"The world is not yours. The streetlights guide our way, not yours. The world belongs to us who steal kisses at bonfires. To us, who stay up laughing with friends long after you have gone to sleep. To us who dance with reckless abandon. So go home – it belongs to us. We will not go quietly. And we will not go alone."

- Zac Gorman


The Party, Part 1

In the gloom of the cave, the big alien leaned towards Cary, a quizzical tilt to its neck. It had to lean down quite a long way.

The small, blonde-haired boy shook his head. [This sad routine is getting old, you're so down all the time. You need to chill.]

[Chill?] /confused

[Yeah, like, smile? You're acting like such a weirdo. Smile once in a while.] Cary grinned, showing off his braces.

[Showing teeth is smiling?]

[Sure, you try it. It means you're happy.]

Cooper blinked. [For Muktians this shows aggression] /unsure. Still, the alien studied Cary's expression, as if trying to understand how the muscles fit together. Then, slowly, its mouthparts peeled open in an imitation of upturned lips… revealing red, wet flesh and a Sarlaac pit of fangs.

Cary's eyes widened. [That's good? Good. Maybe practice in front of a mirror or something.]

[I will practice] /amused. [Woodward did 'smiling' also, but never explained. Strange custom.]

[Look, it's okay. Your mouth doesn't work like ours. What about…] Cary paused. [I know! Step back a bit. Further. Further. Keep going, you've got really long arms.]

Cooper shuffled backwards, glancing over his shoulder. Eventually, its butt hit the wall. It snorted in surprise.

[Sorry.] Cary giggled. The alien was sometimes unexpectedly clumsy, like a drunken hippo. Cary held his right arm out in front and made a fist. [Put your arm out like this.]

Obediently, the alien copied his movements. It used one of its thin upper limbs, long, delicate fingers curling together.

[Okay. So now we have to touch our knuckles together. I'll do it to myself. See? Like this.] Cary put both of his fists together, in a punching kind of motion. [You try.]

Gingerly, five yards of alien muscle stretched across the cave. Cooper squinted, and with a rattling breath, he touched knuckles with the tiny human. One hand dwarfed the other, but it worked – and Cary could tell it was trying hard to be gentle. He grinned.

[That's it!] He opened his fist – "Boom!" – and wiggled his fingers. [That's a fist bump.]

[Fist bump] /affirmative. The creature shivered, which Cary had learned meant 'yes'.

[It's like a friendship gesture – or something that shows respect] he said. [It's pretty versatile. Now, there's this other thing called a 'high five'…]

From across the cavern, Jack Lamb watched them with a stony grimace. Their difference in size was like David and Goliath squared, though this pair at least were friendlier with one another. Cary had taken a real shine to the creature; it still spent most of its time fiddling with arcane machinery, but seemed to have gained a slight fondness for the boy. It was willing to put up with him, at least. Strange. Perhaps it stemmed from the way Cary treated it like it was simply another person, rather than something to be feared, or awed by.

It SHOULD be feared, though, Jack thought. It did eat and kill three people. Sherriff Pruitt. Dave Rooney. Tina Wheeler. Three good people, dead by that thing's hands.

Technically, I should arrest it – I'm the Sherriff. That's my job. A wry smile flickered across his lips, swiftly removed. I wonder how it would react. Would it fight back? Where would we keep it? The first arrest of an extraterrestrial… do human laws even apply?

It might be all buddy-buddy now, but that creature is a killer. One which could arguably plead insanity, but a killer nonetheless.

The kids, of all people, had been the first to forget that. In Jack's mind, they should've been the ones who were scarred most, but they'd apparently brushed off the horrors of the summer. Kids were resilient. I s'pose the old monster was replaced by new ones… bigger, scarier, and ultimately much less friendly. As he watched Cary exchange an inter-species high-five – the boy nearly thrown to the ground, despite the alien's attempted gentleness – he couldn't help feeling responsible for keeping them all safe. That's on me. It shouldn't be, but this planet's on an express train to hell and I'm one of the only guys who knows.

The alien turned away, arranging some of the shiny machinery it had begun to amass inside the cave. Most of the objects were unfamiliar, silver and sleek, a far cry from the unsteady towers of very human junk Cary remembered seeing beneath the water tower. There were curving plates, webs of silver frames and, yes, some studded white cubes.

[Are these from your ship?] Cary asked.

[Yes]

[Can I see it? Your ship?]

[No] /blunt.

[Where is it?]

[No. No asking.] The alien stopped. It towered over him, its face moving closer, closer, hints of foam around its mouth, inner eyelids sealed up tight with an unreadable, milky gaze.

Cary's knees wobbled. [Sorry dude.]

[No asking about ship] /waver. It turned back to its work.

Cary frowned. Cooper got all agitated about the weirdest things, sometimes. A lot of the time. Most of the time. [What about your plan? Do you have a plan yet? To stop the bad guys?]

[No plan. Still formulating. What Jack-parent said about the night-towers was interesting. Requires more information.] The alien made some complex motions with its fingers and drew a long, silky wire between two metal plates, which trilled musically, like a songbird.

[Oh, cool. So you've been talking to your friends.]

[Yes. Contacted Muktians.]

[You'd better hurry, because we're going on school camp soon. We'll be MIA for like a week, and I don't think we can get out of it, so if you need help make sure it's before then. I kinda like camp actually, last year's was fun. We went to—]

[Alice-human explained camp to me. Will not be a problem. In truth, camp may be useful for plan] /distracted.

['Kay. I just wanted to make sure you knew. We're like, relying on you… 'cause we have no idea what the hell we're doing no matter how much Charles pretends he does.]

[Affirmative]

Cary rolled his eyes. [No no no no no. You don't say 'affirmative' or shit like that. You say… 'no problem!' Or 'sure!'] He smiled to himself, ducking under the alien's leg as it worked. [And if someone comes off to you with an attitude – like Charles, or Martin – you say 'bite me!' Then when you wanna leave, you say 'later'. And if someone gets upset – usually Charles or Martin again, 'cause they're pussies – you say 'chill out.' Or you can do combinations.]

[Chill out, pussy?] /proposal.

[Holy crap you learn fast. High five!]

[No problem]


Cooper curled up at the rear of the cave, surrounded by his metal machines. He was alone.

But not for long.

He reached out, and pale blue light rippled from his palm. The light moved with a sense of purpose. It filled the cave with fine points of radiance, forming tides, patterns. A message from his friends. The light settled.

He dreamembered.

His sense of body changed, shifted, expanded, until the simple extent of it was mind-numbing – until he felt stars within him, planets, moons, dust clouds, vast expanses of space all contained within his being. With a thought, he could pull his attention to a sun surrounded by unfamiliar planets, as easily as bending a finger or scratching an itch on the back of his neck. The starlights all tasted different. Smelled different. He wanted to close his eyes against the flood of sensation, but couldn't. He didn't have anything so simple as eyes. He had become immeasurably large, and rich, and strange, thousands of voices – millions – billions – lifted in chorus.

A star went out.

It wasn't especially unique. It wasn't beautiful. A few voices out of quadrillions went silent and if the great chorus was in any way lessened, it wasn't perceptible. Still, a ripple passed through him. The colours of his consciousness swirled and darkened. Concern, curiosity, alarm, even delight. Something new had happened for the first time in millennia.

Another star flickered and failed. Another few voices went silent. Now, slowly and instantly both – everything changed. He had been beyond anything like a threat for so long that all the reflexes of survival had weakened, atrophied. Cooper felt a fear that he knew belonged to 'him' – the being trapped in the memory – because his larger self couldn't remember how to feel it. The vast parliament of his mind swirled, thoughts, opinions, analysis, poetry blending together and breaking apart, beautiful as sunlight on oil. A great debate raged, a fever, an illness. It was terrifying.

Three suns failed, and Cooper felt himself growing smaller. It was still a tiny fraction, nearly nothing – a scab on the back of his hand, a sore that wouldn't heal – but a fraction his vast self couldn't ignore.

He reached out into the places he had been, the darkened systems that were lost to him, and struck with hands of fire. The fallen stars were mere matter now, empty and dead, bloated, and he filled their systems with a rage of radiation and heat, sheared the electrons from every atom. Systems detonated. Their deaths resonated. Cooper felt a sense of mourning, of peace; the cancer had struck and been burned away. Mortality had returned, and had been cleansed with fire.

A hundred stars failed.

What had once been a song became a shriek. Cooper felt his body shifting, furious as a swarm of bees trapped and dying. In despair, the hundred suns were burned away, destruction hurled as fast as the darkness appeared, but the growing shadow could never be stopped. All through his flesh, stars were going out, voices falling into silence. Death rode the vacuum, faster than light and implacable.

He felt the decision grow like a crystal, giving form to the chaos around it, solid, hard, resolute. Desperation. Mourning. A million farewells. The word quarantine came to him, and with the logic of dreams, it carried an unsupportable weight of horror. But within it, like the last remnant of the song… the promise of reunion. One day, when the solution was found, everything that had been lost would be regained. The stars reborn. The vast mind restored.

The moment of dissolution came, sudden and expected, and Cooper blew apart.

He was in darkness. Empty and tiny and lost, waiting for the promise to be fulfilled, waiting for the silent chorus to whisper again that Armageddon had been stopped, that all was not lost.

And silence reigned.

[Interesting] Cooper thought.


One last night. That was what Charles called it. One last night to have fun, hang out, and have a 'totally rad' time.

Joe knew what he meant. It was nice to just forget about things for a while – aliens, invasions, murders, the virus. Forget, and simply focus on whichever song was currently blasting from the speakers. It was probably the last chance they'd have.

The school gymnasium floated in the brisk Fall night, a lit-up ark. Its windows were stained disco colours. Inside, a few kids were already dancing to 'Video Killed the Radio Star'. Most of the boys had drifted to one side, too cool to dance. Most of the girls had drifted to the other, too cool to dance too. Discos are tricky, Joe thought. You look like a total idiot if you dance too early, but after one crucial song tips the disco over, you look sad if you don't.

"Why'd they make it Halloween-themed?" Martin asked, dressed as a dapper-looking vampire. "It's not even October."

"Why not? We're not banned from dressing up as monsters during the rest of the year," Preston said. His Egyptian mummy costume consisted of far too much toilet paper, wrapped in a tight cocoon.

"Isn't it hard to move in that?"

"Not really." Preston waved an arm, a strand of toilet paper trailing through the air. "But – all things considered – probably not worth the effort."

"Should've come as a vampire," Martin said. "Look, I've got this dope cape."

He swished said cape. It was pretty dope.

"Whatever," Joe said. "Mummies are cool."

"Are they, Joe? Are they?" Martin asked.

"Sure. And skeletons are cool, too." He wriggled his arms. Joe's costume was all black – black pants, black long-sleeved shirt – with a skeleton painted on top in reflective white paint. Combined with his skull mask, it was decently effective.

Next, the DJ put on 'Stand and Deliver' by Adam and the Ants. 'Stand and Deliver' had a special dance in the music video, where everybody lined up and made an X in the air with their wrists as they paced along to the music. Of the few boys already dancing, everyone wanted to be Adam Ant who danced one step ahead of the pack, so the line got faster and faster up and down the gymnasium till the kids were virtually sprinting.

Joe and the others were content to wait on the sidelines. Coloured lights swept across the floor, a smoke machine puffing and wheezing on the stage. Vaguely spooky decorations hung from the ceiling – paper pumpkins, cobwebs, skulls – and what appeared to be an actual stuffed raven.

A party for the end of the world, he thought. "Where's Charles?" he wondered aloud.

"Dunno," Martin replied. "I thought he came with you."

"Not this time."

"Oh."

They considered the dancefloor.

"Should we… dance?" Joe asked, in a way that suggested, 'Definitely not'.

"Definitely not," Preston said. "I don't like dancing. It feels weird. And terrible. And I can never do it properly."

"But you play piano," Martin said. "Doesn't that make you good at rhythm 'n' stuff?"

"I make music. I don't dance to it." He shook his head distastefully. "Everybody else had better hurry up and get here. Otherwise, I'm going to—"


"—rip their heads off!" Cary growled. "RRrRGghG!" He shook his head, the fluffy shark costume shaking with it. Cardboard flippers were glued to each arm, a fin sticking out from his back. His grinning face was surrounded by a ring of triangular teeth.

"Is that a shark?" Charles asked.

"Of course it is, dummy. But which shark?"

Charles' eyes lit up. "Oh, wow – it's the shark from Jaws, isn't it. That is mint."

"Yup. Raawgh!" He snarled, and dove into the crowd.

Joe grinned. Charles had come as Frankenstein's monster, a pair of bolts protruding from his neck, while Rachel beside him was some kind of creepy ghost girl with stringy black hair dressed all in white. Alice had left momentarily, chatting with some of her other friends. The next song was 'Locomotion', which got all the girls doing a choo-choo dance in a snaky line. Then there was 'Oops Upside Your Head', which had a sort of rowing-boat dance to it. Not a dance for guys, Joe thought. 'House of Fun' by Madness was, though. Charles informed him that it was about buying – whisper – contraceptives but the teachers didn't realise, because they only spotted secret meanings weeks after the dimmest kid in Lillian got it. Then 'Once in a Lifetime' by Talking Heads came on. That was the crucial song that made it less cool not to dance than to dance. Charles joined in, Joe echoing his movements while trying not to look stupid. The DJ switched the strobe light on for a couple of short bursts. (If you kept it on too long peoples' heads might explode – that was the legend, anyway.) Joe realised that dancing was like walking down a busy main street, or tying your shoelaces, or millions of other things. You're absolutely fine as long as you don't think about it. During strobe flashes, through a stormy night forest of necks and arms, he saw Alice. She was doing a sort of Indian goddess dance, swaying and flicking her hands. She might've seen him through the crowd; she might've smiled. It was hard to tell. Next was 'I Feel Love'. Todd Ingram showed off a new craze called breakdancing, but went spinning out of control into a group of girls who toppled like skittles. He had to be rescued by his friends from stabbing female heels.

During Bryan Ferry's 'Jealous Guy' Cameron Loveland got off with Amy Bullock. They kissed in the corner while Cary stood right by them and did his best imitation of a shark attack, but the resulting laughs were envious too. Then, during 'Are Friends Electric', Martin did a dazed robot kind of dance that actually seemed to work. "This song's ace!" Charles yelled in Joe's ear. "It's so futuristic!" Next up was 'The Monster Mash', because if you had a Halloween-themed disco without it, you were doing things wrong... One of those stupid songs that just made people laugh, all the vampire and ghouls and werewolves joining in. A disco was a zoo, too. Some of the animals were wilder than they were by day, some funnier, some posier, some shyer, some hotter, some the same. Rachel waited in corner, smiling lightly. 'Three Times a Lady' by the Commodores was one of those dreaded 'slow dances' and cleared the floor except for boyfriends and girlfriends, some who enjoyed being looked at, some who forgot they were being looked at, others who didn't want to be looked at but were stuck dancing anyway. Joe waited on the edge of the circle till Alice suddenly appeared out of the crowd.

She held out a hand amidst the treacly whirlwind of lights, movement, sweat. Her eyes were shadowed, her lips blood red.

"Care to dance?" she asked.

Joe grinned. "Not really. But OK." He took her arm, shuffling forward. "Let's stay away from Cary though. He's—"


"—my mom," Joe murmured. "It just hit me, suddenly… last year, it was her, dropping me off at the dance."

Alice waited, quiet. An EXIT sign glowed alien-green in the dark.

"I remember that she waved. And I waved… and I couldn't wait for her to go, you know? I didn't realise I'd be trying to remember that moment, twelve months later. I can't even picture her face." He looked down, shaking slightly. "She was probably… smiling, I guess."

The disco vibrated the plywood floor. They were behind the stage, in the narrow back room stacked with chairs and shelves of gym equipment.

"I'm sorry," Alice said.

"Don't be." He was silent for a moment. 'Planet Earth' by Duran Duran echoed shyly through the wall. "I just needed to be someplace quiet for a bit."

She stepped back. "Take all the time you need."

Joe closed his eyes, as the DJ transitioned into 'Number Nine Dream'; the song was sort of hippieish, but beautiful all the same.

She's gone. You let her go.

Did you?

Sometimes, you go a whole day without thinking 'bout her, and other times…

Every year's the same, but different. Now the differences always hurt. I wonder what it'll be like at Christmas. I wonder what it'll be like next year.

He sniffed.

"What is it?" Alice asked.

"Nothing." Dammit.

She moved closer. Every year was the same, but different. He remembered standing on the edge of the stage, watching Cary and Charles argue about dancing. He remembered his mom asking him embarrassing questions about whether he liked any girls. He remembered noticing Alice, across the dancefloor, and suddenly realising how beautiful she was – as if he'd never really looked at her before. As if his brain, somehow, had been looking past her all this time, and then a switch had flipped and… there she was. I must've been a real idiot before I figured that out. He remembered thinking about her for months afterwards, occasionally, and hearing her talk in class, seeing her walk by in the hall, and never having the courage or the will to do anything about it.

Alice twizzled his hair. The skin on her shoulder was the softest thing he'd ever felt. She smelled of perfume counters in department stores, and the middle of July, and cinnamon Tic Tacs.

"Better?" she asked, with a serious look.

"Sort of." He rolled his eyes, in a sad-happy way. "Sorry for killing the mood."

"Changing the mood. It's fine to be sad." She shrugged. "Seems appropriate, for a zombie and a skeleton."

Joe smiled. He'd done her zombie makeup earlier – why fix what already worked? – and they made for a morbid couple. He slipped off a woven band Alice wore around her wrist, and slipped it over his own.

"Thief. Get your own top-of-the-line fashion accessories."

"I am. This one's the first in my collection."

"…Deal. But only if you give me your watch."

He gave her the watch. The digital display read '9:03'.

"I'm totally keeping this for the rest of the night," she said. "Where have you been, anyway? I couldn't find you."

"I was mainly talking with Charles."

"Oh yeah?" She put on a jealous voice. "What's Charles got that I haven't? Is he a good kisser?"

"Charles? That's revolti—"

Kissing wasn't so tricky anymore. His lips knew what to do, just like sea anemones knew what to do. Still, it spun him, like a fairground teacup ride.

Their teeth clunked.

"Whoops." Alice drew back. "Sorry."

"That's okay – I can glue them back in."

"Haha." Alice spun around, on her tiptoes, gliding away from him in the dark. Joe waited. 'Number Nine Dream' faded to nothing, the world turning its volume down to one. "All of this could be gone, you know?" she said, with a curious voice. "This room. This school. The world. Us. Depending on what happens in the next few weeks."

"Yeah." He didn't know what else to add. "It could."

"The good, the bad, the stuff which isn't really good or bad… it'll disappear." She stopped, turning to face him. "It can't disappear. Good, or bad, it's all us. We can't let it."

"I guess not," he murmured.

"This is us. It's everyone. We need to save it."

"Yeah. Alice?"

"Mmm?"

"Let's go back inside—"


"—Cary's butt," Martin said loudly, raising his voice above the music.

"If I gave you $10,000, you wouldn't eat Cary's butt," Joe repeated.

"Yeah."

"Any butt, or Cary's specifically?"

Martin thought for a moment. "I guess any butt." He grabbed a piece of chocolate from the snacks table that'd sprung up inside the gym. "Is there anything you wouldn't eat for $10,000?"

"Loads of stuff. Like hydrochloric acid, that'd be bad."

"That's not a food, though. Cary's butt is meat – you could cook it. Who knows, maybe it'd be nice."

Joe snorted, taking a handful of potato chips. "Hope we never find out."

The music throbbed. The food table was near the speakers, making it difficult to talk. Most people's costumes were beginning to look a little ragged, facepaint and cardboard falling under the assault of heat and movement and bodies. Martin's dope cape had gone missing half an hour ago, presumably trodden on by swarms of running feet.

Joe adjusted his skeleton mask. Martin seemed… thoughtful. Like he had something on his mind. He munched on his chocolate, tapping his foot, staring across the stage.

"You OK?" Joe asked.

"Me?"

"Yeah."

"…Yeah." Martin shrugged. "No. Sure."

"That's not very definite."

"I'm okay, I guess. But my parents aren't."

"Right."

"Honestly, I don't know. I have no idea what's going to happen. Is that scary? It feels scary."

"Sure." Joe didn't hurry him.

"My sister doesn't want to talk about it. And I don't want to talk to my parents about it. They'd just lie, I think. They'd say everything's fine. But it isn't. I'm pretty sure it isn't." Martin sighed. The song changed, to 'Cut a Long Story Short' by Spandau Ballet. "The uncertainty's killing me."

"It – it'll be alright," Joe said. "In the end."

"It doesn't feel very alright."

"That's because it's not the end yet."

Martin gave him a flat, 'you-think-you're-so-clever' stare. "Nope. But the journey's terrible. You coming to that afterparty thing?"

"At Amy's place?"

"Yeah, that one."

Joe nodded. "I think so, my dad said I could go. Who's invited?"

"Everyone, I think. It's kind of her meant to be her birthday party, and kinda not? It's all super confusing. This chocolate's pretty good though." He took one last piece. "Chocolate makes the world better."

They moved off to find the others, just in time to see Cary's attempt at crowdsurfing.


Every month, Jack made a habit of inviting the Lillian police force round for dinner. Not all of them, obviously – mostly the deputies he called his genuine friends. Those he'd been through police training with, those who'd been his partners. He'd even gone to school with some of 'em.

Now there were five: Rosko, Milner, Crawford, Skadden and Jay, plus an empty chair where Tally was supposed to be. (Jack had predicted Tally wouldn't show, but he'd set it out anyway. At least the chair'd be waiting.) Their voices bounced loudly off the worn, hair-thin carpet – should really get that changed, Jack thought – the slightly tilted wood of the kitchen table draped in a blue-and-yellow-checked cloth.

There was Rosko, greying hair, a glare like a military sergeant with voice to match.

Milner, stubbled cheeks, muscles like an underwear model and the eyes of an angel.

Crawford, round-faced, always quick to display a gap-toothed smile.

Skadden, young and eager, still scrawny as a pine sapling.

Jay, big and swarthy, with a combover so severe it seemed to defy the laws of physics.

Rosko took his Monopoly figure and moved it along the board, hitting each space with a defiant little tap. He landed on the first orange street. "I'll buy it," he drawled.

"You got the cash?" Jay asked.

"I always got the cash." He picked out $180 with the care of a centenarian, taking the property card with a swipe. "Your turn."

Milner rolled the dice, which danced clean off the table, coming to a stop by the refrigerator.

"Come on Milner, keep it together," Jay muttered.

"Yeah yeah. I'd like to remind you I'm currently winning." He got up to retrieve the dice. "Two fours," he announced.

"While you're over there, could you grab us a beer?"

"Only if you're nice to me."

Jay rolled his eyes, smoothing his combover. "You're the most attractive guy I've ever seen, Milner, and your personality ain't terrible either. How's that?"

"Better 'n' I was expecting, to be honest." Milner chuckled and collected a few bottles from the fridge. "I didn't know you liked me so much."

"Don't get used to it."

The beers were handed out and cracked open by various pocketknives. The cold froth was a perfect companion to the pizza boxes scattered across the table – the best kind of greasy pizza, with meat and olives and too much cheese (if there could ever be such a thing). The type of meal that made you feel vaguely guilty afterwards, but god it was delicious.

Crawford grinned, leaning so far back in his chair Jack was worried he'd break something. "Remember the time we had to chase down that turtle?"

Jack chuckled. "How could I ever forget?"

Skadden frowned. "Turtle?"

"You're too young, Skadden, it was before your time," Crawford said. "But down by the church one morning, four or five years ago – you know James Avenue? – course you do, it's one of the busiest roads in town – one morning, four or five years back, James Avenue was completely blocked because a huge damn snapping turtle had taken up residence in the middle of the road."

"A snapping turtle," Skadden said sceptically.

"Yeah. A snapping turtle. It was huge, and mean, and it refused to budge for anyone – I mean anyone, not even old Pruitt. Trucks, cars, it was holding up the whole damn road. The animal control people were out of state for some reason, so of course, it was up to us to deal with the problem."

Milner moved his Monopoly counter as the others listened to the story. Tap, tap, tap, Community Chest. Receive $20 from the bank for winning a beauty contest (which seemed absurdly appropriate).

"So we got there, me 'n' Jack – sirens on, of course, 'cause we don't do things by halves – and this turtle was sitting there, all nice and ugly, a real nasty-looking reptile. You know avocados?" Crawford paused, shaking his head. "What am I saying, of course you know avocados. Basically, this thing's face was like an avocado had made love to an older, more disgusting avocado. And not gently, either – there was hate involved, like there was something wrong in their avocado relationship and that was all the catharsis they could find."

"What the heck, Crawford," Jay murmured.

"All I'm saying is that it was ugly – do you understand how ugly it was?"

"I do."

"Good. So Jack tried to move the snapper from afar – beeping the horn, throwing sticks at it, that sort of thing – but nothing worked on that slab of shelled meat. So what I do is I go up to the turtle – approaching from behind, obviously, all cautious-like – and I get out my baton and start pushing the damn thing towards the grass."

"You pushed the turtle?" Skadden asked.

"I pushed it. Kept prodding it with the baton, tap tap tap, like Rosko and his damn Monopoly piece… and slowly, like it's the biggest injustice since Pearl Harbour, the beast starts waddling off the road. Waddle waddle waddle. Now, the crowd was cheering by this point—"

"There was a crowd, was there?" Jackson interrupted.

"'Course there was. You were there!"

"A small gathering, maybe. And cheering I definitely don't remember."

Crawford shushed him. "Regardless, the road was being cleared. People were happy. Voila! But, just as we got onto the grass – the turtle shoots his neck out at lightning speed and grabs the baton right out of my hands! Snap! Just like that. He turns away and starts waddling towards the church. I'm telling you, it was embarrassing, being disarmed by a turtle, but if it's one thing you don't expect, it's a turtle being faster than you."

"Snapping turtle catch fish," Milner said thoughtfully. "They have to be fast."

"Probably. So I look back to the squad car in disbelief, and who I do see but Jackson Lamb keying up the police radio. And do you know what he says?"

Skadden leaned forwards. "What?"

"He says – ha! He says '1-1, be advised: suspect is now armed and attempting to flee!"

The table laughed. Most of them had heard the story before, in a dozen different iterations, but the image would never stop being funny.

"'He's very slowly getting away'," Jack added, miming the radio. "Did you ever get the baton back?"

"Nope. Pruitt gave me hell for it but I reckon the beast deserved to keep it – to this day, I like to imagine him wandering around Lillian, snapping at small children. And I'm pretty sure the priest tried to exorcise the thing once it started climbing the church steps, crucifix and all. Whose turn is it?"

"Yours," Jay said, giving him the finger.

"Oh. Sorry." Crawford rolled the dice.

Somehow, they always ended up playing Monopoly. It was like a secret law. This particular set belonged to the station, torn and mended and torn again as it passed down through different groups, and over the years, the board had been customised into something vaguely resembling Lillian. James Avenue had replaced Oxford Street, Mayfair renamed, and his very own Fern Avenue was stuck over Whitechapel Road. Very big on avenues, was Lillian.

Ultimately, it was a shitty game – one that relied too much on luck and usually ended with a fight or blatant cheating. Still, it was a comforting game. When you brought the old box out, it said, 'let's agree to have a bad time, but hopefully we'll have fun anyway, because it's us having a bad time.'

So, they played Monopoly.

Jack built three houses on the pink spaces. He was running low on cash; he'd have to be careful.

"How's your kid, Jack?" Milner asked.

"Joe? He's good." He took a slice of pizza. "Does okay at school. He's nearly as tall as me already. Still makes those weird movies with his friends."

"Is he… happy? Emotionally? You know."

"Sure. It's up and down, sometimes… but things are looking up, if you could call it that. We're good."

"Nice to hear. And what about your girl, Rosko – Emily."

"Emily's doing just fine, Milner. And don't you go asking about her too much. I know how you are with women."

"Key word being women. Not girls."

"Ha! Suuuure."

Jack felt a tail brush his leg, and gave Lucy a quick scratch. He ate the last bit of cheese from the pizza and sneakily held the crust beneath the table. Eager jaws quickly gobbled it up, then licked his fingers too. (Elizabeth would never have let him feed her, but if humans could have pizza for a treat occasionally, why not dogs?)"Good girl," he whispered.

"Remember," Crawford began, "that time we arrested the drunk girl on the horse?"


While the kids were out having fun (a.k.a. under teacher supervision), it was a chance for the parents to have fun too – namely, by having a good old-fashioned suburban social gathering, featuring finger food and background jazz and a little too much red wine. Martin's parents had organised the occasion, with ten or so couples chatting in the living area or wandering around their neatly-pruned garden. It was nice, proper, flowing with the kind of easy familiarity of folks who'd known each other for years and years, who'd looked after each other's kids a dozen times over. But behind the smiles and chatter, there was always something more.

Cary's parents wondered how they'd afford payments on the new house. Insurance had covered some of the fire damage, but not enough.

Mr and Mrs Mills were worried about their son's future.

The Kaznyks whispered about the elephant in the room – the little clues, the impacts, whether or not the divorce would go ahead.

Martin's parents had argued earlier that day, and were carefully avoiding one another with brittle smiles.

Rachel's parents hid their nervousness and did their best to remember new names and faces.

Louis Dainard drove through the night, a bottle of whiskey on the passenger seat.


"Here are all the towers that've been reported – here, here and here." Jack spread a county map across the table, collecting empty beer bottles to make room. "By towers, I mean those creepy black smokestacks the military's always poking around. The fungus-looking ones."

"I heard of some spotted south a little," Skadden said. He took a whiteboard marker and made some X's on the map. There were twelve in total, some in Lillian itself, some round the outskirts, several more in neighbouring towns to the south and north.

"What're they for?" Jay asked.

"Not a clue," Jack replied. "The towers don't do much – just sitting there like trees, far as I can tell. But they're not connected to the military, not directly. Call it a feeling."

They studied the map. Rosko tilted his head, as if trying to see a pattern.

He found one. "Looks like… DNA, or somethin'. Spirally things."

"Double helix?" Milner suggested.

"That's the one – smart-ass."

Rosko was right. Jack played a quick game of join-the-dots, and the shape was certainly similar.

"Interesting," Crawford said. "Anyone got any other bright ideas? This stuff's outta my wheelhouse."

"We're all in the same boat," Miner replied. "But I do have something else." He pulled a sheaf of newspaper clippings from his pocket and spread them out over the map. The dates were scattershot from the past two decades. "I did what you suggested and did some snooping. Turns out there's been a fair bit written about 'weird experiments' – nothing concrete, but lots of rumours, hearsay, that sort of thing. This is all I could find in the library."

Jack scanned the yellowing papers. 'Springfield laboratory blocks inquiry.' 'Alleged experiments, abuse.' 'MKUltra exposed.' 'Air force officer named in lawsuit.' "Give me a summary."

"Turns out the CIA's been accused of doing a lot of illegal experimentation – all in the name of national security of course," Milner said. "The MKUltra program got the most attention, which was about interrogation techniques, and mind control."

"Mind control?" Jay snorted.

"Their words, not mine. There was also something called the Edgewood experiments, looking at 'psychochemical' warfare. Basically, there's been a lotta allegations over the years, enough to mean there's probably some truth in all this. And a lot of it's happened close to home – the Springfield army base is mentioned a number of times."

"Springfield?" Jack frowned. "How come we never figured this out before?"

"I mean, it's a different city, boss," Rosko said. "Not our jurisdiction."

"Still, we should've realised— wait a second." He grabbed one of the clippings, reading aloud. "'Seven researchers have been named in a new lawsuit today filed today on behalf of former federal research study participants. The apparent head of the research program, Lieutenant Arthur Forman, is said to have been responsible for a set of unethical experiments throughout the past decade…' God-damnit, he's been linked here the whole time! Experiments, research programs…"

"Forman's our friend in charge, right?" Skadden asked.

"Yeah," Jay muttered. "Looks like he's a real mad scientist type."

"He's planning something bad – we have to be ready," Jack said. "As soon as we get a hint of experiments, or a virus, or a military advance, we're gonna have to move fast 'cause Forman's got a history and he's not gonna hesitate." Jack shook his head tiredly. "He's prepared to let this town go to hell, and the worst part is, I reckon he thinks he's in the right. That somehow, he's acting for the greater good."

There was silence for a moment. The deputies exchanged a glance. "You sure about this whole virus thing, Jack?" Rosko asked.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"Fair enough." He leaned back.

"Can't we just… evacuate the town? Get people out?" Milner asked.

"You think they'd let us?" Crawford replied. "During that fire in the summer, the air force had complete control. If we wanna stop this, I'm pretty sure it's going to come down to a fight… or we're going to need to make some very powerful friends."


Author's Note: In my initial outline, I wanted to have one last 'calm before the storm' chapter before certain events took place. It's basically unnecessary, so just think of this as a (final?) fun time with Joe and co. I'm not sure when Part 2 will arrive but it'll definitely feature fireworks, underage drinking, and possibly a game of Truth or Dare. I'm going ALL OUT.

Credit to: Terminator 2 for the opening scene. The Expanse for Cooper's dream. Black Swan Green for the disco, and being wonderful and atmospheric and an endless font of 70's/80's song names. Also, I realise I've been terribly inconsistent with descriptions of the Lillian police officers, but it'll be set in stone from now on.

Thanks to Darius and Emily for the reviews! Emily, I'll do my best to fulfil your request - we'll see what happens, haha. Darius, skim-reading is completely okay, since I've gone a bit overboard with the word count (and that scar was totally real). Glad you enjoyed it.

Thanks for reading :-)