Drink Your Milk

B.J. Workman’s hammer bangs loudly against the Town Hall steps.

Brady Tasker goes back to the truck for more wood and a cigarette.

B.J. is known throughout the town of Dorset as a lanky, perpetually tanned, reliable, and likable craftsman with a loving wife and an average I.Q. He and his stocky, bearded drinking buddy Brady have been the town’s go-to builders for decades and are familiar faces throughout town.

Standing in the hallway a few feet from the steps, Chief Colt Kennedy whispers to Mayor Grayson Levant.

“Everything’s going according to schedule. Dorset will be ours within two weeks.”

“Good. If we succeed here then it’s on to the state capital, then Washington D.C. We’ll achieve domination without having to fire a shot.”

B.J.’s ears perk up. He pretends to measure the steps.

Broad-shouldered, with light hair and sharp features, Chief Kennedy often stops to chat with B.J. and Brady. Lately, he’s been giving them probing, icy stares. The same is true of Dorset’s pudgy, balding Mayor, whose once inviting smile has turned predatory.

“Do we have enough lubricant?” Mayor Levant asks.

“Yes. It’s plentiful here in the form of chocolate milk.”

Chief Kennedy gives B.J. a hard glance.

“Is Workman on the list?”

“No. His intelligence level is too low. Cyrus will deal with him.”

B.J.’s mind shifts to Cyrus, the newest addition to the police department. Cyrus is an ill-tempered German shepherd who seems to enjoy intimidating him.

B.J. hammers at the steps.

“Do you think he heard us?” Chief Kennedy asks.

“He has ears.”

B.J. carelessly drops his tools in the back of the pickup.

“What’s up with you, clumsy?” Brady asks.

“Something odd is going on around here.”

“Yeah, it’s that we worked through lunch. Drop me off at the bar. I could use some liquid refreshment.”

“No, not that. I heard the Mayor and Colt talking about taking over the town, and the government. I think we’re being invaded, Brady.”

“I always thought you were a liberal. I never thought you’d wanna throw immigrants out of the country. There’s enough work for everybody.”

“I’m not talking about people from other countries. I mean extraterrestrials. Aliens.”

“I’ve always loved you’re over the top sense of humor.”

Finishing his lunch, B.J. walks through the park to meet Brady at the pickup.

He sees three kids running in circles, whipping each other with tree branches. Curious, B.J. approaches two other children reading comic books on a bench.

“What are they doing?”

A girl with oval glasses looks up. “Playin’ army.”

“What’s that you’re reading?” B.J. asks.

“The Sub Mariner versus the Fantastic Four.”

“Cool. I remember reading that when I was a kid.”

“They had comic books when you were a kid?”

“Must’ve been written on stone,” a towheaded boy says without even looking up.

B.J. walks away muttering that the next generation will destroy the world.

“You have the estimate for the job?” B.J. asks as he and Brady walk up the steps of the Dorset Premier Theater.

A loud crash stops them cold.

“Sounds like breaking glass,” Brady says.

The two men enter the building in time to see the theater’s owner, Griffin Frye, being chased by his wife Fiona, who is holding a hammer.

Fiona’s normally stylish hair is standing on end. Her clothes are ruffled, and she’s puffing like a locomotive operating at high speed.

Seeing B.J. and Brady she curses unintelligibly, turning away.

Twice his wife’s size, the theater owner is bleeding from his forehead and has a bruised cheek.

“What did you do? Suggest a revival of “Oh, Calcutta?” Brady jokes.

“The remodeling project,” Griffin gasps. “We were talking about rebuilding the theater.”

“If money is the problem, we can find a way to cut some of the costs,” B.J. says.

“She doesn’t want to do it.”

“What? She was all charged up about a couple of days ago.”

“She was different a couple of days ago,” Griffin says, rubbing his head. “She was the woman I married, gentle, thoughtful. Now she’s acting like a rabid dog. Everything upsets her, and she’s talking crazy. Something about turning the theater into a hive.”

“A hive?” Brady asks. “You’re gonna make honey in the theater?”

“Not that kind of hive. She said it’s going to be a sanctuary for the new breed.”

“New breed of what?” Brady asks.

“Beats me.”

“Looks like she already did,” Brady cracks.

“You should put something on that cut,” B.J. says. “C’mon out to the truck. I’ve got a first aid kit.”

B.J. is tending to Griffin’s wound when Chief Kennedy and Mayor Levant pull up to the theater.

Fiona runs out of the theater toward them, pointing at her husband. Mayor Levant grabs her by the arms, trying to control her agitated movements.

Cyrus bounds out of the back seat of the Chief’s car, barking loudly at B.J.

“I hate that thing,” B.J. says.

“Sounds like the feeling is mutual,” Brady replies.

“At ease, Cyrus,” Chief Kennedy says, and the dog immediately squats obediently, staring at B.J. with angry silence.

His jawline clinched, Chief Kennedy strides toward them.

“You ought to put a muzzle on that frankfurter,” Brady jests.

Chief Kenndy’s voice is languid and grim.

“He doesn’t like riff raff.”

“Riff raff?” Brady shouts. “We played football together in high school, Colt. I blocked for you, Golden Boy!”

Chief Kennedy turns to Griffin. “Are you abusing your wife?”

“What? Look at him, Colt!” Brady jumps in. “It’s the other way around.”

“Stay out of this, Brady. Well, Griffin?”

“She’s been argumentative and violent lately. She’s talking crazy about turning the theater into some kind of hive.”

Chief Kennedy’s dead stare momentarily wavers.

“She certainly sounds unstable. We’ll take her to the psych ward for tests.”

“Wait a minute, Colt, that’s a bit extreme.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine in a few days,” Chief Kennedy replies dispassionately. “In the meantime, you should get that cut looked at.”

Their jaws drooping loosely, the three men watch Chief Kennedy walk back to Mayor Levant and Fiona.

“I’ve never seen Colt like this, so detached and emotionless,” B.J. comments.

“And that’s not the woman I married.”

“Well, at least the three of us haven’t changed,” Brady says.

Chief Kennedy and Mayor Levant stare blankly at the three men. Growling, Cyrus jumps into the back seat.

“This one needs an adjustment. She nearly gave us away,” Mayor Levant says, pushing Fiona into Chief Kennedy’s grasp.

B.J. pulls his truck into Cordell Cooper’s Lumber Yard.

The two men look around the yard.

“Kinda quiet,” Brady notes. “You usually hear the sound of buzz saws and forklifts.”

“Hang by the truck. I’ll go see if Cordell’s in.”

B.J. enters the office, finding the burly owner sitting with his feet up on the desk, sipping from a carton of chocolate milk.

“I’m here to pick up my order, Cordell.”

“I don’t have any wood,” Cordell replies lackadaisically.

“What? You’ve got a whole lumberyard of wood,” B.J. says. “C’mon, Cordell, I need it to finish the job at town hall. All you have to do is get up off your lazy butt and help me and Brady load up my truck.”

“I gave everybody a few days off,” Cordell says in a listless voice, hooking his thumbs in his bib overalls.

“What is this? National My Head is Made of Wood Week?”

“Come back in two days,” Cordell says flatly.

“Me and Brady can load it on our own. How much do I owe you?”

“Take what you need. Pay me when you can.”

Reaching into his pocket, B.J. pulls out his wallet, throwing down a series of bills on Cordell’s desk.

“There. Two hundred. Keep the change. I wouldn’t start giving away your wood. You’re gonna need it.”

B.J. and Brady load the wood into the back of the pickup.

“He really said that?” Brady asks.

“Yep. The cheapest man in Dorset was willing to let me pay him whenever I felt like it. That proves things aren’t right in this town.”

“Something funny is going on around here, Boo Boo.”

Kara looks up from her soup, smiling. The hippie-drenched brunette never tires of her husband calling her Boo Boo because it reminds her of when they met.

“Everybody’s getting edgy, rude. And a lot of folk have closed up their businesses or stopped caring about them. Brady and I went to the diner this morning. Miklos had to serve us because Millie and Molly have stopped showing up. Then we went to Cordell’s lumberyard. Not only was he grumpy, he could have cared less if we took every plank of wood he had.”

“Maybe it’s the effect of Daylight Saving Time,” Kara offers. “People act squirrelly sometimes because of the time change.”

“Maybe that’s it. But I overheard Colt and Mayor Levant talking today. They’re plotting together on something.”

Kara chuckles. “Probably an app for tourists or a new way to give out parking tickets.”

B.J. stretches. “Think I’ll take a walk. You want to come?”

“Thanks, but I’m in the middle of a really cool sci-fi book.”

B.J. walks out the back door, heading for Wells Walk, one of the less frequented hiking trails in town.

Walking down the path, B.J. is captivated by the presence of thickening smoke and a bright white light ahead of him.

B.J. cautiously creeps along the path, careful not to rustle the twigs and branches in his way.

Through the dense smoke, B.J. can make out Cyrus’ form ahead of him in a clearing.

He takes cover behind a tree, his hand touching some sap.

What he sees makes his entire body shake.

Chief Kennedy, Mayor Levant, and Cordell Cooper are standing around a stone pit.

A blinding light and thick smoke are rising from it.

Inside the pit is a metal chair.

Brady is strapped to the chair.

Chief Kennedy and Cordell pour a vat of dark liquid over Brady, who remains impassive and still.

The chair slowly sinks into the pit.

Moments later the chair rises.

Brady’s body is concealed in a dark shell.

Easing him out of the chair, Mayor Levant cracks the shell with a hammer.

The four men bow to each other.

“The conversion will be complete in two days,” Mayor Levant says. “Then you’ll be part of the hive.”

Moving closer, B.J. steps on a twig.

Cyrus’ ears perk up.

“What is it, Cyrus?” Chief Kennedy asks.

Barking loudly and incessantly, Cyrus charges down the path toward B.J.

B.J. sits up in his bed, panting loudly.

“Boy, have you been having a bad dream,” Kara says.

B.J. forces a laugh, rubbing the sap in his hand.

B.J. knocks on Brady’s door, worried they’re already late.

Brady’s wife, Diana, opens the door holding a glass of chocolate milk.

“What do you want?”

“My partner.”

“He’s sick,” the normally cheerful blonde says cooly, sipping her chocolate milk. “He’ll be better in a couple of days.”

“Jeez. That’s everybody’s excuse lately,” B.J. says. “Did I see him last night on Welles Walk?”

Diana gives B.J. a long, bottomless stare. “He came home after work feeling lightheaded. Then his stomach started to bother him. He’s going to need to take a couple of days off.”

“I was sure I saw him out on Welles Walk last night.”

“Must’ve been someone else,” Diana says, her stare turning threatening. “Maybe you dreamed it. It’s possible, right?”

“Oh, yeah, right. Can’t I see him for a minute?"

“You can see him in two days,” Diana says, slamming the door.

After lunch B.J. passes through the park, spotting the same group of kids he’d seen earlier in the week.

The five children are sitting calmly on the benches, their attention focused on their books.

The books are cream-colored with gold lettering in script.

“I’ve never seen that comic,” B.J. says.

“It’s not a comic book,” the girl with the oval glasses answers. “It’s the word.”

“The word?”

The girl holds up the book. B.J. stares dumbly at the lettering, unable to read it.

“Our laws,” the girl says coldly.

“You kids are kinda young to be studying law. And what language is that?”

The five children look up at B.J. with the same dead stare.

“I liked you ragamuffins better when you acted like kids.”

“So, any major news, Boo Boo?” B.J. asks.

“I wish you would stop calling me that.”

“Boo Boo? I’ve been calling you that since we met at Brady’s Halloween party twenty-five years ago. You made such a pretty ghost.”

Kara’s manner and speech turn frosty. “We’re adults now. It’s time we focus on a better life.”

Kara goes to the refrigerator. Returning with a carton of chocolate milk, she pours him a glass.

“Drink some milk, It’s good for you.”

“No, Boo Boo. I don’t want it. You know I’m lactose intolerant.”

“It’ll help you sleep. Don’t make me force you to drink it.”

B.J. reluctantly downs the glass of milk. Almost immediately, he feels jittery, and his vision begins to blur.

“My own wife… You’re a part of it too…,” B.J. says, closing his eyes.

When B.J. wakes up, he finds himself walking alongside Chief Kennedy in the darkness. Cyrus leads away, occasionally looking back at B.J.

Smoke rises ahead of them, covering a clearing. A bright light emanating from a pit forces B.J. to shield his eyes.

Chief Kennedy pushes B.J. along the path. “You should be proud of yourself, B.J. You were on the disposal list until you started snooping around. It showed us your deductive powers are much higher than we thought. Besides, it’ll be nice for Kara to have a partner.”

They stop when they reach the clearing. Smoke rises from a nearby bottomless stone pit.

Brady, Mayor Levant, and Cordell are holding onto Griffin, who struggles to try and free himself.

“What is this? What are you doing?” B.J. asks frantically.

“The conversion,” Mayor Levant replies.

A metal chair rises from the pit. Still struggling, Griffin is forced into the chair and strapped in.

Brady and Cordell pour a vat of dark liquid over him.

“…Please, help me, B.J.,” Griffin pleads as the chair sinks into the pit. “They’re going to turn me into one of them… A creature with no emotion! No soul! No love! They’re going to do it to you too!”

“The conversion is painless, as long as you don’t resist,” Mayor Lavant says.

B.J. spots a nearby large rock.

“Well, I’m sure as hell going to resist,” he says.

Reaching for the rock, he slams it against the back of Chief Kennedy’s head, bloodying his skull.

Dazed and angered, Chief Kennedy turns to face B.J.

His head splits open, revealing the heads of dozens of humanoid, reptilian, and other nightmarish creatures.

“The essence of those we have assimilated,” Mayor Levant says.

The creatures snap and snarl at B.J.

B.J. drops the rock as he watches Chief Kennedy’s wound close, and he returns to his human form.

“It’s time for you to join us,” Mayor Levant says as Brady and Cordell grab his arms.

B.J. calmly eats his shredded wheat at the breakfast table, staring ahead at nothing in particular.

Kara walks past the table, nodding at him.

“Don’t forget to drink your milk.”