Cooter
By Linda Hull
*****
Cooter
Copyright © 2011 Dangereye Inc.
On the warm humid night of June 17, 1986, fourteen-year-old Bedford Allen Crane Jr. left his parent’s north central Florida home via his bedroom window. He was on what had become a bi-weekly mission to try and see Susie Forman naked. The Crane and Forman estates were two and half miles apart, separated by the Segal family’s cow pasture. Susie had recently taken to dressing and undressing in her bathroom due to “that icky feeling you get when you think someone is watching you,” so this particular evening’s expedition was unremarkable, except for the cow abduction.
As the frustrated Bedford tromped home through the woods at the edge of the Segal family’s cow pasture, he noticed a light moving across the sky. Bedford ducked behind a palmetto bush to watch. As it came closer he saw that it was not a single light at all, but several lights encircling an oval metallic object. This object moved in total silence and came to a halt fifty feet or so from the ground, directly above a cow. The aforementioned cow did not show any signs of alarm, unlike Bedford who had wet his pants when the light first changed direction. A beam of intense blue light projected from the underside of the object and centered on the cow. Sensing that something was wrong, the cow started to bellow and run, but was frozen in mid-moo when the light changed texture. The light then lifted the cow into an opening in the underside of the silently hovering object. Bedford’s bowels followed his bladder’s example and emptied. Moments later, the object opened again and the light returned the cow to the ground. The light blinked out and the object rose vertically until it was lost among the thousands of stars on that clear night.
Bedford blinked a few times. The cow lay motionless on its side. To avoid embarrassing questions regarding his malodorous wardrobe, Bedford stripped off his soiled jeans and underwear and buried them in a shallow grave. He headed quickly for home, avoiding thorny bushes and vowing to never speak of this incident to anyone.
The next morning the entire county of Skunkwater, Florida was aghast at the discovery of a dead, mutilated cow on the property of Mr. Larry Segal. The cow’s reproductive organs and udder were missing, cut clean away. There were no footprints in the immediate area of the carcass, but a pair of boy’s jeans and underpants, both soiled with urine and feces were discovered in a hole forty yards away in the woods adjacent to the pasture. In the pocket of the Levis was a small pocket knife, half a pack of chewing gum and a photo of Susie Forman that appeared to have been torn out of a school yearbook.
The pocketknife bore the engraving, “To Bedford from Grandpa Holling.” Suspicion was immediately cast upon the so-named young man. Authorities descended on the Crane home, and Bedford was interrogated. He was pressured to confess with the promise that he would simply have to reimburse Mr. Segal $350.00 for the loss of his cow, and agree to a series of counseling sessions. Bedford told the authorities everything he had witnessed and protested being fined for a bovine murder that he did not commit. The boy stuck with his story even under intense questioning. A thorough search of the Crane family home turned up no cow parts. Bedford’s parents pitched in half of the cost of the cow, and Bedford was required to work off the remainder by helping out on the Segal farm (after school and on days he wasn’t attending counseling).
An incident like this does not fade into the background in a small county. The rumored possession of a cow’s vagina caused Bedford to be branded with the nickname “Cooter.” Dating became very difficult, as did most other forms of social interaction. Bedford’s brother, Wallace Harold Crane, avoided a similar pariah status by being one of the main instigators in Bedford’s teasing. “Cooter” was Wallace’s brainchild. So were the “I ♥ Cows” stickers that appeared on Bedford’s school locker and bike, and later, his first car. And second car. For his efforts, Wallace earned the nickname “Ace” and was considered to be the most likely to succeed of the Crane brothers.
Bedford Allen Crane spent the next seven years in relative social isolation. This changed when he bought a computer with the money he made working on Larry Segal’s farm. Regardless of how vehemently the young man denied involvement in the dismantling of cow #186’s reproductive system, it turned out that Bedford did have a knack for animal husbandry. Larry Segal had a lazy eye and knew what it was like to be an outcast, so he took pity on Bedford and kept him on at a decent wage after Bedford finished paying his debt. The Internet opened up the world for Bedford. He became a much happier person thanks to online porn, a much better educated person thanks to online universities, and a much wealthier person due to online Texas Hold ‘Em, which turned out to be another thing he had a knack for.
At age thirty-eight, Bedford purchased Larry Segal’s farm and ran it as a micro-ranch specializing in all-natural, free-range cattle for dairy products and meat produced for gourmet restaurants throughout central Florida. He was making almost $75,000 a year playing poker tournaments, mostly on the Internet but occasionally in Vegas, Biloxi, and Atlantic City. Bedford renovated the Segal family farmhouse and won 1st place in the 2007 Rural Renovations Magazine Contest. Remodeling and decorating were numbers three and four in Bedford’s knack collection.
Two years his senior, Bedford’s brother Wallace had, in the same amount of time, achieved two-thirds of an associate’s degree at the local community college, a $28,000 per year Assistant Manager Position at the Crayzee Buffet and four years of wedded bliss with his high school sweetheart, Brandee. When they divorced, she got custody of their children, Wallace Jr. and Brittnee, their mobile home and the family dog. Wallace got to keep his Camaro, and the spoiler and rims he never got around to putting on it. He moved back into his parent’s house where he knocked out the wall between his and Bedford’s old bedrooms, creating his own double-wide.
Though he harbored a general feeling of superiority to his brother and most other residents of Skunkwater County, Bedford felt that his life was incomplete. It wasn’t that he wanted a wife and kids: he kept busy managing the ranch and he liked having the freedom to travel the poker circuits. He could eat microwave popcorn dipped in ranch dressing in his underwear whenever he wanted, an indulgence only available to people who live alone. The groupies on the poker circuit and his collection of porn took care of his sexual needs. His social stimulation came from the Internet networking sites he visited multiple times daily. What Bedford lacked was redemption. He looked for it in the skies at night.
***
Twenty-four years after his first encounter, Bedford and the other inhabitants of Earth were unaware that three hundred and twenty one miles above the surface of the planet, a Jdixpan (silent “d”) ship was hiding in geostationary orbit behind Viscom Communications Satellite 247. Onboard preparations were being made for an invasion of sorts:
Can I get everyone’s attention please? Gather around. Helloooo! I know the vista is spectacular. But if you can tear yourselves away for just a few moments, we can finish the briefing and you can get out there and explore! Thank you.
We’re here! Earth! There it is out your viewports, in all of its blue-green glory. Fantastic, isn’t it? We’re cleared to begin drop-offs and I need to go over just a few things with you first.
Number One: Keep interactions with the natives restricted to just a few individuals; stay away from groups.
Number Two: Always, ALWAYS use your vocal transmitters. Remember that humans can’t communicate telepathically like we can. Your transmitters are programmed with common Earth phrases so they will understand you. We’ve upgraded to version 23.6 and we’re sure w
e’ve got most of the bugs worked out.
Number Three: Some of the humans may be violent. Remember what we showed you in the prep sessions. Their most common weapons are primitive, very small, short-range shock-propelled missiles. They won’t cause any damage that you can’t regenerate but a direct hit will sting like a bitch, so if you see a metal barrel pointed at you, just activate your anti-grav and float up out of range. It’s fun and it kind of freaks them out.
Number Four: No souvenirs. I know, I know, but that’s the rule. Our surveys are not complete and we aren’t sure how many species here are sentient. We know about the humans and the cetaceans and of course certain members of the porifera family, but there could be more out there. We signed the Treaty of Baritktutknm and we are now part of the solution, not part of the problem. No more sentients in zoos!
Number Five: Just kidding! There is no number five! Now line up as your assigned Earth names are called. Prepare to beam down and have some fun!
Elvis and Churchill.
Lincoln, Ricky and Lucy.
Gilligan, Fonzie and Cher.
Hitler and Bon Jovi…
***
Bedford secretly hoped to someday clear his name with proof of what he had seen so many years ago, so he often watched the stars at night for signs of the alien ship’s return. He built a deck that overlooked the patch of pasture where he had watched the cow be abducted. Sometimes he had to chase local kids away because the deck made a comfortable make-out spot and a great place to smoke some weed. Occasionally he was joined by Suzie Forman-Warner’s golden retriever, Ike. Most of the time Bedford sat on his deck alone, but on this particular night, his brother joined him.
The brothers sat on twin teak Adirondack chairs facing the cow pasture. “That sucks, man,” Bedford said, keeping his eyes on the sky.
“I know,” said Wallace. He started to toss his empty beer can into the woods but was stopped by Bedford’s glare. Instead, he dropped it into the trash bin between the chairs. Still feeling the need to express indignation, Wallace belched loudly and defiantly.
“Feel better?” Bedford asked.
“Getting there,” said Wallace. He snagged the remote control off the arm of Bedford’s chair, studied it for a moment, and pressed a button. A mini-fridge rose out of the smooth floor of the deck. Wallace thought that was amazingly cool, but wasn’t about to compliment his loser brother. He opened the mini-fridge and fished out two beers, offering one to Bedford, who waved it off.
“Suit yourself,” Wallace grunted. “So I told her, ‘There’s no reason why the girl can’t have a job and go to school at the same time.’”
“No reason,” agreed Bedford.
“I did my part,” Wallace said. “I paid everything I was supposed to for that girl. Birthday parties, braces, dance lessons. I helped out when she took a year off before college. I paid for her to take that trip to Belize…”
“Actually, I paid for that.”
“What?”
“Belize. I paid for Brittnee to go to Belize.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. You weren’t going to pay to send her to some jungle to watch vines grow for three months.”
“Well, I paid to get rid of that worm-thing she brought back.”
“That you did. Scar still there?”
“It’s fading.”
“Good.”
“Yeah, but….” Wallace trailed off as he spotted something in the sky. “What the hell is that?”
“Venus,” answered Bedford.
“Venus doesn’t move. Shit!” Wallace stood up. The hair on the back of his neck rose. “Venus doesn’t blink! What is that?” He pointed to a set of blinking lights.
Bedford didn’t bother with binoculars. “It’s a helicopter. There’s probably an accident on the interstate.”
Wallace hopped off the deck and climbed through the wooden fence into the pasture for a better look. “That’s no freaking helicopter…”
“Shut up and listen.”
Wallace listened. When the wind shifted he could, very faintly, make out the chop of rotor blades. “Shit,” he said.
“Easy mistake to make,” Bedford said. He reached into the mini-fridge, ready for a beer now.
“No, I stepped in cow shit.” Wallace dragged his foot through the grass. “You know, some running water out here might be a good idea. You could even put in a hot tub.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Bedford said.
Wallace returned to the deck. “And with a hose you might think about rinsing things off once in a while because it kinda smells like piss out here.”
“That would be Ike.”
“Suzie’s Ike?” Wallace asked with a grin.
“Yeah,” Bedford answered carefully.
Wallace grinned wide. “Tell me, Cooter. Did you ever get to see her…?” A beeping sound cut him off.
Bedford grabbed his remote and pressed a button. A large section of deck rose, revealing a cabinet with a high-end computer workstation. Two wide-screen computer monitors displayed multiple readouts—each blinking with alert notices. Bedford scanned them intently.
“What the hell is all this?” demanded Wallace.
Bedford tapped commands into a keyboard. “Something tripped the perimeter alarm. I’m turning on the infrared cameras and the thermal imager….” His voice trailed off as the monitor displays flickered. In the center of quadrant three were two figures.
“Bingo,” he murmured.
“Bingo what?” Wallace peered over Bedford’s shoulder at the greenish image of two thin figures on the video screen. Bedford ignored him, feeling more alive in that moment than he had in twenty-four years. He flipped on the digital recorders and his secondary array of cameras.
“What the hell is that?” Wallace stabbed a finger at the screen.
“My Holy Grail,” said Bedford. He removed his canvas “go bag” from the shelf under the computers and checked the equipment inside. “Extraterrestrials. Beings from another world. Aliens, if you prefer. Visitors. Grays. Cattle Mutilators.”
Wallace was having none of this. “Aliens, my ass. Those are just a couple of kids from town you set up to freak me out. What are you giving them, beer or weed?”
Bedford pointed to a digital readout on one of the monitors. “Kids we can see on the night vision camera but not on the thermal imager. How cold do you think it is out here?” Bedford handed Wallace a pair of night-vision goggles.
“I dunno, sixty-something?” Wallace fiddled with the goggles, not knowing which end was up.
“It’s sixty-four degrees. Those ‘kids’ are invisible on the thermal imager. That means they are the same temp as the background,” Bedford explained. “Kids can’t do that.”
“But you’re still just messing with me, right?” Wallace put the goggles on upside down.
Bedford took the goggles from Wallace’s head, flipped them over, turned them on, and placed them back. Wallace wobbled, disoriented by the unusual view.
Bedford adjusted his own goggles to a comfortable fit, and handed a bundle to Wallace. “Let’s go.”
“What’s this?” Wallace asked.
“A net.”
“Net?”
“In case the Taser doesn’t work. Come on.” Bedford set off in the direction of the intruders.
“Wait a minute, wait a minute!” said Wallace.
This was happening too quickly. If he followed his brother he would probably end up getting pantsed or paintballed or both. But what if there really was something otherworldly out there? He could wait where he was, like a coward, armed only with a net and a mini-fridge full of beer, or he could man up and follow his brother to his fate. Unwilling to allow Bedford to be the brave one, Wallace stumbled after him, holding the goggles in place with one hand.
***
“I can’t believe we’re actually here!” Hitler exclaimed telepathically as the alien world materialized around them. Experiencing Earth in a multi-dimensional educatio
n-pod was nothing like really being there.
“Use the transmitter and speak out loud,” Bon Jovi reminded him. “We need the practice in case we meet some natives.”
Moving slowly in the increased gravity, Hitler switched on his transmitter and said, “Do you think they’ll worship us like gods? That would be so cool.”
“It’s Earth, not K5-2476. They’re a little more advanced here.” Bon Jovi followed the instructions from their briefing and remained perfectly motionless for the moment.
“Yeah, but still… when my pre-bio was here, the humans thought he was a god.”
Testing his acclimation to the heavier gravity, Bon Jovi took a tentative step. He wanted to experience this planet naturally, and resisted activating his anti-grav field. “How long ago was that? 14? 15 giga-units ago? They have progressed since then. Now they only have twenty-five major religions…”
“You call that progress?” Hitler laughed. “They’re still all ‘My god’s better than your god…’ ”
“We’re visitors here,” Bon Jovi warned. “Respect the culture.”
“You’re right, you’re right,” Hitler agreed. They had spent many time units sampling the local media during the voyage. “We should be more like ‘ET,’ less like ‘Predator.’”
“Right,” said Bon Jovi.
“More ‘Jar Jar,’ less ‘The Blob’”
Bon Jovi laughed. “More like an ‘Ewok.’”
“Less like a ‘Klingon!’”
“Exactly. Are we just going to talk or are we going to explore? We only have eight time units here.” Bon Jovi and Hitler circled, back to back. They were both regretting having paid too much attention to the entertainment media and not nearly enough attention to the orientation units.
“Why do you think humans so often represent alien races as bipedal in their media?” Hitler asked. “I mean, we’re bipedal, but we’re not the only ones who’ve been here.”
“But we’re the only ones they’ve seen.” Bon Jovi took a few tentative steps.