This Is Why I Don't Shake Hands

I caught a story virus from McGone, who was infected by "Patient Zero" Splotchy--who didn't sneeze into his sleeve before touching others.

I'm continuing the story, color-coded by each participant so far. I've challenged myself to find ways to include the names of each of the authors in my section. I pick it up after the purty sequential art that's too good for the blogosphere...

I woke up hungry. I pulled my bedroom curtain to the side and looked out on a hazy morning. I dragged myself into the kitchen, in search of something to eat. I reached for a jar of applesauce sitting next to the sink, and found it very cold to the touch. I opened the jar and realized it was frozen. (Splotchy)

I was used to the house being quite cold in the mornings, as the night log usually burns out around one AM when I am dreaming cozily under my covers, not normally waking to put a new one on until morning. I was surprised because on the rare occasions that it actually had reached sub-freezing temperatures in the house, I had awakened in the night to restart the fire. I would have been worried about the pipes before P-Day, but there hadn’t been running water in two years and that was one of the few advantages to being dependent on rainwater, no pipes. (Freida Bee)

I rummaged around in the kitchen and found one of the few things that hadn't frozen overnight to eat- an expired granola bar. "Better than nothing", I muttered to myself as I tore off the wrapper and took a bite, trying to not chip a tooth in the process.I thought I should go out to the shed and bring in more wood. The mind-numbing cold snap that had set in over the last few days seemed to be in no hurry to leave. Pulling on my heavy coat and wool hat, I considered for a moment what lay ahead for the day. Normally I would spend much of the day making any needed repairs to the house, cleaning, reading various newsletters, cooking, and just trying to keep busy in general. With no job to fill my time anymore I have found my new found "freedom" to be both a blessing and a curse. Ever since P-day, the only job most of us have is to sit in our homes and find something, anything, to pass the time.Well, that- and to stay alive. (Whiskeymarie)

I reached the woodshed I’d built from the remains of our fence, and heard a rustling. Fearing one of the wild dogs that now roamed the neighborhood, I crept back to the house for the gun my husband left with me before he volunteered to join the fighting. My hand was shaking so badly, I didn’t think I could pull a trigger, so I also grabbed an old broomstick to use as a club. My son tried to follow me, and I ordered him back inside; he obeyed, frightened by the harshness of my tone. He seemed not to sense how terrified I was and I was glad. Inching toward the shed, glancing backward every few steps to be sure the children were staying inside, I heard the rustle again, accompanied by a very human cough.

“Who is it?” I shouted, in as angry and menacing a voice as I could muster. No response.

“Damn it, I know you’re in there! I have a gun! Come out with your hands up, or I’ll just start shooting!”

“Don’t shoot!” said the voice, and...
(CDP)

I woke up hungry. The room was white, small and seemed to not have any doors. That is when I realized I was naked. I had a thin sheet of plastic over me and some machine making beeping noises to my left.

I started to rise up that is when I noticed the cuffs holding me to the bed. I started to scream.

A large booming voice came over a loud speaker, "Calm down, calm down Mrs. Peabody."

I bellowed out, "Who are you?! Why am I chained down?! Where are my children?! "

The voice replied, " There has been an accident, everything will be fine. There will be someone to assist and answer your questions shortly."

Then there was silence. I yelled some more but nothing. No response. Then suddenly, a creaking sound. To the right there was a door opening, it was......
(Wyldth1ng)

A cat. A small black cat padded gently in and hopped on the bed. It paused to look at me and let out a sorrowful moan. As it crept toward my face I looked into its strangely unsettling eyes.

"Down, Scheiser," a man's voice spoke.

A sullen, shambling figure entered the room. His right hand was bandaged, part of it soaked through with blood.

"Hello, Mrs. Peabody." He pulled up a chair. "Sit, Scheiser."

The cat curled up on the man's feet. The man stared past me, resigned, distracted.

"Where is my family?!!" I moved my leg to kick at the man, only inches from me, but restraints dug into my ankles.

Without turning to address me, the man spoke, in words that seemed memorized and repeated a hundred times before -- "Your family is safe. As safe as any of us can be. I would let you go see them right now if I could, Mrs. Peabody. But you and I are linked."

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Applesauce. Cold. What do you really know about what your people call, P-Day, Mrs. Peabody? It is starting again."
(Splotchy)



"We extracted spunk from Applesauce," I said, "in an effort to create an ape/human hybrid capable of withstanding the effects of P-Day, and to lead humanity into the future by its overly long forearms."

Colonel Sanders stroked his pussy with his bandaged hand. Scheiser purred and arched her back. He shambled over to a locked cabinet, fumbling through a keychain.

"I recruited a geneticist named McManus from a California think-tank." I laughed, remembering. "The kid was a genius. He had an annoying habit of adding the first part of his name to words while he spoke. 'The application is up and mcrunning.' But it was McManus who made the breakthrough discovery..."

Sanders produced a bottle and two glasses from the cabinet. "Whiskey, Marie?"

I shook my head. "I gave it up after I left the CDP." I sighed and continued. "Most people know we share 98% of our genetic code with chimps. But finding a way to fuse the two would take years. We found one test subject that shared a phenomenal 99.99% of his DNA with our smoking orangutan. That meant we could hammer out a viable hybrid by Thursday."

"Yes, you're talking about the Republican presidential candidate," he interrupted. He reached over to an intercom on the wall and thumbed the button. "Freida, be a dear and bring me the sodium pentathol."

"But I'm telling you the truth!" I said, struggling against the restraints. "McManus hit the jackpot! It was like Googling your ex's name and finding their gay porn site! So we proceeded with the project, envisioning a future where super-strong, red-haired citizens swung from streetlights and regarded Clint Eastwood as a deity. Who wouldn't want to pray to Dirty Harry every night?"

A mousy woman in horn-rimmed glasses entered, holding a syringe. She handed it to Sanders, taking care to avoid eye contact with me. I noticed she had a mustard stain on the collar of her lab coat.

"Hey, Wild Thing," I said. "You've got a splotch--"

"Ee," she squeaked, scurrying out of the room.

"Droll," Sanders said, tapping the syringe. "Please, continue."

"We produced a flawless cloned cell within days. And then we realized two things. McManus found that Applesauce's mental capacities left something to be desired. His intelligence level was sub-standard for an orangutan of his age."

Sanders paused. "So you're telling me Republican candidate Fred Thompson's DNA is comparable to that of a retarded ape?"

"Precisely," I said. "And then the frozen sample of Applesauce Junior was stolen from the lab. One minute I was working in my office, the next I hear McManus shrieking, 'It's mcgone! It's mcgone!'"

***

That was a little longer than I thought it would be (that's what she said). So who should catch the virus from here? I cough in the general direction of:

Team Slinger, 'cuz he needs something to blog about other than his job.
Valerie, 'cuz she's been coasting on Vegas stories for over a week.
The Ex, just 'cuz.