Slipshod

Just before dawn on a balmy Sunday morning, a mile outside of a festive looking shanty town, a spaceship landed. It resembled a dilapidated, lime green Ford Pinto station wagon with startling accuracy, save for the gull wing doors. With a click and a hiss the passenger side door opened, spewing white clouds of pressurized air from the seam. A figure stepped out, its eyes wide, round and glowing white. It was actually just the goggles; the rest of him wasn’t all that impressive. Spindly limbed with messy black hair, he wore a dusty red smock and black rubber galoshes. His mother certainly hadn’t dressed him that day.

“Where’s the town, Todd?! You said you’d land near a town!” he yelled, brushing off his clothes.

“I did land near a town. Honest I did.”

“Well where is it then?”

“A mile, uh…” Todd raised his arm like a divining rod. “That way.”

“Ugghhh.” The little one groaned, his shoulders drooping as he threw his head back in frustration. “That’s not close at all! And take off that dumb gas mask. The air’s fine.”

“Stop yelling at me, Tim. If I landed closer somebody woulda seen. And I’ve seen their movies, Tim. If I take this off-“

Tim waved away Todd’s superstitious worrying. “Whatever. Now I gotta lug my stuff the whole way.” He stepped back to the ship and leaned inside, fumbling around. After a few moments of rifling through empty take-out containers and soda bottles he got what he needed. He gripped a leather strap connected to both ends of a large pipe with flared ends and an aiming reticle...

He has a bazooka, apparently. I did not know that. Todd took something of his own from the ship, wrapped in a tarp, and strapped it to the top of his backpack. In direct contrast to his slim friend, Todd had a wide, stocky frame that held up quite well to Tim’s ineffectual physical abuse. His arms were like marble pillars and his hands were the size of frying pans, but his legs looked like they would buckle at any time from the weight. He wore a burnt orange robe and a full face gas mask with goggles that glowed just like Tim’s.

Tim slung the bazooka over his shoulder and fidgeted with the strap, squirming to get comfortable under its weight. He watched as Todd closed the door of the ship, causing the whole thing to rock. Tim closed his door with all his might, and succeeded only in closing it.

“Whatever. It’s time to go.” Tim readjusted the strap again and walked toward the village.

“It’s over there, Tim.” Todd said, pointing and looking at the ground.

“Whatever! Let’s go!”

“Okay, yeah. Sorry.”

~~~

continued in Stranger and Fiction Anthology 2

Crash Site by Tang Kheng Heng. Inspiration for this story.