~Bloworld~

~BLOWORLD~

Jimmy Archer and his Grandfather, Cap’n Dick followed Glocken, of the Reptilian Corca Achte Clan, through a roughly ten foot diameter tunnel deep underground. It was called the Bloworld and many civilizations living below the Earth’s crust had been there long before the existence of man. There were stories of course, fanciful tales by Jules Verne and Edgar Rice Burroughs. Hollow Earth theories from Gardner. Even Admiral Byrd said he found entrances to the underworld at the Poles. But Jimmy never believed any of it. Now here he was. With a Drachonian no less.

           Glocken was under six feet and stocky. His face was flatter than the Drachonian Lizard people that Jimmy had seen previously, and his scales, not yellow or green but a reddish hue. Debbie, Jimmy’s Hybrid wife (known in Alien circles as the Comista of Earth) had contracted Glocken to guide them through the Bloworld to the city of New Goshin which set 15,840 feet (4,828 meters) beneath Jerusalem, Israel. Their mission was to retrieve a radioactive gemstone from an Alien race called the Blue Elbrines. Jimmy and his Grandfather were from a Clan of Alien/Human Hybrids called Callans that stretched back for millennia. Grandaddy had explained to him earlier. “Listen Boy. Most Drach’s are inherently evil. Don’t trust him and don’t believe his bullshit. He would just as soon kill you and eat you as look at you.”

           “But Grandaddy. He’s a cripple.”

           “You heard me Boy. Trust me. I’ve been fighting these motherfuckers for 200 years.”

           So here they were in the Bloworld moving at a snail’s pace as Glocken drug his bad leg behind him with each step. From the knee down it was mostly bone showing through spotty patches of black skin or red scales. The foot was a calloused mound of flesh with no toes or claws.

           Jimmy mused out loud to Granddaddy about being so far below ground. The walls were an amazing display of colors. White, gray, orange and brown. The floor, tightly packed dirt from tens of thousands of years as a footpath for underground dwellers. Even with his advanced sense of smell the myriad of odors were so thick and varied, it was hard to distinguish them. And in spite of the high humidity, breezy and cool. “This is nothing John Henry. I spent some time in the Bloworld during World War II. We call these tunnels drafts and the entrances from above portals. Most of the drafts are much wider and higher than this one. When you see a Grotto or a real city it will knock your socks off.”

           “What is a Grotto?”

           “They’re big open areas for resting or trading. Kind of like waypoints.”

           “So this Bloworld, how far does it go?”

           “It’s everywhere. I’ll take you under Antarctica one day. That place is poppin’. You’d think you were in Dallas, Texas.” Grandaddy stopped and addressed the Drach, “Hey you.” The Drach kept moving. “What did you say this Drach’s name was John Henry?”

           “Glocken.”

           “Hey Glocken!” That got his attention. “We got four hundred miles to go. We’ll never get there at this rate. What do say we take turns carrying you while we run…you know to make some time?”

           Glocken uttered a string of grunts, hisses and guttural sounds.

           “Grandaddy, that must be Drachonian talk. Glocken, do you speak any English?”

           “Speak English well,” Glocken responded. “Yes, carry. Money is same John Henry.”

           “No, My name is Jimmy. Grandaddy just calls everybody John Henry or Boy.” The Drach looked confused. “Never mind. Climb up here piggy-back.” Again Glocken was clueless. Jimmy turned and leaned over. “Climb up,” he was gesturing. “Wrap your legs around my waist and hold tight to my backpack.”

           They took off into a medium jog. In spite of his bulk, Grandaddy ran effortlessly. “Let me know when you want to switch John Henry.”

           “Yes sir.”

           “So Drach Boy, how did you mangle that leg?”

           “Much narrative.” Glocken replied.

           “We got nothing but time, right John Henry?” Jimmy just smiled.

           Glocken said, “When tracker of few wells, desire to Upworld.”

           Jimmy interrupted. “Hold up Glocken. What does tracker of few wells mean?” Glocken couldn’t find the English words and spewed some hisses and growls.

           Grandaddy jumped in, “I got it Boy. They measure time in the Bloworld by water dripping. A well is about twenty years. A few wells would be less than two hundred years. That’s young for these guys. Go ahead with your story Drach Boy.”

           “Upworld is forbidden. Still Glocken vamoosed. Found self in swampland, Floriday.”

           “He probably means Florida.” Jimmy said.

           “Much bright, much open. Scary, flat, feral entity take Glocken leg. Pull Glocken to bottom of wetness. Glocken fight, kill. Leg gone. Home next. No more Upworld. From many wells this is leg now.”

           “A gator got him.” Said Grandaddy.

           “And his leg is growing back? That’s wild Grandaddy. We have Drach DNA, would our legs grow back?”

           “I hope we never find out Boy.”

           “So Glocken,” Jimmy asked, “why don’t you just shift into something with two legs so that you can walk normally? Won’t that work?”

           “Glocken no shift. Glocken not Regailian.”

           “What’s he talking about Grandaddy?”

           Grandaddy answered, “Drachs can only shapeshift if they have royal blood in ‘em.”

           “That’s interesting, I did not know that. Tell me Glocken, how did you end up in Florida. That must be 5 or 10 thousand miles from here?”

           “Glocken made and raised in Ulandrel, under what you call Southeast us.”

           “Us? You mean U.S. “

           “Yes”

           “That’s where we’re from. You’re a long way from home.”

           “Yes. Too far.”

           **********

           After running several miles, boredom got the best of Jimmy and he asked, “Glocken, you like stories?”

           “Yes, much.”

           “Grandaddy, tell us a story about Papa.”

           “Okay Boy.”

           “What Papa be?” Glocken inquired.

           “Papa is my Great Grandfather, Grandaddy’s father. We lost him last winter fighting Lucy Lange and his horde in Mexico.”

           “Ah, Lucifer, Annunaki, and the Sayya Clan. Good bye. Good loss. Epic tale. Tell of Papa.”

           Granddaddy was more than happy to talk about his father. He still missed him every day. “Sure Boys. Back before the war, me, Bishop, Borey, Cap’n Willie and Jody were building a guest house behind Borey’s barn. We were pretty much done framing it up and were getting ready to put the sheathing on. Borey was on the second floor rafters and needed the power saw to square the rafters with the joists. Cap’n Willie was on the saw horses on the ground, he was the cut man. After pulling all of the slack cord to the edge of the house, Cap’n Willie threw the Skil saw up to Borey on the roof. The OSHA man would have shit himself if he had seen that.”

           “Wait.” Glocken interrupted. “One, then two problem. OSHA and where Papa in story?”

           “You know,” said Granddaddy, “OSHA, the safety guy.”

           Jimmy tried to clarify. “Glocken. America has building and safety codes enforced by…never mind. Forget that part. Papa is Borey. That’s what Grandaddy calls him, Borey. I call him Papa.”

           “Fat man talk bad. Borey, John Henry, Boy, say name.”

           Grandaddy looked over at Gloken with offense. “Who you calling fat man you pegleg son of a bitch? I’ll slap your red ass right off of that backpack.”

           Jimmy was getting tickled. Glocken wouldn’t be they’re guide for much longer at this rate.

           “No, no Grand Daddy. Glocken wrong. Want more tale.”

           “Jesus.” Mumbled Grandaddy. “And you say I talk funny. Alright. So anyway. Let’s see, Borey has the saw up on the roof, oh yeah. The sky turns dark and it starts to raining. Borey tells us it will pass and keep working. Cap’n Willy goes for another saw from the trunk of his car. He gets his old Skil saw and can’t remember why he wasn’t using it in the first place. It turns out that the switch was bad. Some of the brushes must have been touching against the handle because there he is standing in a puddle of water, holding the trigger down, shaking. He’s being electrocuted right in front of everybody. So just like that (he snapped his thick fingers), Borey drops his saw, runs and dives off the second story roof. As he hits the muddy ground, he goes into a roll while pulling the plug out of the extension cord killing the power to the saw. Well Cap’n Willy drops like a stone right into that puddle of water. He’s dead as a doornail. Borey pulls his head up, takes his big boney fist and hits him twice in the chest. Then he starts mouth to mouth resuscitation, both of ‘em soaking wet now. Willy comes around and starts rubbing his hands over Borey’s head and back like they’re making out. We all start laughing our asses off. Borey didn’t think it was funny. He dropped Willy’s head back in the water and walked away.”

           Granddaddy seemed finished with the story and Jimmy said, “What happened next Grandaddy?”

           “Well, it turned into a full blown deluge so we put the tools away and spent the rest of the day drinking moonshine in the barn.”

           They stopped at an intersection. Jimmy pulled a small clove of garlic from his pocket and tossed it behind him to mark the trail. “Which way Glocken?”