Tabitha pulled on the steering wheal to the left. The bald tires on her old ford cried lightly as they skid. Tabitha looked down at her speedometer, ten miles per hour, nearly idle. “What a piece.” She said exhausted.
Red and blue lights began bouncing around her cabin. A sudden gut fear rose in her, and she store into her rear view, expecting to see a squad vehicle. A blank empty rode looked back, much as one would expect at one AM.
Her front tires speed over the street speed bump, launching the front of the boat maybe a foot into the air. Tabitha clenched eight white knuckles onto the wheal and two bluish thumbs. As her car came back down, the white of her headlights illuminated a yellow garbed male in the middle of the street, not eight feet ahead of her. Tabitha pounded her brakes, crunching her feet into the tip of her steel tipped boots. The car stopped immediately, leaving a black rubber trail, while almost throwing her through her windshield, if not for her belt. The few things she wouldn’t do without after Andrew… passed, brakes, belt and strong lights, saved her from mowing down the poorly placed man.
“Jesus, lady, take it easy. Can’t you see we got a disaster here.”
Near two dozen vehicles crowded the road, some honking to leave, many with red and blue lights and official figures standing half out them, speaking to others across the radio. Beyond the standard police and firemen, there were men in black suits, older men in guard uniforms pouring over maps.
Tabitha felt panic creeping up from her churning gut. She threw the ford into park and jumped out from her vehicle. The yellow fireman, ran over to Tabitha, tried to grab her.
“Miss, you can’t park here. We have specialist coming in. You need to leave.”
Tabitha tried to run around the man, but his arms caught her waist, and she was hoisted off the ground, being carried back to her car. “What happened?” She screamed.
Angrily, he pushed her to her door. “Miss! You have to leave, now!”
Tabitha brought around her rough right hand and threw her welders fist into the man’s chin. The fireman staggered backwards, but then he gathered himself and angrily stormed towards Tabitha. Tabitha didn’t move. She hunkered lower, with two clenched fists. The fireman paused.
“Miss, this is a police scene. If you call the department later today, I’m sure they can fill you in on what the disturbance is about, but, unless you live on this very street, you need to leave.” Pausing, he corrected himself, “Actually, even if you did, you still have to leave. There’s been a chemical accident. A house collapsed, an…”
“Oh Jesus, NO!” Tabitha screamed.
Again, as she tried to run around the fireman, she was caught in the arms of the stranger. Planting back an elbow, she knocked out his breath with a thud and loud, “Oof!”
“Let me go!” She screamed. “I have a son and a husband on the street.” The fireman continued to hold her. Tabitha began to cry. “Brenden!” she yelled. “Oh lord,” she frantically cried. “Please, Brenden, be ok.”
The fireman suddenly let go. Tabitha heard him mutter something, “Oh my God,” maybe. Tabitha ran for the mess of vehicles that crowded her street. Turning back, she cried to the fireman, “Are they ok?”
On the fireman’s face, she read pity. Fearing the worst, she spun and ran with complete abandon, over cars, through crowded groups, and over low bushes and gardens. As she ran, she saw the shocked and sad eyes of her neighbors pull away from note taking officials and follow her. She feared it was another night, much like the night thirteen years ago, the night her son lost his father, the night she lost her love. Now she knew God had come down to take what remained on this earth of him, his only flesh and blood.
She ran through the bushes around her neighbor’s yard. As her body heaved itself forward towards whatever waited, she saw broken porcelain horses, gifts of her first wedding, splinters of wood, bits of cloth from her home carpet, and, across the road, the couch, that once laid in her living room, hung halfway from a broken wall.
Erupting through the next hedge, she ran into the ruins of her house of twenty years. The rubble wasn’t even reminiscent of an explosion; the whole home was just collapsed, wood supports snapped like twigs, roof lying in the lawn, grey pipes spraying water towards rooms that seemingly were torn away.
Six men in army fatigues quickly surrounded her. Tabitha crouched into a defensive stance, fist clenched and waving wildly. “Brenden!” she cried out frantically. “Brenden, where are you?”
A man, behind the troops, lifted a fleck of photo paper from the grass. In the image he saw three people, the detainee, only much younger, the woman screaming frantically, not fifteen feet away, and a third male, who couldn’t have been the assailant. The General lowered his hat, and approached Tabitha. “Mrs. Pearson?”
Tabitha’s eyes flicked over to the shadowed figure. Slowly she nodded, being careful not to let her guard down.
“Men, at ease.” the general ordered. The six men backed away, allowing the general to move within formal distance. Tabitha kept her arms raised, not letting anyone surprise her. A tall handsome man, looking maybe in his thirties, if not for a few too many grays, walked up close to Tabitha, his hat lowered by his waist. “Miss there has been an incident. We need to ask you a few questions.” Extending his hand to her, he motioned for her to follow.
Tabitha, expecting a trick, swung for the general’s chin. “Keep away from me!” she began to say. The general hooked her wrist and spun her around into a lock, before she could gasp. The general dropped his hat and grabbed her other arm. Before the hat touched earth, a soldier had already grabbed it.
With a slight southern drawl working into his speech, he spoke calmly but stern. “Ma’am, I am not trying to make a fool out of you. Your son is alive. We need to talk to you about what happened.”
Tabitha suddenly loosened under his grip, letting her head drop and a few joyful sobs loose. “Oh thank God.” She wept.
The general held the little spit fire for another moment, moving his hold to a sympathetic embrace. He wouldn’t have guessed someone so petite could be so energetic. Tabitha spun around in his arms, eschewing his shirt, pants and a few things bellow around his thin physique. She looked up into his eyes, tears dragging black eyeliner down her cheek. “Is he alright?”
He took a step back and pulled into proper place his shirt and pants, waiting for a more appropriate moment to move the rest. “He’s conscious and… unharmed.”
A queer glance ran over Tabitha’s face. “So, he’s fine?”
The general’s eyes dodged to the side. “I’ll show him to you in a moment.” A few soldiers glared at him with shock. Raising his hand to greet her again, he said, “My name is Franklin Matthorn,” looking around at the soldiers around him, he sternly said, “but everyone else here calls me general.”
Tabitha pensively accepted his hand. “I’m Tabitha, Tabitha Pearson.”
General Matthorn smiled warmly, “I know.”
Tabitha followed the general towards a van filled to the ceiling with electronics. The general was greeted by one soldier with the news that the man was still not sighted. General Matthorn shook his head and pointed towards Tabitha. The man quieted immediately.
“Sergeant Peterson,” the general barked. A skinny man in bulky army fatigues scrambled to the open back of the van. The general continued, “This is Mrs. Pearson. She might help you with what was down in that basement.”
Tabitha was holding her arms. The night was cold, and she was still in shock. Idly she looked back at her home. Most the front façade still stood, covering whatever frantic activity the army was conducting behind. A coat with many colorful decorations folded over her shoulders. Looking back, she saw the general in his white button shirt crossing his arms to stay warm.
“Mrs. Pearson, if you know just a few of the chemicals your husband kept, maybe his chemical clearance level, it would be a great help.” The sergeant said.
A dark spindly pole lowered down onto Tabitha’s shoulder, three hook like appendages clamping onto the green of the general’s jacket. The sergeant beside Tabitha let loose a girlish scream. Tabitha looked up towards the source without batting an eye. The general struggled to unholster his weapon. Tabitha’s eyes grew wide, as she looked up upon the oval body of an enormous daddy long legs. She muttered, “shit,” under her breath and grabbed at the black scraggly appendage. Pulling with both hands, she drug the oversized arachnid off the roof of the vehicle, three claws on each of seven more legs screeched as they were pulled along a cold metal surface. The creature clumsily collapsed down to the pavement. Tabitha raised her right heavy boot and brought it down atop the beast’s football sized body. Three more stomps and the legs kicked uncontrollably. Tabitha backed away from the dying thing unphased. The general then let three bullets into its chitin covered body.
Tabitha dashed around several chatting guards, and hauled ass for the front door. Two men brought up their rifles and warned the woman to halt. The general quickly told them to put down their arms. Tabitha swung open the front door.
Brenden scratched at his posterior. After crouching in the pit for two hours, waiting for some secure transport to arrive, Brenden felt like his skin was crawling. He continued to explain, to the third set of inquiring soldiers, what had happened. Beside him, at what sounded like a couple feet away, he heard a familiar voice gasp.
Tabitha fell back against the door frame. Her son was alive, not a scratch, scar, or other outwards sign of harm visible anywhere upon his body, but his body was so much larger now that finding a cut would be like the proverbial needle in a haystack. The monstrous male pivoted in his hole, great slates of muscle rolling over one another in hypnotic unison.
Brenden felt his body blush, and he lowered his hands to cover any portion of his privates that may be in his mother’s view, including the bush of hair reaching down towards it. Brenden, shocked, asked, “Mom, what are you doing in here? Get out!”
Tabitha regained her composure, pulling herself off the door. Feeling a bit of smile boiling up in her, she said, “Quit acting like such a baby. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
The general snuck in, around Tabitha. “Mrs. Pearson…”
Brenden boomed, “Don’t call her that.”
Tabitha put her hand up at the general, signing silence. “What do you mean by that?”
Brenden angrily turned his eyes down and away from his mother.
“Where’s Rick.” She suddenly asked angrily.
“Mrs. Pears…” The general paused as Brenden’s angry eyes flashed at him.
“Tabitha, I must say, you seem very at ease with this.”
Tabitha was rubbing her temples. “I’ve seen this before… Well, not this.” She pointed to her son. “But, I’ve seen this effect before.” With renewed anger, she asked again where her husband was.
The General began to explain. “Mr. Pearson w…”
“Rick,” Brenden boomed, “grew into a forty foot tall asshole, tried to kill me, killed one of our neighbors, then chased me into the basement, where I got exposed to what changed him, then knocked down the house and ran off, leaving me for dead.”
Tabitha held her failing heart. “That... that FUCKING SON OF A BITCH!” She looked around at the rubble then screamed piercingly. “God fucking damn it!” she cried at the top of her lungs, wandering off into the neighbor’s yard. Coming back with a hose and a spray nozzle, she began hosing down Brenden with cold water. “I’ll fucking kill him!”
“What are you doing?” Several voices asked, including Brenden.
Tabitha ordered Brenden to hold out his hand her way. Brenden, without question, did as she said. She pointed at the skin. “Dust mites, the size of ticks.” Across every inch of Brenden’s arm tiny eyeless white critters crawled across his skin. Brenden drew back his hand.
“What! I don’t see anything?”
“Of course not honey,” she resumed hosing him down. “They are proportionately as small as they were before to you. You can’t see dust mites with your bare eyes, but to us they’re huge.”
“Like the spider,” chimed in Sergeant Peterson.
“Yeah.”
“How do you know about this?” asked the general, confused.
“My first husband discovered the chemical fifteen years ago. Only, he was more cautious, though, we didn’t know about the bugs until they were crawling through the kitchen.”
“Why haven’t we heard of this until now?” asked Peterson.
“My husband and I agreed it should never be used. He invented the substance to be used on materials, a child’s wood block could be used to build a home, but when he used it, we found living tissue metabolized it much faster and efficiently. Before we knew it, we were fighting off three foot centipedes and hordes of mites. We sent Brenden to his aunt’s for a month, then locked the house and bug bombed it to hell. Honey, raise your arms.” Tabitha motioned with the water stream. “When we went back in, John, Brenden’s father, realized it could be used to create horrific biological weapons. He burned his notes, and we happily forgot about it. Rick must have found something; he’s not bright enough to come up with something like this on his own. Brenden, Stand up.”
“But Mom…”
“Brenden,” his mother’s voice warned.
Brenden blushed and looked to the general. “Son,” the general said, “I think your mother knows what she’s doing.”
Brenden stood, cupping his package. He could clearly see over every house in the neighborhood. He figured he was likely a story taller then Rick was.
“Brenden,” Tabitha’s voice called up, “Mites know no boundaries, move your hands.”
Brenden’s skin turned pink and his hands fell to his sides. Tabitha’s eyes widened, and now she was blushing. She averted her gaze and turned the cold water stream at her son’s privates. The general motioned over a soldier.
“Ma’am, I think the sergeant still has questions for you, we can take over from here.”
Tabitha cautiously walked through the rubble. Before leaving her house, she looked up to her son, “I’ll be here for you, don’t you worry.”
Brenden nodded appreciably, and the Tabitha moved out the front door.
“Ok, son,” the general yelled. “Let’s finish up. Lift ‘em.”