{"id":998,"date":"2015-04-28T08:31:03","date_gmt":"2015-04-28T16:31:03","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.bukkhead.com\/blog\/?p=998"},"modified":"2015-04-28T08:31:03","modified_gmt":"2015-04-28T16:31:03","slug":"the-great-white-nope","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.bukkhead.com\/blog\/2015\/04\/28\/the-great-white-nope\/","title":{"rendered":"The Great White Nope"},"content":{"rendered":"

fiction by Jason Edwards<\/em><\/p>\n

43 year old Bran Downson sits in a home office, stabbing furiously at a keyboard. His biggest fear: that a great white shark will come bursting through this office window, and devour him whole. Its steely teeth like knives stabbing into him as he\u2019s rendered into so much pulp. An irrational fear, to be sure, and yet what fears are not rational in the face of the truths of existentialism? That we are, all of us, disconnected entities afloat in a meaningless, hostile universe, a bittersweet knowledge that only serves to make a democracy of the great human fearscape, and the only terror that compels you are the ones you\u2019ve voted to a place of leadership? Bran Downson is also scared of spiders.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Corrupt Law Enforcement Officer Clancy Thompson grips with steely fingers the steering wheel of a Mark IV Ryan-Class Aquato-Ride tanker-transport utility vehicle. Traffic is superb on I-5 today, flowing like the tresses of an ethnically ambiguous woman dangerously but only morally and not legally close to the age of consent. His biggest fear: that the great white shark swimming in the hold of his tanker-transport will not do the job when Clancy has it flung through the upper-floor home office window of his next target. An irrational fear, to be sure, considering the 15 years of training under his belt, the ten thousand hours of practice in performing this particular operation, and the solid-gold crucifix he wears under his vibra-tech bullet and taser and naughty-glances proof vest, proof that God Himself is on his side. Still, operations like these, unnecessarily complicated for the sake of an outlandish and therefore entertaining plot, are too oft wrought with unforeseeables. To take his mind off of it, Clancy Thompson thinks about his favorite Eagles song.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

He seems to cling to the steely girders like a june bug on tree bark in the syrupy warmth of a Kansas July. His back hovers above the racing asphalt, a black unspeckled by sunlight here in the shadows of the truck above. Rogue Librarian Cutter Cliverson checks the security of the carabineer holding him to this speeding vehicle. All is good, despite the speed at which he travels, just a few inches from a messy death. His biggest fear: that great white sharks will continue to be abused by men for otherwise righteous causes. His mission: to thwart an attempt to fling poor Carol into the upper floor home office of an evil poetaster. Not because the poetaster doesn\u2019t deserve justice. He does, and Cutter has in his various pockets blades that will carry out the job. But not at the shark\u2019s expense. Cutter Cliverson checks his GPS-enabled watch one last time, sniffs the air for that tell-tale scent of Callery trees, and readies himself for action.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Bran hears a screeching of tires, ignores it. He is literally miles from the nearest body of water, a fresh-water lake, and many more miles from the Puget Sound, too orca-choked for great-whites to survive, and thousands of miles from San Diego. He continues to smack the keyboard around.<\/p>\n

Clancy tugs the wheel and turns off the highway. He needs to maintain momentum. Running a red light, he ignores the honking horns. An alarm on his dashboard flashes; he\u2019s losing water out of the tanker hold. No matter. He\u2019s within a quarter mile of his destination.<\/p>\n

Cutter pulls a small explosive from a pocket on his combat cargo pants, wedges it in his mouth and unhooks the carabineer. He begins to climb up the backside of the truck, clinging tightly is it rounds a corner at top speed. A cacophony of honking horns applauds his efforts. He ignores the pain as his shoulders are nearly wrenched from their sockets.<\/p>\n

Bran hits a few more keys, grabs the sticky mouse, clicks send. He is furious. His superiors need to know that the mission is a bust. The writer is nowhere to be found.<\/p>\n

Outside, Clancy tugs the wheel again, nearly tipping the truck. Ahead, the driveway of his destination. He calls into his mind memorized maps and schematics. The driveway is a good 500 feet in length, long enough for him to get up momentum. He flips a switch on the dashboard, opening the hatch that holds the shark.<\/p>\n

Cutter sees the hatch opening, knows he has only seconds left. He spits the explosive into his hand, and sticks it to the servo that will lift Carol into launch position. He hesitates before arming it. Carol will be harmed in the explosion. Cutter grits his teeth. It\u2019s for the greater good. Carol will die, but people will learn that using sharks to attack people is not a viable option. With tears in his eyes he drops back. His pant leg are caught in the mechanical launch arm. Damn it.<\/p>\n

Bran stands up, catches sight of the truck hurtling towards the window.<\/p>\n

Clancy floors the accelerator, and with a triumphant scream, pounds the large red launch button on the dashboard.<\/p>\n

Cutter feels the sharp tug of the mechanical arm on his cargo combat pant leg, as he and Carol the Great White Shark are flung into the air. The small explosive goes off, three milliseconds too late.<\/p>\n

Bran dives out of the room as the shark and librarian come crashing through the window. The truck slams into the closed garage door below. Clancy pulls a knife out of his pocket and cuts away the airbags. He jumps out of the truck and dives through the hole made in the garage door. Into the house and up the stairs. He turns right, towards the home office. Sees Bran, staring into the office through the door. The smell of Callery trees and rapidly bleeding great white shark. Clancy sees Bran peer into the room, and hears him say \u201cWhat the hell are you doing here?\u201d Clancy is about to answer, when Cutter emerges from the room, brushing Bran aside. Clancy\u2019s eyes go wide in shock. \u201cWhat the hell?\u201d he says. Finally Bran notices him, and his eyes, already wide in shock, doubled in size. Cutter sees Clancy too, looks again at Bran as if recognizing him for the first time. His eyes are also wide.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat the hell!?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat are you doing!?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere\u2019s the target!?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWho\u2019s the target!?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat the hell!?\u201d<\/p>\n

Carol, in her last throes, thrashes a bit, and dies.<\/p>\n

The three men descend the stairs, and walk into the kitchen. Bran opens the fridge, pulls out three beers, opens them and passes them around. \u201cThis is messed up,\u201d he opines.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere\u2019s the target?\u201d Clancy manages, after taking a long pull on his beer.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d Bran says. \u201cI came here for what looks like the same reason. He wasn\u2019t here. I just found some old guy, tied up in a closet.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWho\u2019s the target?\u201d Cutter says. He knows, but he asks anyway.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe writer,\u201d Bran replies.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe writer, the guy who wrote this crap, who\u2019s writing it right now.\u201d Clancy says. \u201cI was sent to take him out. I don\u2019t know why. He\u2019s trying too hard, I guess. Not towing the line, pumping out nonsense like, well\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLike this.\u201d Bran says. He frowns, hard, drains his beer.<\/p>\n

Clancy nods. \u201cAnd you were sent to stop me, Cutter? I thought we were on the same side.\u201d<\/p>\n

Cutter shrugs. \u201cWe are. I want him gone too. But not at shark-kind\u2019s expense. I didn\u2019t know it was you driving the truck. Besides, I failed. You were able to fling the shark through the window.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah,\u201d says Bran. \u201cAnd thankfully, I got out of the room in time.\u201d<\/p>\n

Clancy stares at his beer bottle label for a few beats. \u201cThis old guy you say you found. What\u2019s up with that?\u201d<\/p>\n

Bran pauses too. Then smiles an evil grin. \u201cLet\u2019s go find out.\u201d<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Two minutes later, three men crowd around an old man sitting in chair, his hands tied behind his back.<\/p>\n

Cutter pulls the gag out of the man\u2019s mouth. \u201cWho are you,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m Thomas Berger!\u201d the old man shouts. He looks to be about seventy, round bald head, thick lips, eyes that suggest he\u2019s actually probably a pretty good author himself.<\/p>\n

\u201cAny idea where the writer is?\u201d Clancy asks, holding a knife in his hand, idly running his thumb along the blade, drawing blood.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes! He went to the 7-11! It\u2019s just a few blocks from here! To get a Dr. Pepper and a bean burrito! I think he forgot about me!\u201d<\/p>\n

The three other men look at each other. Bran nods. Cutter nods too, and pulls out his own knife. \u201clet\u2019s do this,\u201d Bran says.<\/p>\n

They start to leave. Behind them, the old man shouts \u201cWait! I have a knife too! Take me with you!\u201d<\/p>\n

The three turn and looked at him. Cutter shrugs. \u201cSure, why not?\u201d He cuts the old man loose.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

They see the writer walking towards them as they leave the house. He doesn\u2019t even seem to notice the large truck crashed into his garage door, the gallons of shark blood pouring out of his home office windows.\u00a0 \u201cOh, hey guys,\u201d he says, carrying his stupid Dr. Pepper and his stupid bean burrito.<\/p>\n

They did not hesitate. They attack him, sharp metal flashing in the rare Seattle sunlight. The guy falls, bleeding. He has time to say \u201cYou too, Thomas Berger?\u201d And then covers his face in shame.<\/p>\n

They don\u2019t stop. Not for a long time. They stab him with their steely knives. But they just can\u2019t kill the beast.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

fiction by Jason Edwards 43 year old Bran Downson sits in a home office, stabbing furiously at a keyboard. His biggest fear: that a great white shark will come bursting through this office window, and devour him whole. Its steely teeth like knives stabbing into him as he\u2019s rendered into so much pulp. An irrational … <\/p>\n

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