The story is about a 14 year old boy, Michael, and his friend, Latoya. They have encountered aliens invading the Earth. This story takes many twists and turns and you get to choose which direction at the end of each post. Start at the beginning, or trace backwards through the previous person I follow, Anne Tyler Lord's blog. Then visit me here for the final installment of this thread titled Pickleland.
Latoya squinted at the appliance in Michael’s hand. “Don’t be ridiculous, Michael” she whispered, “It’s gonna take more than a salad shooter to take out an army of them.” She pointed at the green pickle shaped globs. “Use that now and we’ll be pickled. We need a plan.” She grabbed his arm and yanked him toward the back door. “Come on.”
Into the alley she crept, Michael at her back with the loaded salad shooter. They were about to step into the street when a human’s screams caused them to duck behind a dumpster. A man came into view, racing down the double yellow line. A pickle was hot on his heals. Unfortunately, the man’s physique seemed a product of a steady diet of donuts and bacon. The pickle overcame him, tackling the man to the pavement before absorbing him into it’s goo.
“Give’s new meaning to being ‘in a pickle’,” Michael said with a chuckle. Latoya slapped her hand over his mouth and pointed back toward the street. The man was breaking out of the pickle like a cocoon but what emerged on the other side was nothing like a butterfly. It was a Mendigan.
“So, that’s how they do it,” Latoya breathed.
They watched as the pickle turned toward the new Mendigan and boomed “Pickle silo, tomorrow. We assemble our troops and then attack.” The Mendigan nodded and marched off. The pickle meandered into the restaurant, leaving the street deserted.
“Now’s our chance.” Latoya sprinted toward the Cosco across the street, weaving her way through the rows of goods until she came to the PVC pipe section. Michael followed. He doubled over beside her gasping for breath.
“You need to work on your cardio, dude.”
“You can give me health tips later. Right now, fill me in on what we’re doing here?”
“Have you ever heard of a potato shooter?” Latoya asked, holding up a section of pipe.
Michael shook his head.
‘Then just trust me,” she said. The lights turned off across the store. “Looks like the pickles just shut down Cosco. I guess we have all night. Let’s get to work.”
When the sun came up, Michael and Latoya were ready with several backpacks full of tomatoes, two pipe canons each, and several cans of hair spray.
“Now remember, load the tomato first, then spray a good amount of hair spray into the base before you light it. If you don’t use enough, it will never make it down there.” Latoya looked over the edge of Coon’s Landing, into the valley where hundreds of pickle people and Mendigans gathered at the base of the pickle silo.
Michael swallowed hard and nodded his head.
“And Michael, be quick, cause something tells me we won’t have much time once the first ones hit.”
Latoya set up her first gun on a tripod to the sounds of chanting below. The pickles and Mendigans were raising their fists in unison. She packed in her first tomatoes and watched Michael do the same. Then she grabbed a can of Aquanet and a lighter and nodded. It was time.
Pfoof In seconds, four tomatoes blasted over the cliff toward the crowd below, the force blowing the tomatoes to bits, scattering pieces. Everywhere they hit pickles shriveled and died.
“Gleenbleglook!” the pickles screeched to each other and pointed toward Michael and Latoya, who released another round in their direction. “Get them!” they bellowed to their Mendigan slaves.
But already some of the Mendigans were changing back to humans, staggering forward with panicked eyes as their captors melted around them. It didn’t take long before they were tossing fallen tomato bits, taking out any remaining pickles.
When every last pickle was killed, Michael and Latoya headed down to the crowd below, smiling as a mighty cheer rose up to greet them. But, just as they reached the valley, the silo opened and a 200-foot pickle stepped out, its gaping mouth emitting an ear splitting howl.
“The tomatoes!” Michael screamed. Latoya turned longingly toward the cliff, knowing their salvation was hopelessly far from her grasp.
As if launched by sheer willpower, two tomatoes flew over the crag and wedged into the monsters gooey flesh. It sank to it’s knees before melting into a running ooze that soaked into the earth at their feet.
They looked back up towards Coon’s Landing to see Michael’s mother standing with a tomato shooter, the sun blazing behind her head. “Double tap,” she yelled down to Michael.
“My mom’s a force more powerful than the sun,” Michael said.
Latoya hung her arm over Michaels shoulders. “I don’t know about that but she definitely earned the Pickle Kill of the Day award.”
They shook the goo from their feet and headed for home.