(Installment #3) Mothology: Revelations

In Vegas Only Bookstore by Christine McKellar

Installment #3
Mothology: The Invasion
BLOGROLL: Revelations
23 February 2021 posted by Admin/Alison
     Erica arrived at my southeast Vegas house this morning in an ancient beat-up Mercedes Benz sedan driven by the biologist, Jon. Her hair has gone shock-white. Her dark eyes peered at me from deep-set hollows.
     “I’m dying,” she said to me without preamble. “Jon’s dying. You’re dying. We’re all dying.”
     For once I didn’t have a wise-ass retort to Erica’s habitual craziness. You see, I’ve been infected (no pun intended) with a certain paranoia myself. I wake up at night soaked in sweat. It isn’t because of the trending hyper-babble over the chemtrail theory. The Vegas skies have reverted to the clear deep blue of my earlier memories. What few contrails there are can easily be assigned to the commercial and military jets crisscrossing the aerial highways. It’s the lack of the broad feathery chemtrails that’s bothering me.
     Dr. Markenhoff’s publicized original theory had eventually inflamed the public’s interest in chemtrails to a feverish pitch (I no longer refer to Dr. Markenhoff as “Mothra.” My respect for the woman has grown exponentially along with my awakening.). Even as the government vehemently and publicly denied having ever sprayed or seeded anything whatsoever into American airspace—the chemtrails disappeared as inconspicuously as they’d begun.
     On the heels of that development, Erica sent me a stream of emails warning me about a secondary conspiracy. The original theory had evolved around the American government forcing aerial poison on the public. Jon and his cohorts had tirelessly tabulated data to prove it. In so doing, however, they came up with an even more startling conspiracy. They now claim the government is deliberately withholding mass aerial spraying from the public:
     << Cousin, I know you think I’m crazy to begin with but Dr. Markenhoff was 100% right about the nano-mites. They’re basically a benign extension of a much higher intelligence than humanity can fathom. They’re pollinating the universe, carrying a collective consciousness to the far reaches of the galaxies. The nanos are absorbed into human bodies through sinus, mouth, and ear. They live innocuously within; compiling data from us and our surroundings and feeding it back to the central consciousness. That’s what keeps the consciousness alive—the continued input of data.
     The drawback to this nano-infestation is that we believe the collective mind has programmed the nanos to ensure that their bio life on colonized planets is guaranteed to continue for as long as the inhabitants of each planet survive. To maintain this standard, the nanos recognize when a host body has reached its zenith as far as reproduction and usefulness. Once the host body begins to breakdown, as in AGE, the nanos eliminate that body as an unnecessary burden on the rest of the ‘collective’. My point? While I doubt that you’ve been reading the obituaries in Vegas, Jon has compiled data from obits all over the country, and even internationally. We’ve noticed a definite pattern: A highly unusual number of deaths are occurring in clusters: Clusters of persons 64 and older! >>
     After that disturbing email, I began the morbid habit of clipping obituaries out of the local newspaper. I started a shoe-box collection of funeral notices for people at or over the age of sixty-four: the box is nearly full. Obits, however, don’t go into gory details over a person’s demise. I spent one afternoon comparing Nevada census stats: D.O.B’s and death certificates. People aren’t dropping dead at sixty-four, but a suspicious number of them are dying soon after that landmark birthday. These poor sods aren’t even living long enough to collect the benefits of their social security.
     If Erica, Jon, and their cohorts are right about this nano-thing, I won’t live long enough to know my own grandchildren— much less collect social security! This thought is so horrible, I can hardly type. When I had my first son, Zack, I was in my late twenties. I’m forty-four now—do the math. Twenty years hence isn’t that much of a time span when you realize that’s only as far as the ante will up.
     I now look at Erica with a new sense of pity—one without scorn. A look of true compassion. My cousin is turning sixty-two this year. Jon is already in the death zone. He just turned sixty-four. They both have the hopeless aura of a person sentenced to die with no thought of clemency or reprieve.
     “So, Erica, what you’re saying is that when the government stopped spraying the chemtrails— people started dying? That the government could truly care less about aliens or even their intent to cull the aged and infirm from society?” My voice sagged as low as my spirits.
     “The government must know more than we do,” Jon responded in my cousin’s stead. He rubbed his age-speckled forehead. “An aerial compound of some sort was definitely being sprayed throughout the country. Now it’s been stopped. None of us believe the project was killed because of the inquests, protests, and pressure from the media. There has to be an ulterior motive for the powers-that-be to have stopped the sprayings.”
     An ulterior government motive? Dear Jon, you can bet your sweet bippy there’s a motive and it is bound to be ulterior! I, who once prided myself on the ability to live comfortably in de Nile, have become a near radical of late. As hard as it’s been for me to grasp the concept of alien invasions, nano-mites, and (what I picture in my mind) some monstrous, hugely immense mass of brain matter pulsating out there in the universe, I can easily imagine yet another major sanguine cover up by our government.
But, the fundamental question of “why” still begged to be answered.
     My eye was caught by a headline in the newspaper spread out on my kitchen table. “Economist Says Social Security in Trouble by 2028.”
     Jon appeared to be about to speak again, but I held up my hand. “Wait a minute. Wait just one damn minute,” I said.
I rapidly scanned the article and a feeling of such certainty washed over me that my hair stood on end. The baby boomers and millennials are not the cause of the Social Security problem, I read with growing horror. If the government had not looted the money, there would be enough assets in the trust fund to pay full benefits until at least 2042. The reporter went on to outline a series of accusations that our government was guilty of fraudulent embezzlement and looting of the Social Security trust fund.
     I stood up and walked over to where Erica sat with Jon. I put my arms around my cousin. I kissed her pale, cold cheek. “There is most definitely a conspiracy within a conspiracy. You were right all along. I know what it is now. We’re all going to fight it. We’re going to fight with every ounce of our being. I know this is going to sound crazier than anything anyone has conjectured before, but this is what I believe is going on.”
     Half an hour after I detailed my new theory the three of us wordlessly went about retrieving box upon box of data from Jon’s Mercedes. We set up two additional computers in my house. We shopped for groceries, toilet paper and sundries,  and cases of bottled water. None of us would be going anywhere for a while. There was much to be done and so little time was left, at least for Erica and Jon, in which to do it…
…to be continued…
This short story is a work of fiction. People, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.© “Mothology” 2004 Christine L. McKellar aka C.L. McKellar. All rights reserved. No part of this work of fiction may be translated, reproduced, transmitted or used in any form or format or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the copyright owner.