.
         No Coward, Chad Lynne would answer.
         
         The greatest element of all is not fire.  Nor is it water, earth, or air.
         No…the greatest element of all; is the element of surprise.  The gooks had taught him that.
         At first, that element had belonged to them.  And they had used it to their full advantage.  Chad Lynne was a man who gave credit where credit was due, and as such, he had to hand it to those little fucks; they had gotten the drop on him that day, yes they had, and they had almost ended the war in one fell swoop.  Hard to believe it was only a few days ago.
         He’d been scrounging the house for wire.  Copper had gone up fifty cents a pound at the metal market and Chad was hoping to cash in for some spending money. 
         After ripping out much of the upstairs wiring—there was little left, he’d been surviving off the upstairs wiring for some time now—and most of the plumbing; he decided to start dipping into the reserves in the basement. 
         A strange feeling had come over him as he descended the steps into the pitch black below, although he couldn’t precisely place it.  It was not fear, or rather, not fear alone, but a mixture of several emotions that was unsettling to him.  Chad ignored them, and ventured on.
The flashlight in his hand illuminated a path, the beam was alive with glinting dust particles, and he was very aware of how the humidity seemed to increased with each step.  By the time he reached the bottom and stepped onto the soaked carpeting—the foundation leaked terribly and he’d lost the will to extract the water some time ago—the air had become so clammy and thick he thought it might drown him. 
         He paused.  The absolute stillness of the shadows surrounding him was so disheartening that for a moment he considered fleeing up the stairs, taking them two at a time, slamming the cellar door behind him once he reached the top and then he would getting some boards to nail that fucker shut for good.
         --but I’m broke and out of ice I need some ice but I’m broke I’ve got to do this don’t be such a pussy Chad don’t be a sniveling little bitch about all this just get what you need and get out of here--
         After striking it rich in what used to be the downstairs living room—he came across an old television he could get at least twenty bucks for, two guitars that would fetch another ten apiece, and an amp.  All of which had been, by the grace of God, set on a couch and were thus free of water damage—he went into what used to be Karl’s room until six months ago when that Karl had decided to ditch him. 
He was ripping out the exposed wiring and copper plumbing between the overhead beams when the flashlight’s batteries died without warning.
         Fear had come over him in a chilling wave.  He froze, his stomach filling with cold.  Every hair on his body came to attention.  He was about to flee when he heard the strangest sound.  A hissing sound, like a television set with bad reception that displays only snow.
         “All hail the Crimson Queen,” he heard, and at first he was sure it was only his rattled imagination. 
It was not.
         As if manifested from there very shadows, THEY were on him.  The pain was exquisite, like having a thousand heated pins and needles drill deep into every inch of his skin at the same time.  They were all over him, on his back, his neck, his cock, even in the crack of his ass.
         Paralysis broke.  A terrified frenzy took its place.
         He wasn’t even aware of his own wails as he thrashed, falling onto the ground and rolling wildly.  It did no good.  He slapped at his skin, but for every inch of skin he cleared another was covered.  He stood and fled, shambling blindly into the dark.  After only a few steps he felt something hard strike his head, followed by the feeling of warm blood running down his face. 
         The creatures went into a new frenzy at the smell—or he assumed it was the smell—and attack with increased fervor.  It felt like they were boring into him, like they were actually crawling UNDER his skin.
         He felt his way along the wall, navigating by touch alone.  By the time he navigated himself around the corner to the bottom of the stairwell, he was vaguely aware of the sense of fading from reality and into sleep.  He used all his strength to push the feeling away, focusing so hard on maintaining consciousness that he didn’t even notice the faint light ahead of him. 
         The bottom step caught him off guard and tripped him.  He went sprawling.  His nose screamed agony and there was a crunching sound.  The taste blood, thick and coppery, filled his mouth  But he also saw light from the other side of the cellar door.  He struggled to his feet, groaning, his stomach churning bile and blood.
         After only a few steps he again felt that sense of drifting away, like he might pass out.  Part of him wanted to give into the feeling.  Lie down and go to sleep, a traitorous voice urged, but Chad pressed on, lifting heavy footsteps towards light that never seemed to draw any closer.
         --hell hell this is hell I’m in hell oh God help me I’m in hell they’ve got me oh god oh god oh god--
         Then he reached the door.  Arms that were a million miles away threw it open and he crashed through, tripping over his own feet and going head-first into an old dryer.  Without thought, he kicked out with his feet and the door slammed shut.
Chad looked at his arms and all the blood in his veins went cold.
         He was covered in them.  They crawled over his skin like a living shadow, biting and gnawing and chewing.  Their static hiss was almost deafening, he could scarcely hear the low groan coming from his throat. 
         He slapped at them and thrashed on the floor.  For a moment he was sure they were exactly what they appeared to be, a living shadow, and that he would be consumed by them with no chance of fighting back. 
It was great relief when he saw his hand come away in a bloody smear and realized that they could be killed.  He found new strength in hope and the idea of vengeance.  He slapped and thrashed and screamed with new found vigor and intensity.
         After what seemed like eternity, he had managed to rid himself of them.  His entire body was soaked in sickening mixture of both his and their blood.  His skin was covered in bumps and sores, but he was alive and thankful for it.
         Now, less than a week later, wearing long sleeves and a handkerchief over his face, Chad Lynne put brand new batteries into the flashlight and prepared for battle once again.
         Only this time, it would be he who got the drop on them. 
         Before wrapping his hand around the doorknob and descending into the abyss, he grinned.

         It was an ambush.  He barely made it out alive.
         Their numbers had been far greater than he’d first anticipated, and even as he collapsed on the tile floor a few remaining soldiers were ripping into the flesh of his neck.
         He slapped at them with a grunt, a bloody hand returned.  Before passing beyond the wall of sleep he heard.
         “All hail the Crimson Queen.”
         
         All hail.
         They were on him again.  He tried to run but some invisible force had welded his legs to the floor.
         All hail.
         The shadows swam with the liquid quality of dreams and there was no pain, only the knowledge that this would be the end of him.
         All hail.
         Somewhere in the darkness he heard—
         All hail.
         —a rustling sound.  His eyes went towards the origin of the sound and he saw—
         All hail the Crimson Queen.
         —two glowing red eyes.  Before he knew what he was doing, he fell to his knees.
         All hail the Crimson Queen
         “Hail the Crimson Queen.”  He heard his own voice from a thousand miles away.
         All hail, All hail, All hail.
         All hail the Crimson—

         QUEEN!
         Chad bolted upright, suddenly very awake and wide eyed.
         --Of course why didn’t I see it before how could I miss it its so obvious how could I have been blind so blind how how how--
         His head ached and his entire body was covered in bumps and bruises from battling her legions.  It was so obvious now that he wondered how he could have ever overlooked it.  He could slay them by the hundreds, the thousands, the millions, and it would be in vain, all in vain…if she survived.  She was the reason for their mass reproduction.  It was she who commanded the infernal armies; she who brought forth new legions by way of her aphid cunt; she who—
         It doesn’t matter now, he thought.  I’m on to her.  I’ve got her right where I want her.
         Chad Lynne rose, feeling sick and dizzy, yet more alive than he had in years.
         “We attack at dawn!”  He proclaimed.

         When you confront an enemy on their own ground, you sacrifice much. 
Nam had taught him that. 
They know the lay of the land, they know all the areas to hide, are closer to their supplies.  All advantages lay on their side of the fence, and so, when you invade an enemy’s territory you must come doubly, nay, triply prepared.
         And, when necessary, you must have a backup plan.
         Yesterday, he had been ill prepared.  He had thought his size and strength would rule the day.  Had thought they would be caught off guard and shocked at his boldness.  In short, he had underestimated both their strength in numbers and their cunning…just like the gooks. 
         Today, however…
         --its gonna be a different story today oh yeah those little bastards won’t know what hit em and they’ll think twice before they mess with old Chad Lynne again yes they will lets see what they think when I shove a moltov up their precious queens ass and how do you like that you fucker you bitch you goddamn CUNT--
He chuckled, eyes gleaming over his arsena:  Six empty beer bottles that had been converted into moltov-cocktails by the cunning use of rubbing alcohol and an old dish rag torn into strips.  A flashlight and a roll of duct-tape, as he would need to be hands free, but needed light because the little bastards had shut off his utilities somehow.  An old carpentry belt, to store the cocktails, a can of WD-40 and a lighter to create a flamethrower, a pair of leather gloves to protect his hands, a ski mask for his face, and of course, there was the backup plan in his pocket.
        When the first light of dawn crept in the windows, Chad began his preparations for the final, apocalyptic battle.
        First, he secured the flashlight to the side of his head and tested it.  The light was not spectacular—
        --shoulda got two flashlights you dumb son of a bitch too late now you’re just gonna have to make due--
        —but it would do.  Then he adorned the carpentry belt and equipped it with the moltovs, and found, to his pleasant surprise, there was enough room to store the can of WD as well.
        Before opening the basement door, he made a solemn vow that he would not return to the light until she was dead.  If all else failed, he would use his backup plan.
        --ah yes the back up plan oh yes oh yes my little friends I’ve got something special for you very special for you and its just for you all for you my little queen my little red queen--
        He produced it from his pocket and gazed at it with a sort of reverie.  It was a hand-grenade that had travelled with him all the way from the god-forsaken shores of that dreaded country Vietnam.  He’d kept it for over three decades, and now he fancied it was fate that caused him to take it the day of his discharge.  At the time, he hadn’t understood the urge to reach out and pocket it, but he had obeyed his instincts.
        It had been as if he had known this day would come, even then.
        And that was a very comforting thought.
        Now, in the gloom, Chad Lynne took a knee and prayed.
        --dear lord let me kill every one of those fucks and their cunt queen too and…--
        When the prayer was finished, Chad Lynne rose and cast a glance out the front window.  Wondering if it would be the last time he ever saw the light of day.  The cellar door creaked open.
        Chad Lynne braved the abyss for the last time.

From The Fremont Tribune:  March 19th, 2004

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