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The Jukes
The war has been going on for thousands of years, and the Jukes—that’s what they call themselves in their own language of Juketian—even though greater in their numbers and, pound for pound, many times stronger than their nemesis, the Zarns—so called by the Jukes for their enormous physical size—have never been able to gain any advantage. The Jukes and the Zarns never once communicated—not even in the beginning—and neither party attempted to. Their languages were vastly different and foreign to one another, but this has never been much of an impediment for other cultures in creating alliances amongst themselves, and this wasn’t why the Jukes and the Zarns have been at war so long. Apparently, the causes are the most fundamental emotions of revulsion and pure hatred, coupled with a strong sense of territoriality on the part of the Zarns, who aren’t entirely unjust. The Zarns, dominating so much land, make it a veritable impossibility for the Jukes to avoid crossing Zarn boarders. Thus, the centuries are stained with Juke blood while the Zarns have suffered few, if any, casualties. It’s a hopeless situation. The Jukes are fighting an army of giants hundreds of times larger than themselves, possessing proportionately greater technology; and the Jukes are little more than a nuisance to the Zarns, albeit a persistent one. Trintlatae was the Commander in Chief of the Jukes, being thus nominated by way of the previous leader’s demise. One evening, Trintlatae, accompanied by a company of ragtag scavengers who had formed themselves into a platoon, ventured into Zarn territory. Their primary directive was reconnaissance, but they also foraged for food to sustain the weary troops. The terrain was hard, smooth, and vast, but the Jukes had great stamina and could cover a large area of ground in a short time. Anquidron, Trintlatae’s closest friend and confidant, brought up the rear; Kalhedenlem, a captain of a lesser and now defunct squad, envious of Anquidron for his skill and friendship with Trintlatae, took the point. Kalhedenlem was, by some instinct only he possessed, highly sensitive to the presence of Zarns, so his appointment to the point of the platoon was well-founded. As they moved deeper into Zarn territory, Kalhedenlem noted a strong sense of Zarns in the area, yet said nothing of it. The platoon proceeded for some time, then Kalhedenlem—knowing Anquidron would take his position at point, being the second most qualified to do so— dropped back, feigning illness. “I’ll be all right,” he told Trintlatae. “I’ll catch up with you in a few minutes.” Kalhedenlem sensed the Zarns strongly now and hoped they would get rid of Anquidron for him, perhaps even make him the new leader of the Jukes by killing Trintlatae, also. “I thought I heard something,” Trintlatae whispered. “What? I—“ said another. “Quiet.” There was a loud bang. Then a slow, rhythmic pounding in the distance, thundering closer, louder. The air resonated. The ground shook. Terror filled the hearts of Trintlatae and his platoon. Kalhedenlem looked on, eagerly anticipating the forthcoming death of his comrades. Suddenly, everything became dazzlingly bright, and the Jukes fled blindly, seeing nothing but painful white light, knowing the danger, experiencing the horror of the gargantuan Zarn. Anquidron ran, but the Zarn was too large and fast and crushed him underfoot. Selprozon, Kalhedenlem’s best friend before his betrayal, was the next to die—squashed in the same manner. Kalhedenlem, on seeing his friend’s death, realized his terrible mistake; his selfish greed at the expense of his own brothers’ lives; his betrayal of them. Kalhedenlem shuddered as he helplessly watched the massacre he, himself, was responsible for. Jukes died: crushed, mangled, gassed to death with toxic chemicals. Trintlatae was still alive, running to save his life. He saw Kalhedenlem crouched fearfully in a dark corner and ran toward him, screaming for help. Kalhedenlem wanted to save him, but he could not. Trintlatae was engulfed in a large shadow which grew smaller and darker until the Zarn foot pulverized him and stifled his screams, replacing them with the crunching sounds of his crumbling body. Kalhedenlem was in danger now but had nowhere to run. The monumental Zarn crouched down in front of him. He could see the Zarn’s large, round eyes glaring down at him. The Zarn reached out with his arm and gassed him. His skin, throat, and lungs burned. Kalhedenlem was dead. The Zarn picked Kalhedenlem up in a white shroud and dumped his body in a pool of clear water, voicing his hatred of the dead Jukes: “Damned roaches.” “Jim, what are you doing out there?” “Oh...uh...nothing.” “Well, then why don’t you turn off the light and come back to bed.” “I’ll be in in a minute.” Jim gathered up the rest of the dead roaches with some tissue paper and deposited them in the toilet. Before he flushed, he remembered why he had gotten out of bed. He was a conscientious person who believed in water conservation, so he emptied his bladder into the liquid roach-grave and flushed. The small black bodies swirled around the inside of the bowl a few times and were swept through the hole in the bottom with a clug-clug-clug-clug.
The End Copyright © 2008 by Kevin Dunn |