“The middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, it lies between the pit of man’s fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call the Twilight Zone.” – Rod Serling, 1959.

Odyssey begins: Home. This tale might comfortably reside in some distant recess of Rod Serling’s universe.

But first the data (Evening April 22, 2020):

The number of confirmed U.S. cases currently nears 850,000. We credit Joe in California with noticing that the trend curve is no longer a curve but is in fact a line. This linear projection is a good thing – it means the number of cases is no longer accelerating. That is, the number of confirmed cases each day is about the same (currently about 30,000). I also noticed this, right after Joe pointed it out! Thanks, Joe. 😉 This leveling-out may be a function of the current average of 150,000 tests per day. The linear projection shows ~1,000,000 confirmed cases by April 27. Current estimated fatality rate is about 5.62%, corresponding to over 100,000 deaths by May 31. The fatality rate continues to increase every week. The reason is unclear at this time though may be attributed to significant under-count of confirmed cases. We’ll keep a close eye on this. — Thanks also to Kepler’s Ghost on the other coast who prepared several alternate trend curves long ago (weeks!) when the curve was still a curve. Hopefully we will have no further need of his techniques — though I fear that sometime this Fall when Covid resurges Joe’s line may very well revert to one of the Ghost’s curves.

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Odyssey begins: Home. This tale might comfortably reside in some distant recess of Rod Serling’s universe.

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Testing, Testing, One, Two … Two and A Half …

A head?
No…
Yes! Whose? We all look alike.
I’m still fairly far afield, returning (without load, as usual) and it’s not uncommon to encounter a colleague some distance from home as we scurry past each other with a faint tilt of the head. But it is rare, though not completely unheard of on this Darwinian battlefield of life, to find a savaged remnant on the trail. His eyes are wide open (of course) and his distended angular grin belie his bodiless condition. I scan the surroundings as I scuttle by, inexorably compelled by my DNA.

As the outer perimeter approaches I discover more wreckage of fellow workers scattered helter-skelter, some at a considerable distance off the scent of our well-trod track. I slow, stepping tentatively among increasing amounts of decaying detritus.

There’s only one way that this… No. Is it possible? Can it have happened? How? The Viri were defeated in a cataclysm of battles generations ago. Could they have returned? No. No.

Beyond the next rise awaits – home! As I approach the crest a stench of decay seeps ever more strongly into my pores. At the same time the feeblest of trembles ripples underfoot: “Help me,” startling me to a halt. I sweep my head radar-like, wriggling deeper into the sand to enhance what I think feel.

“Help me.” There, at the shadowed edge of a crater an appendage taps a weary plea. Investigating I see that despite most of his limbs being mangled or missing the poor thing lingers unaccountably alive. His glazed eyes capture mine, helplessly conveying “We tried. We tried…”

“What happened?”

He manages a nod toward the weathered summit.

I scrabble up the slope — and freeze in horror. In the distance… home. But where once a field of sand glittered in the sun there is now a sea of mangled bodies, deathly still but for countless motes and scouring flies drifting in the breeze. I scramble back down to the crater. Too late. No choice now but to tread home across uncountable ravaged remains. Picking my way along I find little evidence that this was anything but unmitigated slaughter. 

Have I been gone that long? Maybe. Yes — all that time trapped in the manor (though I did enjoy the pop tarts). Winter come and gone. It has been a while. Could the cold have caused this? Fool! We plan and save, hunker down for that annual misery.

Finally I reach the scarred entrance and wend through myriad dank chambers toward the throne. Death everywhere.

Surely she… surely she’s safe. My pulse quickens as her throbbing ebbs ever more loudly, until I find this warped progeny of Jabba the Hut and the foulest of his third cousins, alone in her massive chamber.

“Where are my workers?” the Queen demands, surveying the reddish brown mounds of carnage reeking around her. “These are all worthless.”
“I… I’m afraid … I don’t… that is, I mean…”
“Spit it out, you.”
Is it wrong to feel relieved that her guard can no longer de-limb me for my insolence?
“I, uh… I’m afraid they’re all… that is… er… dead.”
“Dead? Intolerable! Go fetch them immediately, the lot of them, that I might have them executed for dereliction of duty. Louts. After all I’ve done for them. And you,: she spikes me a stare, “dare come bearing no nourishment for me.”
“But, your highness…”
“Go! Now!”

I take this persuasive hint and skedaddle. Out, in, out, through chamber after chamber. Nothing. What now? What am I even looking for? But I owe my allegiance… and besides, she’s pretty mad and… wait, what’s that odor?

A grunt sounds from the shadows: “Who goes there?”
“Ummm…” This isn’t good.
“Speak up or die!”
I have no time to respond as a raging soldier charges me, wide-jawed, jagged weaponry dripping. How had he escaped the wholesale devastation?
“Wait, wait!”
He skids, eyeing me warily. “Who are you? Where have you been? How did you escape?”
“No, I… I just returned. I was a prisoner and then…”
“Have you found any? Tell me you found a few. Tell me!”
“Found…? Found what?”
“You know full well. Do not toy with me!”
“I’m afraid I don’t…”:
“What we most need,” he grouses, “to armor ourselves. Are you slow?”
Think. Think. Wait – does he mean… “Unobtainium?”
“Dim. So dim. Of course I mean UBT. What else? And more importantly have you found any pods to carry it? Anywhere?”
“I…”
“You haven’t been looking. Worthless.”
“I just got here.”
”Where have you been?”
“As I was saying, there was this man, he grew a beard and there was this crystal prison and a moat…”

“Stop. No time for excuses.” He looks past me. “Are there any others? Any?”
“No, not that I’ve found. Outside they’re all…”
“Yes, yes. No pods. Not enough pods. Hopeless. We didn’t have a chance. We knew it. We knew this would happen.”
“Pods? It’s been forever since we needed them.”
He stares at me as though debating whether to finish what he had originally rushed me to do.
I stall. “There aren’t any in the UBT cells?”
“In the cells? Idiot! The cells are filled with UBT. Goop, idiot!” he seethes, shakes his head.
“I know,” I say, wracking my memory.
“Where did they come from? How…”
“You really weren’t here were you?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
He sighs, considering, then slowly lowers his guard and settles back against a wall. I do likewise.

“They attacked out of nowhere.”
“Viri.”
“We thought we’d done with them long ago. Totally unprepared. We — the Guard — retreated to her chamber. She assured us we were okay. Prepared. Cells full of UBT, more than we will ever need. Best in the world! Ask anyone! Armor yourselves and repel the invasion! Go, now! I’m fading away. Hungry! Hurry! We informed the populace, directed crews to the cells to retrieve the UBT, to return, to coat everyone, one and all with the armor.”
Images of putrefying bodies flicker through my brain.
“We did as we were told. The crews obeyed and headed to the cells which, per regulation, lie buried at distance from the entrance. Too dangerous for the little ones.”
”And…?”
“Few returned. Those that did carried no UBT. Fools!”
“They couldn’t find it?”
“No, no. They found every last cell. We were the fools. You need pods to carry the gunk. Pods! Don’t you see? UBT is useless unless we have pods to carry it, to get it where it needs to go. There were but a few.”
“What did you do?”
“We reported to the queen of course. Very ugly, that. Heads everywhere. More mess to clean up. She ordered us again to get the UBT. We tried to explain about the pods, how there weren’t nearly enough. ‘We have more UBT than anyone. More, I say! The best! Go, armor yourselves. Protect me,. Protect our home! Protect my workers. Feed me!’ So, we went.”
“But…”

“I know. We all knew. But what choice did we have? We scrounged up a few pods, still nowhere near enough. The Viri attacks continued, relentless, merciless. My valiant Guard went down first, followed by… everyone else… In an few days…”
He pauses, breathless.
“…it was over…”
“But she,” I say, twitching a glance toward her chamber, “survived.”
“Of course she survived. We triple-armored her with the first load. In the end the Viri abandoned her, figuring she would starve.
“And you?”
“I burrowed into a near-empty cell after the final attack. Didn’t come out until I felt something — you — passing by.”
A bellow rages from the bowels of the maze, “I’m hungry! Feed me!”
We lock eyes with forever stares, lost.
Finally I ask, “What’s your name?”
“Sancho. Private First Class, at your service.”
“Azazel.”

<<< Don’t know Azazel? See Update #19 Shelter In Place >>>