#9

"IF A TREE FALLS IN THE FOREST,
AND THERE’S NOBODY AROUND TO HEAR IT,
DOES IT MAKE A SOUND?"
by Dallas Lee

Sara screamed as the Weed Killer appeared out of the shadows. The red eyes of his helmet stared at her and Riley. And then the buzz of the chainsaw on his left hand roared to life.

“Run!” yelled Riley. He pushed Sara aside, but she stumbled onto the ground. Crawling on her hands-and-knees, she tried to regain her footing, but she slipped on the mossy ground of the swamp.

The Weed Killer approached Riley. He slung out with his chainsaw.

Riley ducked, the blades of the saw ripping open the back of his shirt. Then he came up with a left hook that buried itself into the Weed Killer’s guts. The Weed Killer acted as if Riley hadn’t even thrown a punch.

“Oh shit,” muttered Riley.

The Weed Killer reached out and grabbed him by the shirt. The blades of his saw twirling, sparks flying from them, he cut through Riley’s neck. Blood spurted into the hot bayou air as his head flew from his body.

Sara screamed as Riley’s head landed beside her.

She crawled across the ground. Tears coursed down her cheeks, blinding her vision.

And that’s when the Swamp Thing appeared.

He stepped over Sara and approached the Weed Killer. With one massive punch, he sent the executioner flying through the air. He landed in the bog with a large THUD!

“Are you alright?” the Swamp Thing asked Sara.

“Where the hell were you when we needed you?” screamed Sara. “Riley’s dead, and it’s your entire fault!”

This slapped Swamp Thing across the face. He never thought that she would react the way she had. And then he saw Riley’s head lying in the marsh. His dead eyes seemed to be staring at him; blaming him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

Without warning a bright bolt of green glop seared through the air towards them. It splashed onto Sara.

“Oh my God!” she said. She reached down for the goo that had slapped into her chest. As she did, it crawled up her arms. And then it masked her face as it kept growing. “It hurts!” she screamed. “It hurts!”

Swamp Thing did not reach out. He knew what it was: corrosive acid. Only this seemed to have a life of its own; a chemical assassin.

Before his eyes, Sara melted. Her painful words slowly died in her burning lungs. And then, as the acid finished its business, it left behind her glowing emerald skeleton. It crackled and burned on her bones, sending a wafting stink of burnt ozone and human flesh into the air.

Swamp Thing turned. He ran across the bayou to where the Weed Killer still lay in the muck.

The Weed Killer lifted his right arm. More of the corrosive acid shot forth. This time it directly splattered onto Swamp Thing’s midsection. But it did not stop the muck monster from attacking.

Swamp Thing grabbed the Weed Killer’s helmet and ripped it off. The blank stare of Buck Clark greeted him.

“I stopped you before,” said Swamp Thing. “And I’ll do it, again.”

Suddenly, the Weed Killer lifted his left hand. The buzzing of the chainsaw tore through the silent night. It chopped through Swamp Thing’s right arm. Green blood spurted out of the wound.

Inside Swamp Thing’s head, his skull began to split. KILL HIM, it urged. KILL HIM AND BE DONE WITH IT! And then there was the other voice, the one begging him to be kind and remember his place in The Green.

KILL HIM!

Swamp Thing picked up his wounded arm. He then he began to beat the Weed Killer to death with it. And he didn’t stop until the deed was done.

But it truly wasn’t over.

The Swamp Thing was crippled. He felt the burning in his mid-section. The acid was eating through him. Whatever the Weed Killer had been equipped with this time had done the trick.

He could smell the smoldering scent of foliage as it ate through his body.

His first action was to bury Riley and Sara. He made them graves and deposited the remains of their corpses into the holes. Then he created a flora to mask each one.

Finally, sickened and weak, Swamp Thing took his arm and disappeared back into the bayou.

If he was going to die, he wanted to do it alone.

“Either you’re for The Green. Or you are against it.”

Tefe looked at Knoll. He was sitting on a stump in the swamp. He stared at her intently.

She knew that she should’ve never come back here.

“You were conceived as a weapon of The Green,” Knoll, representative of the Northern American Chapter of Grass, continued. “Do you not understand your purpose?”

“I understand things just fine,” replied Tefe. “But that doesn’t mean I have to agree with them.”

Knoll grunted.

“You must strike out at mankind,” he said. “The planet needs to be restored to the plant kingdom. Do you not agree?”

“No,” said Tefe. “I do not agree. And” – she shook a fist at Knoll – “I should never have returned here to hear this trash. You knew my answer before you asked me here. Why waste both of our time?”

“Because you can right the situation,” said Knoll. “Your father is a traitor to The Green. He did not partake in his destiny.” He sighed. “You are much like him.”

“Well, isn’t that too bad…?”

“Morality is a very dangerous thing,” said Knoll. “The fact that you can destroy humanity would make things right.” He looked down at his fingernails. “Do you not remember the past? Do you not remember the burning of The Green? We learned too much from humanity. We made our own government to mirror that of mankind. And it nearly destroyed us.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Am I?” Knoll sighed. “If you do not believe me, maybe you should ask the Tree of Knowledge.”

“I’m not asking anyone anything,” said Tefe. “I need to find my own answers.”

Knoll sighed.

“So you do not join us?”

“No,” said Tefe. “I don’t join you or anything. I’m not even searching for my father, now. I’m searching for myself.”

“So be it,” said Knoll. “But you’re making a mistake by turning your back on The Green.”

“I’ve made mistakes before,” replied Tefe. “I’ll keep on making them.”

“As you are,” replied Knoll. “Your time here is finished. Be on your way.”

“Well, it’s about damned time.” Tefe turned around. Then, smiling, she turned back to Knoll. “I’ll be seeing you around.”

As Knoll watched her depart, swallowed up by The Green, he shook his head in disgust. “You most certainly will, little girl,” he said. “You most certainly will.”

“This means war.”

Seth Goodman gripped his paintball pistol in his sweaty eleven-year-old little hands. For the first time since he and his friends had been playing the game, he was one of the last ones standing. It made him proud that he had “survived” this long.

What he didn’t know, however, was that he had been left alone in the park. As he trudged through the weeds, hiding behind rocks and trees, the rest of his friends had gone home.

Seth should’ve done the same thing. But he ignored his curfew. This time he was going to win come hell or high water.

Overhead, the man in the full moon looked down at him. He peered from behind the bank of dark clouds that passed by.

Seth had never been a popular kid. It wasn’t that nobody liked him; it was just that they used him for their personal punching bag. He was always the butt of their ridicule. He was short and skinny with a bad haircut and glasses. He was a nerd, but he didn’t care. He always had plenty of friends whenever it came to test time and they needed help to cheat.

He kept crawling through the high grass. Soon he would see Mikey or Billy and he would shoot them down. This was also the first time that they’d let a girl play in the game. Tamara had been good at it, but Seth was sure that she’d already been shot. There was no way that a girl could be good at it.

What Seth didn’t know was that Tamara had been one of the last ones standing. She’d been with Mikey when they’d started searching for him.

“Seth,” she’d cried out. “It’s time to go home. Let’s go!”

“Forget him,” replied Mikey. “I’ve got to get home. If I don’t get in before curfew, my dad will whoop my butt until I can’t sit down.”

Tamara kicked at the ground. Seth deserved all the guff that he got.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ve got to get home, too.”

And then they’d left Seth out in the park. He’d never heard their calls to go home.

Now, as he kept crawling, the only thing he had in his mind was winning the paintball game. If he did, it would certainly help his social status. For the first time in his life, he might actually be popular. If only for a fleeting minute, until they played the game, again, it would be good enough.

Seth stood up. He was going to run to the nearby tree. But as he did, he stumbled across a root lying across the path. He stumbled down. And that’s when he lost his glasses.

“Oh no,” he muttered.

He dropped his paintball gun. And, in doing so, accidentally shot himself in the chest.

“Ain’t that my luck,” he said.

Tears began to well in his eyes.

He couldn’t go home without his glasses. Not only would he not be able to find his way, but it would piss his parents off. They’d recently fixed his frame when he broke them, and they wouldn’t be too pleased if he lost them.

And that’s when he heard the CRUNCH beneath his knees. He’d found his glasses.

Seth began to freely cry.

“That’s just great,” he told himself. “I might as well be dead.”

Suddenly, from behind him, he heard the loud baying at the moon. It was frightening enough to make him piss his pants.

“What was that?”

Through his blurry vision, he saw the werewolf as it bounded towards him. He tried to stand back up on his feet, but the best he could do was turn around and scurry off on his hands-and-knees.

The werewolf grabbed him from behind. It lifted Seth into the air. And with one quick jerk, broke the little boy’s neck.

It dropped his corpse onto the ground.

And then, thirsty and hungry, began to feast on Seth Goodman’s still warm dead body.

The werewolf had come to Houma. It arrived with no fanfare as quickly and suddenly as a tornado blowing through the town or a serial killer walking the streets.

It had come to town to feast.

And here it would stay.

“Let’s get high.”

“Hold your horses,” said Mark. “All in good time, bro, just hold on.”

Mark pulled his van down to the end of the gravel road. He turned it off and peered out into the dusty beam shed from his headlights. Beyond the road was the swamp.

“Let’s go,” said Bennie.

“Alright,” said Mark. He shut off his headlights and got out of the van. Pitch blackness stared back at him.

“It sure is dark,” said Bennie.

“Tell me about it,” replied Mark. He turned on his flashlight. “Come on. I know a good secluded place where we can fire up.”

“I’m already high,” said Bennie. “Are you sure this thing is going to be good?”

“All I know,” said Mark, tentatively stepping through the marsh, “is that the dealer said you sucked in the candle smoke and it’s supposed to rock your world. I’m taking him at face value.”

The two walked for a few more minutes before Mark stopped them.

“This is place,” he said.

Mark and Bennie sat down on two opposite stumps. Mark turned off his flashlight. He lit the candle. Its light, aside from the stars overhead, was the only thing helping them to see.

Mark took a deep inhalation of the candle.

“Whoa,” he said. “That’s some pretty strong stuff.”

He handed it across to Bennie, who immediately took a long whiff.

“Jesus,” he said. “That smells like shit.”

For the next few minutes, the two of them passed the candle back-and-forth. Each of them got consistently higher with each passing.

And that’s when the Swamp Thing crawled past them.

“Holy shit!” said Mark. “Do you see that?”

The Swamp Thing ignored them. The injuries that the Weed Killer had infected him were bad. He held on to his loose arm, pulling himself further into the swamp. Already the acid had worked its way through his midsection. He had lost his legs somewhere back in the bayou.

“This is some fucking serious shit,” said Bennie. “That thing was awesome!”

“I think it’s that swamp man I’ve been reading about,” replied Mark. “There’s no other explanation for it.”

“Oh sure there is,” said Bennie. He took another long pull on the candle and then handed it back to Mark. “Take another hit of this, man. You’ll be seeing swamp men wherever you look.”

Mark shrugged. Bennie was probably right. He took the candle and inhaled the smoke.

And beyond them, the Swamp Thing continued to crawl towards his death.