We are global, you know
by G.C. Byrne
G.C. Byrne is an award-winning author and military veteran whose passion for storytelling began in childhood and evolved from hobby to career. He brings a unique blend of life experience and imagination to every story he writes. Byrne is based in Texas with his wife, Rachel, and two dogs, Hazel and Reggie, where he continues to craft stories that captivate readers throughout this dimension.
There was someone in the shadows when I entered my office. “Who’s there?” I said. “Speak up, now.”
“Dr. Bellington,” the man said. He stepped into the light cast by the single bulb and extended a hand. “I’m Roger Hanna, the reporter from The Times.”
I thought for a moment and remembered I was to give an interview on my latest discovery. “Ah, yes.” I took his hand and checked my watch. “It’s rather late. I thought you’d be here earlier than a quarter past ten.”
Roger smiled. “That wasn’t my intention, Doctor, believe me. There was, er… a delay.
“A delay?” I was curious, as the remote parts of Russia had never cursed me with a six hour travel delay.
“The bus had a flat.”
“Ah, yes. That is quite the delay.” I crossed the room and opened a bottle of brandy from the bar cart.
“Drink?”
He declined and began to somber around the room, curious about the decor.
I watched him as the ice cubes clinked into the low ball. He was tall. Broad shouldered with a jaw that could split stone—just my type. His fedora shadowed the top half of his face. Strange he still wore it inside at such an hour, but I dismissed the thought when his attention came back to me. He smiled again.
I cleared my throat. “How long will you be with us, Mr. Hanna?”
“Oh, not long.” He propped a cheek onto a desk across the room. “I need to be on a train to India by noon.”
“Unfortunate for us.” I took a sip that ended in a puckered smile. He returned it with a beaming one of his own. Those pearly whites warmed my belly more than the brandy.
“Doctor,” he said and took out a small notebook. “Can you tell me what you’re working on?” He clicked the button atop the pen. “All the way out here.”
“Only the discovery of the century, my good man.” I finished off my brandy and went for a refill. “Well, in the world of biology, that is. I, unfortunately, cannot compete with the discovery of radioactivity.”
“That’s a mighty big comparison, Doctor.”
“Please, call me Edgar.” There were those pearly whites, again.
“Sure. What is it that you do, Edgar?”
“I am a biologist. A parasitologist to be more precise.” I took a seat near the bar cart. It was the only seat in the room other than the desk chair. I felt that seat to be more professional than need be, at that hour. “More like the parasitologist. I’m global, you know.”
“I did not.” He rubbed his chin. The sound of his hand rubbing his five o’clock made my toes wiggle with excitement. “That’s fascinating.”
“What’s more fascinating than my reputation is what I’ve found out here.”
“Yes, and what is this significant discovery?”
“Leucochloridium paradoxum.”
He cocked his head. “I’ll need a spelling check on that before I leave, I’m afraid.”
“Yes, of course,” I said and leaned forward. “The green-banded brood sac, in layman’s.”
“Sounds nasty.”
I laughed. “You don’t know the half of it, Roger. You see, this particular parasite begins its life cycle buried in feces.”
Roger stopped writing. “In feces, you say?”
“Yes.” I rimmed the lowball with my thumb. “Bird feces, actually. Finch. The brood sac larvae incubate inside the bird's intestines. Once excreted, the larvae are eaten by snails. The larvae grow inside the snail, replacing one fifth of the snail’s body weight.”
“I’m sorry.” Roger held up a finger. “What do you mean by ‘replaced?’”
His curiosity was attractive. I was obliged to satisfy it. “Well, I mean just that. The parasite buries itself deep within the snail’s body and feeds on certain parts of the snail that are crucial for survival.”
“Such as?” He leaned forward.
“Eyestalks and brains, mostly.”
“Fascinating,” Roger said and leaned back to jot a note.
“I haven't gotten to the good part yet.” I smiled. “Once fully grown, the parasite takes control of the brainless snail and forces it to become prey for the birds. Then the cycle starts over.” I drew a circle in the air with my finger.
Roger stopped writing and looked at me, half his face still shadowed by his hat. “How does it force the snail?”
“Ah, the best part,” I said and finished my last brandy. “Well, the parasite not only feeds on the eyestalks, it replaces them.”
Roger tilted his head again.
“With brood sacs,” I answered before he asked. “Bright green, white, and orange banded sacs of larvae. The sacs pulsate up and down, mimicking the movement and appearance of a caterpillar. The finch’s preferred meal.”
“Good thing the snail no longer has a brain.”
I bit an ice cube. “Oh, the host is fully aware the entire time.”
“Even without a brain?”
“Absolutely. Isn’t nature fascinating?”
“More like terrifying.” He uncrossed his leg and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped. “Can this parasite infect humans?”
“Oh, yes. Very much so. Which is why we kill each one we study. They’re too dangerous to keep in containment out in the field. Otherwise, the whole lot of us would’ve been infected by now.” I chuckled. “We would be driven outdoors, like biological vehicles, to wait for the birds to pluck out our eyes and feed on the little buggers. Could you imagine the pickle we’d be in then?”
I stood and returned to the bar cart. Roger’s shadow crept across the wall in my peripheral vision. “Change your mind about that drink?”
“No.” His hand squeezed my arm. He spun me around.
“If I’d have known this was on your mind, we could’ve saved the lecture until after,” I said.
My nose found itself in the opening of his shirt, and his musk danced into my nostrils.
His hand pulled my chin upward. Our lips locked. They were warm. He tickled my lips with the tip of his tongue.
I was eager to accept.
Roger's tongue entered my mouth fast and deep. I swallowed and pulled away.
“Oh, my,” I said, and let out a tiny cough.
“When you write your paper on the parasite,” Roger put a hand on each of my arms, “say it cannot be ingested by humans.”
I laughed at the absurdity of the request. “What?”
His hands squeezed my arms, with the strength of Hercules. “What do you mean?"
“You’re going to tell the world the parasite is not a danger to humans.”
I looked into his eyes. They were transparent, and stuffed with pulsating green, white and orange bands that pumped back-and-forth in a linear motion. The grotesque twin horrors seemed to turn my legs to stone, and I froze in place.
“We’ve traveled a great distance to this planet. You’re going to help us conquer it.”
I felt a tickle in my throat. Then a sting.
THE END
