De Author Seez: the following is a piece of fan-fiction based upon the episode "Evergreen" from the the 2002 revival of The Twilight Zone, which was broadcast on 18 September 2002. It serves a direct sequel to said episode, but viewing of the latter is not necessary to understand what you're about to read. Given the subject matter and what was in the episode, its probably better you don't view it beforehand. Gods know I wish I could forget it myself.
This story is being written purely for fun and not profit, so all lawyers watching this can rest easy.
I'd say "enjoy", but given what you're about to read, I doubt enjoyment will be on anyone's agenda. Please leave a review or two to let me know just how godsawful all this is.
Cheers!
Evergreen – Revisited.
by Joseph Connell
The three wise men from the east arrived via the road labeled on the maps as "Pilgrim Trail", moving slowly to as not to lose sight of the road in the stubbornly clinging mist of the late morning. Their caution was well-founded, as a great caravan materialized into view to their right, taking up much of the space between the road and the bubbling creek that flowed nearby. Further ahead could be heard the muted cacophony of many men and much movement.
Cautious or not, all three were anxious to reach their destination, each fretting in their own way that their arrival would be too late. Their car soon came to a halt when the trail ended before a wrought iron gate, left slightly ajar and set into a lengthy brick wall that stretched off into the mist in either direction. The three men exited their vehicle, and a voice promptly called out "Stand where you are!" The order would have likely been more impressive if it wasn't so filtered and muted. Still it carried enough weight to freeze two of the three men in their tracks; the third, who was the only one wearing a suit and tie, simply stepped around the driver to get a better look.
Just as well he did, given the gas mask he and the other two were wearing cut their vision significantly. The three soldiers who stepped out of the mist before them were similarly equipped, looking every inch as monsters of the military's collective id. The weapons they carried were nothing to sneeze at either, with laser sights settling upon each of the newcomers and wavering even a hair.
Before the soldiers could do more than simply take aim, a pair of white-gloved hands fell upon the shoulders of two of them. They parted at touch, and allowed a bespectacled, heavyset man in white coveralls to pass. "It's alright," he rasped in a tired voice to the newcomers. "Whatever it is, it's not airborne."
The one in the suit was the only one to remove his mask at this; the other two waited and made no move at all. "Are you sure," the man asked coolly, eyes fixed on the man and not the soldiers.
"We were running the scrubbers for 10 hours straight upon arrival," the man reported. "If it was airborne, its long gone now."
The wise man in the suit gave a short nod over his shoulder, prompting the other two to doff their own masks. Side-by-side, there could not have been a trio who looked less alike if you'd managed to put a King Cobra, an orangutan, and a jellyfish in the same room together:
The driver was the tallest of the group, easily towering over even the soldiers and likely equaling them in weight. Tow-haired with deep blue eyes, he put many in mind of the mariners of old-time whalers or even antique longboat of his Viking forebears. The name he answered to was "Morris", yet for his size and girth, wrapped in a pea coat that barely contained him and easy stance of a man perpetually at ease with the world, there was a shadow to his gaze that warned off all comers.
The smallest of their trinity was the mousey-faced sort who stared at the world from behind rimless glasses. His complexion and choice of clothing – Nehru shirt and trousers, open-toed sandals with socks - made him look like he should have been running a factory in New Delhi or serving someone their Tandoori curry special in the heart of London, not staring down automatic weapons with thin impatience whilst holding two high-powered laptops (the sort that would never, ever, be commercially available). "Benji" was what he answered to, when he deigned to answer at all, which was ever a coin-toss if he would or not.
The middling-height one in the suit and tie was paradoxically the most normal looking of the group, yet it had such an affected air to him one almost wondered if both his suit and skin itself weren't some masquerade get-up. His hair and skin both had a wash-out look to them, every bit as much as his shirt and the rest of it. Even his pale eyes told of seeing things that refused to be told. Small wonder then that he was always addressed as "Gray".
It wasn't until Gray took his first step forward that the soldiers lowered their weapons and parted way for the new arrivals. The one in white coveralls had already melted back into the morning fog, but Gray took a moment to address the team's NCO. "Make sure to sweep near the turnoff on Route 8. The Staties were looking nervous."
"Yes, Sir!" was the NCO's muffled yell. Neither Gray nor his fellows stood on ceremony and walked past the open gate, only Gray pausing to examine the stylized gold plate declaring the place:
EVERGREEN
ESTATES
His eyes drifted over the subscript beneath the trees-and-suns landscape that surrounded the name:
Our Children are Our Greatest Resource.
He moved on, all attention and concern were taken entirely by the scene that greeted them, a mix of the prosaic and the nightmarish, an all too familiar cocktail for each.