The Blob

Or at least he supposed they were men. After the events of the evening there was no telling what was what anymore. There were six of them, and they were coming down over the ridge toward Brian and Meg, silhouetted in the blinding light, approaching through the wind-whipped mist like figures in a dream.

A blazing row of lights rose up from behind them, hovering in the air, spotlights sweeping the night.

Brian and Meg crouched down against the wind.

Then Brian knew for sure what he had merely suspected before. There was a helicopter up there! A damned high-tech job, at that!

As the six men approached, Brian could see that they looked so weird because they were dressed in white plastic suits that covered every inch of their bodies. They looked out of clear plastic faceplates and they apparently talked through the small speakers slotted just below their necks. The sight of them gave Brian goose bumps.

“Ever seen anything like this?” he asked Meg.

“Yeah. In E.T.,” said Meg.

“All in all,” said Brian, “I’d rather go home.”

One of the men separated from the others and neared the couple. Brian could see the man’s face clearly through the faceplate. This was an elderly dude, wearing a smile and a twinkle in his eye. “Don’t be frightened,” he said, his voice doubled as it filtered through the headgear and issued from the speaker as well. “We’re here to help you.”

“And all dressed up for the occasion!” said Brian.

“Please, come this way,” said the old guy as the others hustled around the pair and pointed the direction they wanted them to go.

“Well, so much for free choice,” said Meg.

They were briskly escorted through the woods, over the ridge, and into a clearing, where all kinds of people in white plastic suits bustled around like worker ants among a profusion of lights, vehicles, and machines. As soon as they entered this odd bivouac, a man and a woman with clipboards joined the marching white-suits, and barraged Brian and Meg with questions.

“Look, who are you people?” demanded Brian.

“Name?” the woman asked Meg.

“Meg Penny,” she responded.

“Name?” the man asked Brian.

“Meg Penny.” He pointed at his companion. “She’s an imposter.”

Someone had popped up from nowhere and was trying to fit a blood-pressure sleeve over his arm. Brian batted it away. “Get that offa me!”

“Are you a resident of Morgan City, Meg?” asked the woman.

“Uh, yes.”

“Have you ever had high blood-pressure or heart disease?”

“No.”

“How about you, sir?” asked the other guy with the clipboard. “Diabetes?”

“No, thanks,” quipped Brian. “I’m trying to cut down.”

“Have you been experiencing any vomiting, nausea, or diarrhea?” the woman asked Meg.

“Not until she got a look at you guys!”

This isn’t getting us anywhere, thought Brian. That old geezer, he’s clearly in charge.

The older man was leading the troop through the vehicle encampment. Brian broke free of the men in white and fell in step with the leader. “Hey, you wanna fill us in, pal?” he said. “Who the hell are you people?”

“Oh, sorry. Identifications are in order, I suppose. I’m Dr. Trimble. I head this group. We’re a government- sanctioned biological containment team.”

Meg heard that as well. “Biological containment?”

“We’re microbe hunters, young lady,” Dr. Trimble said. He was about to tell them more when they were suddenly interrupted by a yell from one of the vehicles.

“Flagg!”

Brian looked up. Who should it be but Deputy Bill Briggs. He was escorted by a somber-looking chisel-face sporting a .45 Colt automatic on the hip of his white suit.

“What are you doing here, boy?” Briggs demanded.

“The men from Glad here are showing us how to keep our leftovers fresh.”

Briggs wagged a finger. “These people are here on serious business. They don’t have time for your bullshit, understand?”

Dr. Trimble turned to the man escorting Briggs. “Colonel, has the deputy been briefed in detail?”

“Yes sir,” said the gun-toting man.

“I’m heading back into town now to get things started,” said Briggs.

“Splendid,” said Dr. Trimble. “Colonel Hargis will arrange an escort.”

After shooting Brian a glower, Briggs continued on with Colonel Hargis.

Brian noticed a great deal of activity off to the right, where a number of trees had apparently been burned. When they walked closer, he could see that there was a big, charred hole in the ground, still steaming slightly. The smell of the burned trees—and something more—hung in the night air.

“What’s going on there?” Meg asked, indicating the white-suits setting up equipment and lights near the smoking hole.

“That’s the source of our worries,” said Dr. Trimble intensely. “A troublesome little souvenir from space. A mote in God’s eye.”

“What?”

“A meteor,” said Trimble.

Meg moved forward, fascinated by the sight, but Trimble reached out a glove and gently restrained her.

“Don’t get too close,” he said. “There’s danger of contamination.”

“I don’t understand,” said Meg.

Trimble turned to them, and his features were clearer now in the light. He had a handsome, well-preserved face, even though Brian figured the old bird must be at least seventy, judging by the gray hair, the wrinkles, and the gauntness. But the old guy seemed spry and lively, bursting with energy. His blue, expressive eyes darted here and there as he talked, and there was an enthusiasm and excitement in every gesture.

“I’ll make it simple,” Dr. Trimble began. “The dinosaurs ruled the Earth for millions of years, and yet they died out almost overnight. Why?”

Meg shrugged. It was way past Brian too.

“The evidence points to a meteor or maybe an asteroid that fell, bringing alien bacteria with it. Bacteria to which there was no natural immunity! Just like in H. G. Wells’s War of the Worlds!”

“Plague?” said Meg. “Is that what this is all about?”

The scientist shook his head, smiling. “No. Prevention. Think of us as that apple a day that keeps the doctor away. We look for possible infection from outer space. And if it comes, we make sure it doesn’t spread.”

“And you think your meteor brought some killer germ from outer space?”

The man’s eyes looked up to the sky and he spoke in a breathless tone. “It’s something I’ve expected—and prepared for—all my life.”

Brian shook his head. “Oooh, boy, you got a surprise coming, buster.” He’d figured it out by now. This was what the Can Man had been babbling about. The light from the sky, the meteor—that thing on his hand! He must have picked it up from the meteor, steaming now in the ground! “That meteor brought something, all right, but if it’s a germ, it’s the biggest son of a bitch you’ve ever seen.”

“And getting bigger!” Meg added.

Brian was surprised at the white-suits’ reaction. All the plastic faceplates swung their way, and the buzzing talk ceased. Dr. Trimble’s eyes got very big as he turned to face them like somebody who had just been told he’d won a jackpot.

“Would you care to enlighten me?” he requested.

Meg and Brian looked at each other. How could they describe what they’d been through? Paul thought. “You’d better start with Paul and the Can Man, Meg,” said Brian. “And then I’ll pick up from there.”