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Disclaimer: Once again, Godzilla: The Series belongs to Touhou and Sony-Tristar, while Buffy The Vampire Slayer is the property of Joss Whedon. This short is rated PG by the Motion Picture Association of America for language, mentions of violence, and male strippers. It follows “Loose Ends.” Note: The views and opinions expressed in regards to the US Air Force in this story are those of Major Anthony Hicks and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the author.
Another Vine Mess
“It looks like we missed all the fun, sir,” Finn commented dryly, as we climbed out of the helicopter. I gave him a sideways look, but he was right, it looked like things here were all over except for the paperwork. Ambulances were parked in a haphazard curve in the parking lot of a nearby convenience store, with police cars pulled up around them, as people milled around the giant crater that, by all reports, had up until half an hour ago been the Ladies’ Night strip club in Oxnard, California. I didn’t notice any bodybags, which was good, and I didn’t notice any giant lizards, which was better. What I did notice was a familiar dark-haired figure sitting on the back bumper of a pickup truck and staring at the crater.
Finn obviously saw him too, because he blinked hard before looking over at me. “Sir… isn’t that?”
“Looks like it.” Our uniforms got us some funny looks, but they also got us passage through the crowd without anybody hassling us. As I got closer, my suspicions were confirmed; that was one Alexander “Xander” Harris, who from the look on his face was riding out the tail end of his adrenaline dump with the ease of long practice.
I still didn’t know exactly what the story was there, though I’d learned a few new things since recovering those particle beam guns in Sunnydale a month ago. Apparently the DRI (still didn’t know what that meant) had one of its major bases in said town, underneath the college campus of all places. Which made me that much more certain that whatever the giant snake had been, I wasn’t cleared for it. Yet, anyway; I seemed to be getting read in on the situation one bombshell at a time. One of Colonel Abernathy’s old service buddies, a Colonel Fairborne, had apparently been given the command slot after Walsh got bounced and her second, Colonel Haviland, massively failed his ethical review. They were farming out a lot of the young enlisted guys who’d been posted there, and Abernathy said I was probably going to be getting a few, hence why I was getting information at all. Now if the brass would only get their heads out of their asses and just authorize a full briefing. Oh well, if I’d wanted easy, I’d have joined the Chair Force.
I shook myself out of my thoughts as Finn and I made our way out of the last of the crowd, deliberately halting inside Harris’s line of sight. As soon as he saw us, the kid was up on his feet in another of those parade-ground perfect salutes.
“At ease, kid,” I sighed. “You know, you really don’t have to salute every time you see me.”
“Yeah, I kind of really do, sir,” he replied, ruefully. Relaxing, he pulled his mylar space blanket back up around his shoulders, though he didn’t sit back down.
“You know how it is,” he continued. “Reflexes don’t listen to your brain.”
Yeah, okay, I couldn’t argue with that one. I turned to look at the crater, noticing as I did so the bits of scorched, withered plant matter scattered around. Then I turned back to the kid.
“Okay, then. My guys are establishing a perimeter, so this interview might be interrupted by a upset EMT or five, but before that… Harris, what the hell happened here?”
He ran one hand through his hair. “Um, how far back do you want me to start?”
“... Might as well start with why you’re in Oxnard, of all places.”
“Oh, that one’s easy. My classes at the community college don’t start until September, so I decided it was a good time for a road trip. See the country, Kerouac style, you know? Except my car is basically a collection of rust held together by duct tape and happy thoughts, and the duct tape kind of gave out here in Oxnard. I sold it for scrap, and started working at the establishment behind you, as a cook, I stress. It sucked, but it paid something, at least.
“Anyway, we’d been having issues with the plumbing all day, and finally, just before we opened, we found out why, as these thorny vines started coming out of the pipes. And then the HVAC system. And then the walls. They kept trying to grab people… luckily, I found a fire ax and managed to mostly get a path to the door.”
He scratched his ear, then sighed. “I don’t… I knew it wasn’t the kind of thing we usually deal with. After a while, you start getting a sense for how that stuff sort of… feels? Like feeling the ripples when you drop rocks in a pond. I didn’t feel any of that, so… I told the business owner to give you a call and went back in to see if there was anybody else still inside.”
“And was there?” I prompted gently, as he didn’t seem like he was going to continue anytime soon.
“Yeah. Yeah, there was. The thorns on the vines were hollow, like, like syringes. And they were just sucking the life out of people-- I guess it was dehydration, but all I could see was the vines sucking people dry like though a straw. I went… a little axe happy, got as many people out as I could, but the damn thing kept trying to spread, or maybe break through the concrete and get away. So, having played Resident Evil a few times, I went looking for the root ball. And found it, in the basement.
“Apparently, whatever it was, it had grown up and… uh, through some bags of fertilizer. Which, I don’t know why they were there, so maybe that was part of the problem. Also the root ball tried to eat me. But Ladies’ Night still uses fuel oil to run the heaters, so, uh--”
“You made ANFO.” I wasn’t even really surprised. It wasn’t that difficult to put together, really, which is why it was beloved of terrorists and whackos the world over. Harris obviously had a lot of experience with chaos and mayhem, made sense that he’d learn field-improvised explosives.
“Fed it a nice big glob, then tossed a road flare from a car emergency kit at it and ran like hell. Just cleared the front door when the place went up. Lucky me, the concrete basement walls directed most of the blast up, so I just got the wind knocked out of me and couldn’t hear crap for half an hour. You still kind of sound a little funny. Though that might be the New York accent.”
Yeah, yeah. He was obviously still fronting, but I wasn’t going to call him on it. Better to work through this shit with his friends or his therapist, assuming he did.
“Did the medics clear you?” Finn asked, surprising me. He didn’t usually speak up much when shadowing me. Made people underestimate him.
“Weeelll, I may have come to an understanding with the nice EMTs. I promised them that I hadn’t hit my head and nothing hurt, and that I knew what concussions felt like, because I play rugby. They got tired of arguing, gave me the blanket, and are waiting for me to pass out before they swoop in like vultures.”
“Rugby?” I couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at that.
Harris shrugged. “It was the first thing I could think of that wouldn’t have them calling either the cops or the funny farm. I’ve got a first aid certificate, though, Giles insisted. Came in handy a few times, especially the CPR.”
He snapped his mouth shut, obviously aware he was rambling. I was putting that down to exhaustion and the adrenaline finally wearing off, since his eyes were clear and he had no visible head wounds. He perked up as a thought crossed his face.
“Oh, Buffy totally wanted to say thank you for the care package last month.”
“What package?” I said blandly. He just grinned at me. I still didn’t know what the hell was going on in Sunnydale, but Finn had confirmed, without confirming anything at all, that whatever it was, beam rifles would be very appreciated. And somehow, I was thinking a bunch of misfit teen civilians were the best choice to be using them. Which probably meant I needed my head examined, but hell.
I looked at the kid, then back at the wreckage of his former place of employment. Looking over at Finn, I came to a decision.
“So. We’re going to need to formally interview you about this whole mess, or at least type up your statement and have you sign it. How about you come take a nap in the back of a personnel carrier, and when we’re done here, we can fly you back to the Sunnydale base, take care of the paperwork, and drive you home?”
Harris looked me over for a long moment, then smiled. “Yeah, that… honestly sounds pretty good right now, sir.”
“You’re not enlisted, Harris, you don’t have to call me sir.”
“Would you prefer Boss? Grand Poo-bah? Uncle Tony?”
God above, I could not let this kid meet Randy Hernandez. The world would not survive. “Major is fine, kid. Come on, let’s get you some sleep before you get even weirder.”
And if I maybe slipped the kid a card with my personal cell number, just in case… well, sometimes you just had to follow a hunch.
After all, I’d let a giant radioactive lizard escape on nothing but a gut feeling and a radiobiologist’s say-so. And look how well that turned out.
Owari