Of the many, many events that occurred on that day of days, one in particular was never observed either by camera or outsider, or noted in any book or medium that survived. Indeed, compared to some of the other things that happened, one could say that it was completely irrelevant - inconsequential in light of events that would forever alter the history of the world forever.
It was a classic drive-in movie theater situated on an elevated hilltop. That fact alone would save it from the effects of the flooding that affected the entire county, it sometimes even placed the theater above local storms, inoculating this site against one of the major drawbacks that had closed many a drive-in across the country. It was also one of the few attractions in these parts.
Unconcerned or unaware of the attacks to the coast, the handful of moviegoers sat in their parked vehicles; only about a dozen cars in the lot. Metropolis and Manhattan were many miles distant, and the villains were the heroes' problem regardless. Perhaps too captivated by what was going on the screen, they didn't notice the gradually lowering temperature or the trickle of encroaching flood water. The radios in their automobiles were turned off; the better to hear the film's dialogue. The theater owners had planned to upgrade to new technology that actually used the car radios as movie speakers, but these would never be implemented. The heady smell of buttered popcorn, roasting hot dogs and nachos hung on the cooling air.
Playing on the large screen was a comedic rendition of the Deadliest Game scenario. Famed comedian Rick Pryor portrayed a down-on-his-luck traveling laxative salesman stuck at the World International airport, penniless and friendless. As in reality, the Legion of Doom of the film demanded from that all the nations of the world send all of the money from their national treasuries to said World International Airport. But the satirized Legion of Doom, who having delegated Toyman (as portrayed by fellow comedian Andrew Kauffman) to the task of retrieving the ransom wealth allowed Rick Pryor's character to receive the suitcase instead, and become the new owner of all the money from all the nations of the world's national treasuries.
The audience laughed at the antics; watching Pryor as he bought expensive automobiles, hiring famous rock stars and jazz musicians to perform for him personally in his newly purchased mansion, and not caring about the enormous speeding tickets he incurred. One notable scene had Pryor standing before a judge in a courtroom who threatened to jail him if he did not pay the total amount (a ludicrous sum of five million) to which he was easily able to afford.
Now on the enormous screen it showed the Legion of Doom learning that they had got the wrong valise, finding that it instead contained samples from Pryor's laxative business, to which Solomon Grundy (played by Michael Morton in heavy zombie makeup) mistakenly ate with predictable results. Enraged, Lex Luthor (portrayed by famed actor Eugene Hackman) ordered the remainder of the Legion of Doom to pursue Pryor for the stolen money from all the nations of the world's national treasuries. The actor, still riding the fame from his role as Det. James "Popeye" Doyle in the Belgian Connection films now looked embarrassed to be cast in this. Hackman's flustered performance was in stark contrast to Theodore Crawford as Brainiac. Even in the garish green makeup and clearly plastic diodes, Crawford delivered his lines with utmost sincerity.
There was a rustling then in the surrounding bushes, several rustlings caused by several somethings. Scrambling, scuttling, crawling through the foliage, some still wet and glistening from their departure from the flood waters or from the recent instar transformation they had undergone. All had one overriding thought, one overwhelming desire.
The gathered audience was in practically in tears, some whooping at the sight of Sinestro and Gorilla Grodd (respectively played by Charles Callias and an uncredited Richard Baker in a gorilla costume) entering a taxi in pursuit driven by Rick Pryor, who now wore a ridiculous getup consisting of large, sunglasses, a fake turban and false beard.
Ultimately, Pryor's character of Morton Lowe was captured by the Legion. But in true Pryor fashion, he made a speech that put the villains on their ear.
"You're gonna kill me for taking the money? How about you kill yourselves for LOSING this amount of money to start with? I've noticed-Hell, everyone's noticed, that this is how your plans usually go. You're the Legion of Dumb! You're not even really evil. You know what's evil? Poor Mofo driver for the Mob has to spend thirty dollars of the millions he's transporting for gas money - even has the receipts to prove it, and shows his bosses the leak that made him have to do it. They take this poor fool, duct tape him to a wall, slow-ly CUT OFF every last protrusion on his body, with a mob doctor around to keep him kicking-till they burn down the building he's in, where his family lives. All to show you don't take from them ever, even for the best of reasons, even when it's a piddling amount. Changing people into Bizarros, Cheetahs? Cheating at a contest some weirdo holds? Staging a dumbass trial that Spanky and Alfalfa would laugh off? Making yourselves giants when you know someone else might get the same idea? Legion Of Dumb?!"
Before the dumbstruck villains could react, Morton Lowe kept right on.
"Cheetah? When's the last time you even cut somebody with those claws-I don't count, because I just gave you the idea, woman. Grundy? What the hell kind of zombie never eats anyone? Lex, my man-you're a super-genius, so show Superman up by regrowing the hair he took from you-and then you'd have so much money, what we're here about would seem like chump change! Scarecrow-man, you should really NOT be stomping around a swamp while wearing twenty pounds of burlap - and I am not scared of that outfit - have you considered a hangman motif? Now that'd cause fear. Before I lay into the rest of you - why in the HELL do you keep around a man who habitually tells the world's greatest detective what his plans are? Last time out, Commissioner Gordon figured out the whole Riddle shebang himself - and the man hasn't arrested anyone in fifteen years! Now, Brainiac - did you know that you can just BUY miniatures of cities? Freaking Mister Rogers has them on his show."
Morton Lowe took apart the Legion bit by bit, with the movie's ending implying that his talk-down had been the real reason for their disappearance. It also had a newly confident Lowe saying that, if the Super-Friends ever got out of line, he might have to talk to them as well-with him not realizing the assembled League was standing right behind him as he boasted.
So transfixed by what was having on the drive-in's screen that they failed to hear the rustling in the surrounding foliage.
Hunger! was indeed the dominant desire of the approaching swarm. Some of the tender spawn weren't content to wait for the coming spring to feed again. Many of their metaphoric processes required fresh nutrients from live prey. And here they sensed was food in abundance; a veritable banquet.
Color splashed on the screen, showing the final reel where the chastised Legion of Doom went to jail, arrested by several actors portraying Superman (a up-and-coming newcomer to Hollywood with the last name of Reeves - or was it Reeve?), Green Lantern (Howard Murphy), Batman (WW. Anderson), Robin (B.J. Gervis), Wonder-Woman (Linda Jean C.), and others.
Richard Pryor's character reluctantly returned the money from all the national treasuries, having learned his lesson about money not being able to buy happiness, or some such aesop. With the added benefit that still having kept several million.
The surrounding foliage seemed to disgorge them. It was really the collective motion of hundreds of abominations, but they had the appearance of a single horror. And in a way they were. The attack started as one, the hive-mind in them driving the young to act in unity. It was now their time to strike, as it would soon be time for them to mature and eventually claim this new Earth as their own.
In seconds the drive-in had become a scene of blind panic and screams that no ordinary film could arouse from its audience. There were groans, cries, screams, and yet those sounds were dominated by the collective hunting cry of the devouring spawn: obscene squelching, the rustle and clatter of exoskeleton sliding over metal surfaces and flesh, the croaking frog-like chant of "Hermiker! Hermiker! Hermiker!" over and over from a trio of creatures that could almost pass for unusually large and aggressive toads, the buzzing and rustle of insectoid fins and wings, and the continuous, disgusting, surging sound; like that of a horrid beast sucking out the innards of a helpless victim.
The viewers futilely attempted to start their engines, one or two managing it only to find small plasmodic creatures dissolving their tires, perhaps attracted to the taste and texture of the rubber. Those that tried to exit their vehicles and run found that the ground of the Drive-In was covered now with a living carpet of crawling, hopping, chirruping abominations. They crept upon one another, devoured one another, mated in a mad frenzy.
Tom Coppla and Susan Crossley, young teenagers in love who had been necking throughout the second half now found themselves quite accosted. Tom screamed as he was covered in a flood of black fanged, biting things that resembled tiny abyssal fish but writhed like snakes and had too many pairs of eyes. He turned to his date, and screamed even louder at the sight of Susan; her face half dissolved from forehead to chin by the chitinous shark-thing that was now devouring her midsection.
Old man Bill Hutten, veteran of two wars, and owner of the local hardware store for the last fifteen years, futilely attempted to batter the creatures off his pickup truck with his cane. His military training came into play, and Hutten grabbed a road flare from the glove compartment, knowing that monsters always feared fire. Sure enough, several of the tentacled beasties recoiled from the red light and heat the flare emitted. His small smile of satisfaction died when he saw what looked like a living wave of dark water held in suspension for at least a dozen feet. It towered above the front end and stayed there impossibly, individuals droplets freeze-framed and swaying like some enormous liquid serpent.
It held Hutten's attention; he couldn't turn away from it, and every hair on his body stood on end. Things were swimming inside, swirling as though in agitation or agony. And along with them were dozens upon dozens of fish; not dead but also no longer alive. Their eyes were staring at Hutten.
And then the wave came directly at him, easily shattering the front windshield.
Hutten was spattered by it, the black water startling warm, almost hot as well as smelling foul. His skin itched and burned where it had been touched. Wiping it away with his aged hands did nothing. With the spattering came a shower of creatures ranging in size from that of nickel to as large as a full-grown trout. Something that resembled a toad but larger, hopped onto Hutten's should and dug in with talons that felt like red-hot dinner forks. His legs were swarmed by a living tide of insect-like creatures, something like water-beetles and tiny crabs, maggots, leeches and other things of every type of description. When he tried to scream, a formless blob fastened itself to his face which then instantly grew from the size of an ink blot to spread over his nostrils and mouth, smothering him.
With claws and mandibles, talons and tentacles, teeth and digestive enzymes, they ripped apart the cars and then tore into the spectators that inhabited them in sprays of flesh and blood, cut them, melted them with natural acids . . .
As the screen turned to black, young Jeffrey Scott, a somewhat bookish middle-schooler, frozen by the events that were occurring around, just stared up at the place where the projector had jammed, on the frozen image and the two words burned there.
Jeffrey read the words aloud, his lips trembling, but his shocked brain was taken someplace beyond comprehending them. Under his breath, he whispered them.
"The end."
The orgy of feasting and mating and death went on for less than an hour. Then the creatures lapsed into lassitude. Sluggishly, they dragged themselves back into the surrounding forest.
This chapter is dedicated to the memory of Adam West (1928-2017). May his soul rest in peace. Special thanks goes to Gojirob as always for providing authentic Richard Pryor dialogue.