When I came to, I was thoroughly drenched, and lying in a shallow puddle of water in the base of the crater.  The puddle of golden goop was gone – and I gagged as I remembered what happened – and where it went...  Was it still inside me?  Oh Jesus!  I checked myself for wounds, or indications anything else had happened to me – but I was just dirty, wet, and still smelling of beer and barf.

 

                “Just fucking great... Now I have to worry about being alien pregnant with some sort of horror-show thingy bursting out of my chest, infecting me with space herpes or turning me into some monstrous freak.  Fuck!”  I scrambled out of the crater, and got back into my car, where I tried to find a coat or a towel or something to try and dry myself off.  I found a towel in the back seat and set about drying my hair a bit and wiping the majority of the moisture off my arms and shoulders.  After a few minutes, I felt a bit better, and I tossed the towel back into the back seat. 

 

                You know, years of horror movies should have prepared me better for this day, but in the end I was the stupid asshole in the bumper that lets people know how dangerous the alien thingy is – you know, the guy who stupidly approaches the dangerous thingy and then gets ganked?  Yeah – that was me this morning.  The more I thought about it, the more annoyed at myself I became.  C’mon, Jason, you know better than this you idiot!  I told myself.  Oh well – whatever was going to happen, was going to happen.  I needed to see dad, especially if this might be MY last time.  Who knows what that alien goop would do to me?

 

                There was a wide gravel shoulder on the left side of the road that hadn’t been destroyed, so I manuevered my Accord around the crater, and onto the shoulder and was soon past the devastated section of road.  Acting on a whim, I grabbed my phone and took a picture of the strange glyphs on the egg-shaped pod, just in case it was important, and then hit the road.  It was already ten thirty in the morning – at this rate I wouldn’t get to the hospice until one or one thirty.  Christ!  What a messed up day!

 

                I drove quietly, wondering if the golden goop was even real, or just some hallucination I had dreamed.  I didn’t feel sick, or infected with anything... I felt pretty good, actually.  Better than I had any right to feel, after last night’s humiliating display.  The drive was slower than expected, and I did get caught in traffic.  Even so, the miles slowly passed by and by close to one thirty, I arrived at Dad’s hospice; Pinewood Estates. 

 

                Pinewood was a nice facility – with a small lawn, adequate visitor parking, and a nice, recently built facility.  I suppose it was a pretty nice place to die, compared to some, but even the nice lawn, happy paint job and pretty vista couldn’t make me forget that my dad was going to die here.  I pulled into a parking space, and put the car in park, sighing.  I hoped dad wouldn’t rag me too much about my dishevelled appearance, even if I did deserve it.

 

                I entered the hospice, and steered myself towards Judy at the front desk.  Judy was a matronly 40-something who kept tabs on who was coming in and out of the building, and helped people find where their loved ones were housed.

 

                “Hey, Jason.  You look awful?  Is everything okay?”

 

                “I had a rough day, and a rougher night.  I... I think I had a panic attack trying to go see dad yesterday, and I freaked out and left in a hurry.  The day went downhill from there.”  I admitted.

 

                She nodded, with a sad smile.  It was obvious she’d seen the trauma that caring for a chronically ill person can inflict.  “I can’t say it gets better, Jason, but I’m sure your dad will be glad to see you today.  He missed you yesterday,”

 

                I nodded.  “I missed him too.  I’m going to go see him now.”

 

                “Lunch was a little while ago.  He might be asleep.”

 

                “Thanks Judy.  If he is, I’ll sit with him a while anyway.”  I waved at Judy and headed down towards my dad’s room.  This time the hallway looked ominous – but it didn’t have that horror-movie feel of yesterday morning.  It was just a hallway today, and I breathed a sigh of relief and whispered a prayer to the gods in thanks, and went to see my dad.

 

                As I entered my dad’s ward room, I could see that he was having a bad day – but the first thing he did was smile at me.

My dad had a smile that could light up a room, and I couldn’t help but smile back.

 

                “You look like shit, son.”  He commented, the hiss of oxygen from the tubes in his nostrils emphasizing some of his words.

 

                “I feel like shit, dad.  Yesterday was a tough day.”

 

                “Want to talk about it?”

 

                “Sure.  I’m not sure what really happened anyway.”

 

                My dad tapped the side of his bed, as if motioning for me to sit next to him.  He was frail – the cancer and chemo had withered him, and he looked like almost skin and bones.  He looked determined, and worried for me – but he also looked so very tired, like perhaps the battle wasn’t one he could win.   I smiled sadly, and came to sit next to him.  We both knew how this story ended, and neither one of us was ready to talk about it yet.  The day was coming when we couldn’t avoid it anymore, but we were content to wait until that day.

 

                My dad, Joseph Stendahl, was a steelworker for most of his life.  You know those guys who build the gigantic skyscrapers and climb around on the high steel with virtually nothing but a nest of iron girders and open air to support them?  Yeah, that was what my dad did for a living – and he made damn good money, at least until he was diagnosed with cancer.   Nothing scared him – at least nothing I ever knew about.  He’d even survived a super-battle between a villain named Dr. Plasma and some hero named Owlman a few years ago.  The way he had told it to me, the supers were flying around the steel girders, hucking buckets of hot rivets and steel beams at each other, and he simply grabbed a beam, attached a safety line and hunkered down until it was over.  My dad had balls of steel.  It was one of his favourite stories to tell.

 

                “Sorry I didn’t visit yesterday, dad,” I began.  “I don’t know what happened, but as I was coming down the hallway, it all seemed to be too much and I freaked out and left.  I didn’t mean to let you down.”

 

                “You didn’t let me down, son.  I was worried when you didn’t show up, but I just thought maybe you pulled an extra shift to help with the bills.  You’ve been working so hard to help out – I’m sorry I put you in this position, son.”

 

                “It’s not your fault, dad.”

 

                “It’s not anyone’s fault, son.  It just is, and I never wanted for you to have to take care of me like this – at least not until I was in my seventies or eighties.  You should be enjoying life, finishing college.  You know – all that stuff young people do.”

 

                “I’d trade it all for another year with you, dad.”  I said, tears rising in my eyes.

 

                “I know son.”  Joe sighed, and winced with the pain.  “Damn meds aren’t helping much anymore, and I can’t keep food down except for broth.  We both know how this ends, Jason.”

 

                “I know, dad.  I just wish it was different.”

 

                “Me too.  Me too.”

 

                Just then, my stomach growled so loudly it nearly drowned out the various monitors hooked up to my dad.  I realized I felt ravenously hungry, and I realized I hadn’t eaten anything since that six pack of beer last night.  “Mind if I have that sandwich?”  I asked, pointing at the leftovers from his lunch tray.  There was a ham sandwich, an orange in sections, a pudding, and a container of apple juice.  Typical hospital style food. 

 

                “Go ahead.  I’m not hungry, and I probably couldn’t keep it down anyway.” He replied.  “You taking care of yourself, Jason?”

 

                “I’m trying dad.  Some days are better than others.”

 

                “I get ya.”  He shifted a bit and took my hand.  “Just promise me you won’t give up, once I’m gone, son.  Try to find some kind of happiness.  Please?”

 

                I nodded, and took a bite of his sandwich so I wouldn’t have to talk – I don’t think I could have uttered any words I was so choked with emotion anyway.  Instead, I just sat with him, eating a sandwich and his orange, while he rested his hand on my leg.  We shared space quietly, just being together for a while.  By the time I finished the juice, he had dozed off and was napping.

 

                I shifted from the bed to a more comfortable chair next to him, and just stayed with him, spending time with my dad and thinking about all the stuff we used to do together.  I don’t know how long I sat there – maybe an hour?   A nurse came in and changed my dad’s IV of pain meds, and nodded to me.  I think her name was Grace. 

 

                “He’s been having a rough day today.”  She whispered.

 

                “Yeah.  I thought I would stay a while.”

 

                “No problem at all, Jason.  Joe loves it when you visit.  He tells us all sorts of stories about the good times you two have had together.  He really loves you.”

 

                “I know.”  I replied, smiling.  “I know he does.”

 

                Grace finished the change of meds, and left us alone, and I stayed with dad for a while longer – but after another hour, it didn’t seem he was going to wake any time soon – and I realized I was still feeling hungry and also more than a bit warm and dizzy.  “Sorry dad.  I gotta go.  I think I caught a chill last night, or maybe this morning, passing out in that damned puddle.  I’ll come by tomorrow.”

 

                I touched his hand with mine, and it looked so small and frail compared to the big powerful man that lived in my memory.  The cancer had reduced him to a shell of his former self so quickly it was shocking, and I felt helpless at how frail he had become.  “I’ll see you soon, dad.” I whispered, and let myself out.

 

                The drive home was... interesting... to say the least.  I was dizzy, and I wouldn’t be surprised if I was feverish, and ravenously hungry.  I also really had to go to the bathroom something awful.  I nearly drove off the damn road twice I was so out of it, and finally parked in my driveway in the house my dad and I lived in together.  I staggered inside, and took a shot or two of night-time cough medicine, and headed to the bathroom.

 

                I’ll spare you the gory details, but by the time I crawled out of the bathroom and towards bed, I knew something was very, very wrong.  I had just taken the largest, most disgusting poop of my life, and left the bathroom in a toxic cloud, aching and feeling like a cored apple.  I was shaking with chills and the room was spinning, and I couldn’t think clearly – but I knew I had a crazy fever of some kind.  I fell into bed, and pulled a sheet over me for warmth.  What was wrong with me?  Was I going to die?  Did I dare call 911?  If it was about that alien egg goop, I’d probably be disappeared by the government, if I even survived. 

 

                Unsure of what to do, I huddled in my sheets, shivering, until blackness took me, dreaming about alien chestbursters and John Carpenter’s The Thing, fully expecting not to wake up.   I was just sorry I wasn’t going to be able to see my dad again.