They're just bugs

They live near a nuclear plant. Ever wonder what happens if you've been exposed for years?

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

They’re Just Bugs

 

E.D. Easley 

 

 

It was lunchtime, and little Sarah was on the swings with her best buddy Johnny at the Joseph Smith Elementary School. Her brown braids flew, and she was singing nursery rhymes. Johnny was humming and clicking along with her.

 

It was a bright October afternoon and they were getting a last taste of Indian Summer. They couldn’t be happier. Even though the weight of life’s increasing responsibilities loomed before them, they could care less. Today they were carefree — with full bellies, a swing set and a blue sky.

 

Who could ask for more?

 

It wasn’t anything like what life could have dealt them. Go ahead and admit it; life in most of the southwestern United States is tough. Waking up there is like finding the Wicked Witch of the West in bed with you after a long, hard night of dancing on rickety barroom tables and drinking hillbilly rocket fuel.

 

That hangover could only be multiplied if you’re a heterosexual woman wondering how you’d come to be wearing black, bloodied studded leather. And become handcuffed to the bedpost.

 

Welcome the wilds of Southern Utah.

 

The landscape was that forbidding. You could almost confuse it with San Francisco.

 

Not all of southern Utah was that awful. Looking down from the Space Shuttle, Johnny and Sarah lived in a lush green dot surrounded by red clay dirt. It was an oasis that looked out of place in the desert — smack dab in a part of Utah nobody ever went unless they had to.

 

But folks did.

 

Johnny’s Dad worked all kinds of strange hours in the basement chewing up book bindings. It was dark and wet down there; it smelled bad. Johnny stayed upstairs.

 

His Mommy never talked about what he did. Neither did his Daddy. It’s not so much what he did was a bad thing; it’s just that nobody ever talked about it. For all Johnny knew, his Dad could have been a garbage man or rocket scientist.

 

So long as the guy brought home three squares and could play Nintendo with him, Johnny didn’t really care. He was a great Dad and Johnny loved him a lot.

 

Sarah’s Daddy made ‘lectricty, and left the house at all different hours. How he made ‘lectricity, nobody’d told Sarah. She’d asked Mommy a couple of times, but Mommy smiled and said it was pretty complicated. Mommy told her a bunch of daddies did it at the big plant outside of town where there was always this green glow in the dark.

 

Sarah always had questions about that, but Mommy always found something else for her to do, like dress up her dolls, or watch cartoons.

 

 

 

Most folks in town called the place Homer, and it’s not likely you’ll find it on any map.

 

It’s not so much that there’s a rocket base there, or that the CIA has a secret training base in the neighborhood. They may be doing these things in Homer, but that’s not why it got missed by the mapmakers.

 

The fact is when they started to draw up the maps, the folks in Utah just forgot to put Homer on there. Nothing sinister was involved, it was a simple mistake that got carried on over time.

 

It’s easy to do when a town’s in the middle of nowhere. When Homer sprang up, it started as couple of Mormon families who just wanted to get away from being stepped on all the time like they were bugs or something. They got tired of running away, and finally stopped when they ran out of steam.

 

The whole Mormon-hating thing was kind of strange when you really thought about it. Usually to walk down the street you’d never know a Mormon to look at one. No, generally, they were the ones you’d find swinging from trees, getting kilt, watching their homes burn down, or loading up wagons to move somewhere else after traditional Christian communities had stepped on them one time too many.

 

Just like they were bugs. And everybody knows bugs were for killin’.

 

There was nothing sinister about Homer becoming a Mormon town. The folks who stopped just got after the business of settling, farming, having babies and surviving.

 

More families settled there, they just happened to be Mormons. A lot of Mormons were tired of swinging from trees, getting kilt, having their homes burnt down. And before anyone knew it a few thousand families had set up housekeeping there. They became a community and named the place, but never really considered themselves a town.

 

Folks who stopped had all kinds of talents. Some could build things, some could grow things, some could fix things. A few could trade things, and they just got what Homer needed when folks needed it.

 

They weren’t greedy folks generally. Some folks would consider them backwards in a lot of respects, from a capitalistic point of view.

 

Now there were something like 5,000 people there with a couple of schools, a loose government, and a couple of places of Mormon worship.

 

But no place on a map.

 

It’s kind of like a lie that keeps being repeated. After it’s been told enough times, folks just assume it’s true. They get on with their lives and worry about other stuff.

 

So Homer didn’t ever get a zip code or have any of those other trappings of a real American town. That made for some interesting opportunities for folks in government, and private industry.

 

As time went on, they liked being left alone by the rest of the world.

 

They were kind of like the whole Bigfoot thing. A legend of sorts. Some folks knew Homer was out there, but nobody really cared. There were aliens and Elvis to fascinate them, after all.

 

But those are different stories, for different times.

 

 

 

The fact is Homer turned out to be almost completely a Mormon community. Not that anybody planned it that way, it just kind of happened.

 

Back when they started putting the American West together, it wasn’t an orderly process. A lot of it was a bum’s rush. Most of the folks who headed out for places like California were pond scum, outcasts, murderers, rapists, thieves, deadbeats, perverts, convicts, religious misfits – well, folks people just didn’t want to have as neighbors anymore.

 

Today it would be like kicking several of New York City’s worst boroughs off to Alaska to find bottle caps. (Be sure to include Attica with that group…)

 

Hey, the West promised them a fresh start – and sure beat prison. Then there was this whole Gold Rush thing.

 

So, sinister or not, there are probably a lot of places in the West just like Homer. Folks got tired on the way to the Pacific Ocean. They opted to stop and settle at spots along the way.

 

Homer’s founders started as a couple of wagons full of Mormon families. Not one of them had a compass. After wandering around in circles for a while, they settled and started Homer.

 

 

 

Any other folks would probably have died. But you have to have a pretty thick skin to be a Mormon or a Jew. They seem to be regular folks, but no matter where they go, folks don’t want them for their neighbors.

 

Heck, in Palestine these days the Jews almost have to be born learning to use automatic weapons in order to survive.

 

Mormons? People have beaten up on the Mormon community forever, mainly because they’re, well, different. In a way, the same thing has happened to a lot of groups over time.

 

Mormons have been chased out of New England, the South, and the Midwest. A lot of the reason why they really got to settle in large chunks of Utah is that nobody really wanted the place at first.

 

It was kind of a finder’s keepers thing.

 

And as a xenophobic, oppressed religious group, who have been persecuted almost as badly Jews; the Mormons have had to integrate themselves into the socioeconomic melting pot of America quietly.

 

There are a lot of stereotypes about them too, how they stick together, for example, and how they take care of their own. And there’s some truth to that – just like there’s some truth to the same thing with some former members of the 82^nd Airborne.

 

But then, not all Mormons have spent a whole lot of time jumping out of perfectly good airplanes and helicopters.

But it’s kind of funny how they can be understanding about some folks, as a group, who’ve really been stepped on.

 

And tough as it’s been for the Mormons and the Jews, nobody’s group has been stepped on more than Johnny’s. His folks have routinely been gassed and otherwise exterminated – and no one has ever said a word in their defense.

 

Maybe that’s one of the reasons the folks in this time and place gave his family sanctuary. Granted, Johnny and his folks were probably the ugliest residents in town – but damn it, everybody knows you just can’t judge a book by its cover.

 

(A note: People do judge books by their covers. And they will

cross the room to pick up a book with an attractive cover. Studies show that, and if they recognize the author’s name, are the major reasons why they buy a book. That in mind, it’s kind of surprising you bought this book, isn’t it?)

 

Johnny and Sarah both came from families of agnostics. In short, their folks really weren’t sure about The Way Things Are and How We Fit In. Man might have an eternal soul, subject return to the factory at the manufacturer’s whim. Then there’s the mindset man, as a species, is what was left when the cosmic trash was taken out.

 

The Mormons are from the Eternal Soul camp.

 

But Johnny and Sarah weren’t – at least their folks weren’t. And in Utah, that made them the minority. They never really thought about it in a negative sort of way. They’d been born in Homer about the same time, and grew up together.

 

They hardly realized they’d been excluded from a lot of the social activities the other kids were involved in. The church was a big part of community life, and Johnny and Sarah knew they weren’t part of the church; so over time they naturally gravitated to each other.

 

It’s important to note the community didn’t intentionally ostracize the kids and their folks. It just kind of happened.

And there were other things, particularly with Johnny. More and more he found it increasingly impossible to find clothes to fit him. Before he’d started school, it really hadn’t been a problem, but as time went on he became all arms and legs, with wings growing out of his back…

 

Well, let’s just say he wasn’t like the other kids.

 

That was something the folks in Homer could – and did - help out with. When the local store just couldn’t outfit Johnny, a few of the local ladies with sewing skills went to it. They measured him up and set to their Singers. In no time at all, he had as fine a wardrobe as any kindergartner could ask for.

 

These, by the way, were ladies from a faith folks had chased out of Massachusetts, Ohio, and Missouri. Once upon a time Mormons had been lynched in these places and fire was set to their homes.

 

It’s one hell of a way to evict your neighbors. But then, Americans aren’t known to screw around when it comes to getting their messages across. We’re the guys who created nuclear weapons and napalm.

 

And an industrial-strength version of Raid™ is what it took to separate Sarah from Johnny.

 

 

 

They came in the night.

 

It must have been a special job, and the talent had to have been imported. Homer was a, well, quiet community. The town didn’t have any bars, there were no satellite dishes, and the cable TV was a little on the Republican slant.

 

Most of the folks were in bed by 10 p.m. Every now and then someone would have trouble sleeping and you might catch them having a glass of milk with some cookies while watching a rerun of Lawrence Welk.

 

This was a particularly dark night, with heavy clouds hanging low in the sky. They promised rain, and a low rumble of thunder came from the East.

 

Homer really didn’t need streetlights, folks didn’t go out much at this hour. Even so, Johnny’s street had a rare set of visitors.

 

A grey van quietly pulled up in front of Johnny’s house, and the doors opened almost silently. Funny how sound travels in the dead of night on a quiet street. It’s as though their van was built for stealth.

 

The van had a logo for Don’s Fumigating on each side. Five men in dark blue denim slid out with military precision. They all had tanks on their backs, and two-foot metal tubes in their hands. At second glance it was obvious these were some kind of industrial spray guns.

 

There were lights on their helmets, and the lights were off at the moment.

 

They moved with the stealth of a SWAT team, three sneaking up the concrete walk to the front door and slipping around to the back. The men at the front door looked at their watches for a minute or two, then the one closest to the door nodded.

 

All three simultaneously placed breathing masks over their mouths and noses. The lead man had a key. The men rushed inside and closed the door behind them.

 

The lights of their helmets flicked on, and beams flashed across the closed drapes periodically. It was obvious the men were professionals; they were quick and they knew what they were doing.

 

They’d rushed through the place, and were out in 15 minutes. The men piled into the van as quickly and quietly as they’d arrived.

 

 

 

 

That had been on Wednesday night. Come Sunday, little Sarah was concerned. She went over to Johnny’s house to make sure everything was okay.

 

She rang the bell and nobody answered. She rang it again and still nobody answered. She was a little bit concerned because Johnny had been gone so long and might be sick.

 

But if he was sick, his folks would be around, wouldn’t they, she reasoned.

 

She went around to the back and looked around the yard. Nobody was there. That bothered her a little too. She wasn’t sure why, but it just seemed a little too quiet at the house.

 

Folks from Homer didn’t go anywhere. It’s not like they’d have left town to go visiting or go on vacation. For folks in town, this was pretty much the whole world. So if Johnny had gone somewhere, or something had happened, she’d have heard about it.

 

She looked around again, then looked at the back door. She’d gone into Johnny’s house a million times before, just like he’d gone into her’s. Heck, they were buddies, and buddies didn’t need special invitations.

 

Then again, today was somehow different. She had this strange feeling in her gut.

 

She mustered up the courage and stepped up to the back door. She turned the nob and found it was unlocked. Sarah wasn’t sure that was a good thing or a bad thing.

 

The door led into the kitchen. Sarah immediately smelled something, well, funny. It was a sour smell, and bordered being rank; a combination of an old sock being left out in the rain too long being doused with some kind of acid.

 

The smell got stronger the further she went into the house. Funny, she thought, even Fluffy, their pet cat, wasn’t around. She was a curious bugger, especially when anyone came in. It was awfully strange the cat hadn’t come out to greet her.

 

Johnny’s room was the first room beyond the kitchen on the right. The door was closed. Sarah reached down, turned the nob, and opened the door.

 

There was Johnny, laying on top of his covers – obviously dead. All six of his legs stood straight up and his eyes bugged straight open. The nearly-transparent wings were half extended in the bed.

 

His maw was open.

 

It was obvious even to Sarah he’d woken up and been terrified in his last moments, but had gone too quickly to confront his attackers.

 

Sarah screamed and ran from the house in tears.

 

 

 

The county pest control commissioner kicked the huge cockroach as hard as he could. Johnny’s father rolled over and his dead eyes stared blankly at the sky.

 

Johnny, his Mom and Dad were laid out on the front lawn of their house. A couple of trucks had arrived. The pickup was going to take their bodies to the local landfill. The big rig would haul their belongings off to auction.

 

Most folks in Homer had never dealt with the county. Someone in town must have let the county government know about Johnny’s family’s death. They probably meant well, but the county folks had never been to Homer until then.

 

They huddled in their homes, waiting for the whole incident to go away.

 

“Must be somethin’ in the water ‘round here,” the commissioner shook his head and hitched up his belt. “You fuckers sure do grow ‘em big in these parts – I’ve never seen anything like this before.

 

“Once they move in and start breedin’ you can never get ‘em out. You sure you got ‘em all?”

 

The head of the town’s waste disposal department – a human from the plant off in the distance (somebody had to take out the trash) shrugged. “Something like that would be pretty hard to hide,” he replied. “Wouldn’t you think?”

 

“Hey,” the commissioner spat a wad of green stuff on the lawn. “I live in a trailer court. “We’d name something like those and send them out to earn their keep. Fuckers are too big to sit around watching TV and drinking beer all day.”

 

Both men laughed.

 

“Sure they’re big,” the disposal geek smiled. “But they’re just bugs.”

 

“Look,” the town waste guy frowned. “Ever wonder what that green glow is off the way when the sun goes down.”

 

The sheriff shrugged.

 

“You don’t want to know,” the geek replied. After a minute he reached in his pocket and handed the commissioner a wad of twenty-dollar bills. “Y’know, I don’t really see any reason to write this whole thing up, do you? There’s a reason we’re not on the map. I mean, after all, it’s not like we don’t have some kind of a problem the town hasn’t handled…”

 

The commissioner smiled, clapped the town official on the shoulder and took the wad of money. “Problem?” he asked. “What problem?”

 

“I mean, after all,” the disposal geek shrugged, “they’re just bugs, right?”