Chapter Eighteen

"Kindest Regards, Denrick Forthallow"

 

Gina woke with a start when the earthquake threw her onto the floor from the corner of the bed where she perched at night. Shooting to her feet, she gaped in horror as her whole room quivered around her; books rustled their way off the shelves, drawers slid open, doors creaked, and that annoying crack in her ceiling crackled ever-further toward the wall, dislodging small chunks of plaster as it grew.

She had to get outside.

Throwing on a shirt, she picked up her phone and sprinted out into the living room, shocked to find Callana watching some morning news show in her pajamas, munching on a massive block of cheese.

“Good morning!” Callana said.

Von burst from his room, a half-naked Clenard trailing close behind. “It’s an earthquake!” Von said.

Then, it stopped.

As suddenly as it began, the earth went still, and Callana went on watching her show unperturbed, chomping off globs of cheese every now and then.

“Is everybody okay?” Clenard asked. Everyone shrugged. “Careful, there might be an aftershock. We should probably still go outside and—”

Someone knocked on the door.

All four of them shared confused looks. Who would come knocking on their door right after an earthquake?

“Probably just the neighbors,” Gina said, shuffling over to the door. She opened it, only to come face-to-sternum with a man whose head edged over the doorframe. What was he, seven-and-a-half feet tall? Aggressively plain-looking, the guy’s mildly dark skin, relatively brown hair, and almost-well-kept goatee wouldn’t have stood out anywhere, if he weren’t a good foot-and-a-half taller than anyone Gina had seen in ages. And he wasn’t a normal kind of lanky, either, he looked like someone had scaled up somebody vertically, until they were simply too big to be allowed. He wore some ill-fitting, plain T-shirts with a few logos and beach-themed designs on them—the cheapest clothes a tourist could buy—but had a curious set of earrings depicting a symbol of a figure raising their arms, circled by seven spheres. Behind him, he hefted a long pole, bundled up in burlap rags. That pole looked twice his height, already a mean feat concerning how much he towered over Gina.

“Hello. May I come in?” he said in a low, monotone voice. No accent, just a plain-looking guy in plain-looking clothes. But he just felt off in some odd way she couldn’t convey.

“Uh… hi, we’re probably gonna try to clear out, actually,” Gina said. “You know, in case there’s an aftershock?”

“Aftershock?” the man said. “Oh. Oh, yes, you won’t have to worry about that. Sorry.”

Gina looked back to Von and Clenard, who were shrugging at her. Clenard must have, at some point, slipped out of the room, because he was wearing one of Von’s loose shirts.

“I’m sorry,” Gina said, “who are you again? It’s, like, five in the morning.”

He reached out a hand. “No one of any particular significance.”

She looked down to his hand. Why was he reaching out to her like that?

“Oh, dear,” he said, “do you folks not shake hands? Sorry, I hope that isn’t a rude gesture here. Didn’t get much of a chance to research on my way—bit short notice, you know.”

“Shake... hands?” Gina asked. She’d never heard of anything so bizarre in her life. Why would she ever want to have intimate, physical contact with a total stranger?

“Yes, well, is it okay if I come in?”

“Uh… sure, sure,” Gina said, baffled. She led him in, and he ducked under the door, only to raise his head up to nearly brush the ceiling.

“Thanks. I do hope I’m not intruding.” He shut the door behind himself, scanned the room, and landed his gaze right on Callana, who took a bite out of her cheese block and smiled.

“Hello!” she said.

“Good morning,” the man said, a dull, soft, look in his eyes. He carried himself with such a slump, Gina could practically taste the melancholy dripping off him. “So, I suppose you lot are wondering why I’ve arrived. Well, it’s a bit of a complicated story; I’d really rather not get into details, especially since a lot of them are… so, so very classified.” He chuckled at that.

Gina shuffled beside Callana and sat gingerly on the couch, squinting at the man. He’d had to angle that bundled-up pole of his in an odd way to get it to fit in the door, and now he was just… standing awkwardly in their living room, waffling through a half-baked introduction.

“So…” the stranger said with a faint, halfhearted smile. “Glad to make your acquaintances, I’m, uh—okay, let’s just get into the meat of it; did one of you rip a star out of the sky last night?”

The room’s eyes shot to Callana.

She took a bite out of her cheese block, then shrugged. “Yes? I put one of the black holes in its place so the gra-vi-ty would not change.”

“I’m sorry,” Von said, “you what?”

“We had it for dessert,” Callana muttered, shrinking into herself.

Von stared at Gina for a moment. “You ate a star? For dessert? Callana I can understand, but you?”

Gina cradled her head in her hands. “We were so drunk—it sounded like a good idea at the time.”

“Pardon,” the stranger said, “did you say you ate it?”

“Yeah…” Gina admitted.

The stranger cocked an eyebrow, scanning her up and down. “Okay, yeah, so this is a problem. I mean, the star is fine—unpopulated, only had a cycle or two left in it, really. But, uh, we can’t have you lot eating celestial bodies. You’re lucky I was in the area, honestly. If any of the other folks on the follow-up team got to you, they’d have probably sniped you from orbit. Your kind aren’t supposed to be a threat after neutralization, so it’s way out of the ordinary for you to still be eating stars. Must have been a pretty strong one, eh?”

“I’m sorry, I’m not following here—this is all so fucking insane. What, are you some kind of alien or something?” Von asked.

“Eh,” the stranger said, waffling his hand back and forth. “Yes-ish. I mean it when I say it’s complicated. Point is, though, I’ve technically been sent to—uh—murder you?”

The room went silent, save for the TV’s relentlessly cheery, vapid dialogue.

“So… I’m not gonna do that,” the stranger said. “Because, to be honest, I don’t feel like starting today off by killing a bunch of kids.”

“That’s nice of you,” Gina said.

“Well, I just don’t feel up to it. And you lot don’t seem too uppity,” the stranger said, shrugging. “So, I’m gonna go try to tell the folks upstairs that it’s nothing. But, uh, since I’m not technically a member of the follow-up crew anymore, there’s a good chance they won’t listen. Some of the higher ups get a bit… skittish when it comes to celestial maggots. For good reason, honestly, we lose good folks to them all the time.”

“The fuck’s a celestial maggot?” Von asked.

“Uh… that,” the stranger said, pointing to Callana. “I mean, not anymore, I guess; she’s technically dead, and we don’t have a real term for the stage she’s in. A husk, perhaps? Probably ought to come up with a name, but we don’t really bother with the little ones after they’re neutralized.” He turned to address Callana directly. “To be honest, I’ve never actually heard one of your kind speak before. You can understand me, yes?”

Callana nodded. “I can understand you. You have met other types of me before?”

“Quite a few. None so pleasant as you, mind, but… hmm.” He shot her an odd look, inspecting her from head to toe. “What was your name, again?”

“Callana…”

Shrugging, he leaned against the wall, a disappointed frown burrowing into his cheeks. “Probably just a coincidence, then. Anywho, I’m gonna head out soon. Don’t eat any more stars, right? Make your own if you’re hungry. Honestly, if you can pull one out of orbit, you’re more than capable of it. But a word of caution: in case my superiors—well, ex-superiors—don’t listen to my report, please do be careful. Our operatives may, uh, try to catch you by surprise, so… here.”

He walked over to Callana and handed her a nondescript little wooden sphere the size of a marble. Gina had no idea where he’d gotten it from—he didn’t seem to reach anywhere for it, he just suddenly had it in his hand.

“Portable shield—not too strong, sorry, but I doubt they’ll send anything terribly tough if they do follow up on this. This’ll keep them from blowing your head off from orbit, but, you know, that’s about all I can do for you. So, keep it with you, and, uh, you kids have a nice day.”

“Hold on,” Gina spluttered. “Wait, you’re just gonna drop this on us? What’s going on? Who are you people? Are you the things that killed Callana in the first place?”

“Wait—killed her?” Clenard interjected.

“Probably?” the stranger said. “I’m not in this reality too often, so I wouldn’t know.”

“Sure, just drop that bomb on us, too,” Von muttered.

“You are the Angry Things?” Callana asked, slinking behind Gina’s shoulder.

“Look, kids, the longer I take, the less likely the commandant is to listen. He’s a bit of a priss about this kind of thing. We’re not exactly friends anymore, you know.”

“Fine,” Gina said, “yeah, no, I get it. Bosses suck.”

“That they do,” the stranger said as he slunk over to the door, angling his pole so he could take it out. “Anywho, sorry about the earthquake—I’ll try not to make another on my way out. Have fun!”

He ducked out the door, giving them a sad look and a little half-salute as he closed it behind him. A few minutes later, the earth rumbled even harder than it had before.

 

Well, I bet that guy will never, ever come up in any stories in the future. If you're enjoying Call an Ambulance!, consider supporting me on Patreon! For a few dollars a month, you can help me keep this series and more going. I have a lot more planned for the future, so be sure to stick around!

BONUS! A few short character sketches I made a little while back!