SNAFU: Survival of the Fittest

“I’m taking a crew up there. We’re going to investigate the possession of Enrique Cruz and check on the status of his replacement. This mission falls squarely within our mission statement. Do you feel you should contact Harold?”

“I think he’ll be mad if I don’t.”

I let coldness bleed into my stare. I didn’t like the idea of any of my employees having another master, but I also understood the reality of it. That her husband depended on the Air Force for his pension put them in a difficult situation. Doris was great at her job. Knowing who she reported to and why made me feel as if I could manage it. And I would, right up until the point I decided I couldn’t.

I nodded. “Then you better let them know we’re going to be traveling.”

I returned to my office and found that Burgess had returned from the warehouse. I inquired about the Box Man and discovered that he’d made a full recovery.

“What exactly happened back there?” Burgess asked.

“Enrique was a Cerberus. You remember the three-headed dog that protected the dead from leaving hell and the living from entering? The NSA actively recruits and trains Cerberus agents for guard duty at certain locations. Looks like somewhere along the way he became possessed by a demon. He might have actually trapped it, then lost control of it somehow. After the NSA medically retired him, he then went home where his son-in-law tried a little Santeria on him to get whatever it was out of him.”

“And the blood egg?”

“It showed that it worked.” I punched my hand. “Had I suspected that, I could have spoken to the demon yesterday.” I shook my head. “Another missed opportunity.

“What now?” Gomer asked.

“Get some acquisition forms. We need to draw some weapons and cash from the Presidio. We’re leaving as soon as we have everything we need.”

“Am I coming too?” Burgess asked.

I glanced at Gomer, then turned to stare out the window.

“Hell, yes, you’re going, Marine,” he said. “Now get your ass in gear. Get to the boss’s apartment and grab his go bag, then get to mine and do the same. I want you back here within the hour. Is that clear?”

I heard the scrap of boots and a “Yes, sir,” then Burgess was moving rapidly out of the room.

I said without turning, “It’s always nice to be reminded that this is a military unit. Thank you, Gunnery Sergeant.”

“No problem, Colonel.”

MONTE RIO

July 8, 1970

Late afternoon

The drive from San Francisco to Monte Rio took a little over two hours in the requisitioned Ford sedan. We didn’t say much, instead listened to the Carpenters, Jackson Five and Three Dog Night as we watched the buildings give way to redwood forest. At one point we found ourselves singing the words to Mama Told Me Not To Come, which lightened the journey.

When we hit Monte Rio, we stopped at the Sinclair for gas and ice cold Pepsi Colas. Burgess and I leaned against the car, drinking, gazing out at the large green dinosaur on the gas station’s sign while Gomer asked for directions inside. The weather was hotter outside the city. Too hot for the black suits we wore, but we wore them just the same.

“I’ve heard there are places where they teach that the Earth is only seven thousand years old,” Burgess said, pointing at the green Brontosaurus on the sign. “They claim dinosaurs are made up.”

I nodded. I’d heard the same thing. I’d even met a creationist once. “Some people see science as another form of religion. The thing is that with science faith doesn’t matter. Whether you believe or not, science happens.”

“I’ve heard the same thing about God, too.” I saw him glancing my way to gauge the conversation. “We had no end of missionaries come out to Pine Ridge to cleanse us of our red man ways.” He chuckled. “When we said we’d gotten along fine without Him, they all told us He’d been taking care of us despite our willingness to be Christian.”

Since he’d opened the line of conversation I decided to ask, “Do you believe in God, Burgess?”

He turned to me with a half-smile. Probably the first time that an O-6 had ever asked him that question. “That’s a pretty serious question, sir. Do you believe in God?”

I considered this as I stared at the dinosaur. “I believe in something. Not sure it’s a god whose physical manifestation is a man wearing robes and a beard. With all the arcane craft we’re involved in, how can I not believe in something greater than ourselves?”

“So you have faith, then.”

I shook my head. “Faith to me implies giving up the option to disagree or disbelieve. Instead let’s call it dedicated curiosity.”

He drank the rest of his Pepsi and let out a belch.

A Trailways bus went by, its marquee stating it was heading to Mendocino. Interesting. I would have thought it would have been quicker to take the 101 to the 128. Instead, the bus was taking Highway 1, which made for a much longer, albeit scenic trip.

Five trucks carrying avocados picked fresh from the field roared past, heading in the other direction toward San Francisco.

Once the noise had receded I asked, “And what do you believe in?”