The Last Supper

Round is now open.

Thanks to jessigirl (6) darkwrit3r for this prompt idea.  The prompt is:

Your being held at gunpoint while the store your in is being robbed. but thats not the worst thing, the robbers are not human and what they want is not money...Describe whats going on around you and what your feeling?

The Disturbed Tales Contest, this round will end on Dec 22nd at midnight WDC time.  After that date please cast your vote at the poll, "Disturbed Tales Contest Poll"  for the story you feel is best.


Good luck and I hope to see many entries.

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The Last Supper


by Indelibleink

The scene was festive: Christmas dinner in a local restaurant, with Jeff, his wife Pat, and a number of her brothers and sisters along with their respective spouses. All told, it was a baker's dozen of age 50-something, gathered for the annual Christmas feast at The Apostles eatery. In fact, this would be the 13th consecutive year that the family had gathered for a feast at The Apostles. As was tradition, a number of small tables had been pushed together to form a long rectangle, and everyone sat on one side of the table so they all would be able to witness the entertainment the restaurant management provided every evening on Christmas. This year, management had boasted of providing a choir of six children, all age six, scheduled to start singing at 6PM. And even though "fun" was to be the operative word for the evening, this year the smiles weren't quite as wide or the laughter quite as deep as in years gone by.

Of course, this year was vastly different from previous years. For one thing, this was the first time there were visitors from another planet treading upon our precious earth. And, even though the alien species - known as "snamuh" to earthlings - were quite similar to humans in virtually every respect - right down to blood type - it had become painfully obvious over recent months that the snamuh had some glaring differences. As a result, what had started out so promisingly as the classic example of two different species co-existing in perfect harmony, rapidly deteriorated to the present state of hate, distrust, and possible interstellar conflict.

The snamuh arrived on March 9 of this year, crash-landing in the South Pacific, an event witnessed by a full compliment of United Nations-authorized aircraft. With the assistance of computer-logic programs, the language barrier was solved in short order and it was revealed that the passengers and crew on this foreign aircraft - 1313 in all - had fled their native planet which was being destroyed by the snamuh equivalent of nuclear war. After concluding that, following a couple of months of intensive physical and mental testing, that the snamuh posed no threat to humans - in fact they were superior in their technological knowledge and applications - the United States invited them to "join the human race," an invitation which the snamuh gratefully accepted.

The problem lay in the fact that there was one area in which the snamuh were not tested, and that oversight was proving extremely critical: mosquito bites. Apparently, mosquitos were one of the few "earth-equivalent" species that didn't exist on Lithrian, the now non-existent home of the snamuh. Once bitten, the saliva that replaces the blood removed from the target causes a radical reaction in the bone marrow of the recipient. In the case of the snamuh, this resulted in a freakishly rapid form of bone growth that within a few hours culminated in bone growth so extreme that muscles and ligaments would be stretched to the point of tearing and/or snapping; bones would utimately rip through and protrude through the skin; always resulting in a painful and violent death.

That, in itself, was bad enough. However, that's not where the nightmare ended. The problem for humans was that once the mosquitos that had bitten the snamuh, and had digested their blood, they had now created a new strain of saliva that was equally devastating to humans. The blood of the snamuh, in a homeostatic attempt to kill off the bone-enlarging enzyme from the mosquito, proved to now have the opposite effect on humans. In other words, a mosquito that bit a snamuh and later bit a human was now infecting the human with a saliva that caused rapid bone shrinkage in humans, resulting in a death that was every bit as painful and grotesque as that of the infected snamuh.

Equally, if not more, alarming was the fact that if the infected mosquito bit another animal - a cow, for example - the enzyme may lay "dormant" in the animal's blood - with the animal showing no outward sign(s) of infection until consumed in the form of steak or hamburger down the road. This had resulted in massive herds of cattle and other animals - particularly those in warmer, wetter climates frequented by the mosquito - being exterminated as a precautionary move. Also, mosquito spraying became mandatory nationally, with a global policy expected to be implemented shortly. Migrating birds were also exterminated to a great degree. Another, less publicized, by-product from the hysteria generated were the reports of some "witch hunts" in which the snamuh were reportedly hunted down and literally burned alive in the mistaken belief that burning would eliminate the spread of the disease. Although publicly denounced as "unproductive" and "primative" by the U.S. government, the mob mentality that had gripped the nation was too widespread, and occurred too quickly, for the government to intervene upon isolated attacks. Also, the degree with which snamuh was identical to humans made identification difficult. The most obvious difference was that the snamuh's nostril lacked as much cartilidge as a human's, and it almost appeared as if there was only a solitary nostril rather than two. But it was difficult to tell for sure, so unfortunately, many humans that were born with slight birth defects in the nose area, or those who had recently undergone plactic surgery around the nose, were mistakenly thought to be snamuh who were trying to hide their identity, and were quickly cremated in public without being given the chance to plead their case.

"I'd like to propose a toast." Jeff, seated at the center chair of the rectangular dinner table because the "master-of-ceremonies" was assigned on a rotating basis, and this year was his turn, rose to his feet and raised his glass of wine. "To good friends, great family, continued good health, and few mosquito bites."

The statement was met with a few nervous laughs along with some rather hearty guffaws. Jeff's feeling was that by addressing the common fear straight-on, the group might be able to put their concerns behind them - at least temporarily - and enjoy the evening. After a few more seconds, the usual round of insults and banter followed:

"Shut up!"

"Sit down!"

"Have another glass of wine, moron!"

Sure, they were all insults, but all were said in the manner that comes with many years of friendship and trust. It promised to be a fun night.

The Apostles was not a large restaurant. It had seating for probably about 150 guests; half that amout if there were going to be a floor show as there was scheduled for tonight. The layout was horseshoe-shaped, with all guests seated behind the tables to provide good visibility of the show for all guests. Jeff's party was farthest from the stage, but offered the best view as it was centered straight back from the stage. It was about 5:45PM, and most of the groups were finishing up their respective Christmas dinners in anticipation of the Christmas concert that was soon to commence.

A few minutes before six, John, the owner of the restaurant walked up on the stage an stood in front of the large red curtain, removed the microphone from it's support, and rapped it with his knuckles a few times to get everybody's attention.

"Good evening folks...Can everybody hear me okay?" The crowd roared its affirmation. "Okay...my name's John Paul. the owner of The Apostles restaurant, and I'd like to thank you all for sharing your Christmas with us. We have a really special presentation tonight, a group of singers called The Serenity Six. There's not just six of them, folks, the real treat is that they are all very talented singers at just six years of age! The first song they will do will be Christmas Angel in which they will sing while suspended from various heights as if flying like angels!" The crowd responded with a thunderous ovation. "So, without further ado, let's get this party started...Enjoy!"

John Paul hopped from the stage, and the curtain was slowly raised as the music started. The curtain was about half-way up when the music reached the point when the children should have started singing, but no voices were heard. An ominous hush fell over the room as it became apparent that something was terribly wrong. As the curtain continued to rise, a limp pair of feet appeared beneath the bottom of the curtain. Then another, as the the curtain continued to rise. Then another. John Paul was seen frantically signalling the stage crew to stop the raising of the curtain, but the curtain continued its stubborn upward journey. Screams came from the table that sat the parents of the children in the choir, as the first child that was fully revealed had a suspension cord that was supposed to be affixed to a link on a harness on his back instead wrapped around his neck. The curtain continued amidst what quickly became mass hysteria as it soon was apparent that each angel had met the same fate.

As more parents rushed the stage, and others started to race toward the exits, masked gunmen appeared at each exit and began firing automatic weapons point-blank into those approaching them. The spray of blood showered the stage and the screams that filled the air began to lessen as the executions continued. Apparently, a fusebox was hit in the crossfire, as all of the lights suddenly went out.

Jeff and his group had been fortunate enough to have been farthest from the stage and the main exits, and had instinctively fallen to the floor when the shots began. Jeff also knew there was another exit directly behind where they had been sitting, so through nudges and whispers, the group communicated the plans to escape out the service entrance to one another. On hands and knees, the group proceeded towards the back of the kitchen, feeling their way along the floor.

Suddenly the lights in the kitchen went on, revealing four or five blood-spattered hooded gunmen. There were a couple of screams from within the group, and Jeff rose up in a desperate attempt to speak to the killers. One of the gunmen raised a weapon and fired at Jeff. All went dark and silent.

Jeff awoke to the whirring sound of machinery. Completely horizontal, he tried to get up, but immediately discovered he was being restrained by straps. He looked around and could see he was still in the restaurant kitchen. He could see his wife, Pat, not far away to his right. He could see everybody else from his family, and some others that he recognized as guests who had been at other tables in the restaurant. All were hooked up to machines which looked similar to kidney dialysis machines, and, outside of an occassional groan, all appeared to be unconscious, at best. And at each machine was a hooded figure also undergoing a transfusion of some sort. 

Jeff stared at the hooded figure seated next to him; apparently the guy had noticed Jeff looking around. The figure stared at Jeff for a moment, then started to look away.

"Wait! Please...talk to me," Jeff pleaded.

The figure stifled a laugh from under the mask, and from under his jacket brought out a microphone-type of device. He began to speak a language that was completely unfamiliar to Jeff, but a split second later, words in English began to come from the bottom of the mike.

"What is it you wish to hear, my human friend? That I won't hurt you? That I won't kill you? That I won't embark on an extermination mission like your people have done to mine? Is that what you want to hear?"

Jeff laid his head back on the table for a moment. The snamuh! "What has happened here? Why did you kill all of those people...those children? Why?"

"We need the ID's of certain people to flee your country. We are sorry about your children, and the others, but we are a desperate people, on the verge of extinction. We had to act fast, with no witnesses."

"Wait a minute. How do you expect to fool anyone using the voice translater?"

The snamuh dropped the synthesizer to the floor and crushed it with his foot. He then spoke with his own voice, using almost perfect english. "We are fast learners, wouldn't you say? We wanted to use the translater up to the very last minute to learn as many words as possible before discarding them."

The portable transfusion machines began beeping throughout the kitchen, and the hooded snamuh began disconnecting the leads, first from their own arms, and then from the arms of their captives.

Jeff asked the question that he didn't want to hear the answer to. "I expect that you are going to kill us like animals, just like you did to the others?"
 
"My friend, should the blood you now have circulating through your veins be tainted as we believe it to be, in a short time you will be wishing that we had executed you."

Indeed, it was, and even as they spoke Jeff could feel the tingling within his bones as they began the preliminary process of reduction. Jeff immediately thought of Pat, and the pain she would soon be feeling, and what he would do to comfort her and her family members as they dealt with a what would surely be a horrible death.

Jeff's heart skipped a beat when he noticed that she wasn't laying down where she had been earlier, and he struggled in an attempt to free himself from the ties that bound him.

"Jeff, Jeff...Take it easy, my love. You're in no condition to be struggling like that."

Jeff recognized the voice coming from behind him immediately as that of his wife's. She walked over to him on his right side, looked down at him , and smiled. As Jeff was now starting to feel slight pressure within his skull, and felt ligaments and tendons body-wide beginning to stretch as bones slowly were becoming smaller, he wondered how his wife was avoiding the same fate. He struggled to get his failing jaw to operate.

"H-H-H-How?"

Pat looked down at her dying husband, reached up and into her nose, removing a small flesh-like appendage. The removal of this piece left his wife's nose without a nostril divider; what had been two nostrils was now one. Jeff could no longer speak, but his wife knew what his questions were.

"Yes, dear, I am of snamuh heritage. I will try to explain in the short time you have left. We have visited this planet many times, undetected by your civilization, until we had the recent equipment malfunction on our vessel last March. I came here, with the rest of my family, about 50 of your years ago. With fictitious paperwork, many of us were placed in adoption agencies, including me. My earth parents never knew. The ironic thing about all of this is that in our previous visits, we had always visited in the winter in northern climates, so encounters with your mosquito never occurred. And, those of us who were placed here to live, quickly adapted and developed an immunity to the mosquito bite. We recently discovered that just a partial transfusion of our non-tainted blood to one who is infected is sufficient to save he who is infected. And another thing: We came here with the intention of taking your planet - knowing ours was doomed - from you, as we find your policies counter-productive and annoying, but we had no means to do so. How fitting that the ultimate result of your devastating mosquito bite on us will eventually consume all of the humans on this planet! But, until then, we have to remain inconspicuous until we have regained our strength, and you, as a country, have lost more of yours."

Pat then looked over at one of the hooded members of the snamuh and gestured for him to come over to where Jeff lay.

"One last thing, my sweet. You are probably wondering about why I was placed on your planet 50 years ago. The answer is that my job was to collect DNA from you and other humans in my "earth" family. I did so, and the DNA was secretly returned to out scientists. we are considerably ahead of your species in what you refer to as 'cloning,' as this gentleman will demonstrate."

The hooded figure removed the mask that covered his head, and leaned down closely to Jeff, whose sight was rapidly failing as a result of the now intense pressure that was building beneath his shrinking skull.  As the face of the alien moved to within inches of Jeff's, he gasped in horror as he recognized an exact duplicate of his own face! His eyes, already beginning to bleed around the perimeter from internal pressure pushing outward, blinked in astonishment. Pat grabbed the clone, and spun him around to face her. She looked down at her husband and smiled.

"Although I'll miss you, my dear, you have to admit that I'm getting a newer, improved model."

Pat proceeded to embrace in a passionate, lengthy kiss with her new mate.

Jeff's eyes popped out of their sockets.


2879 words