text: The Pond: Chapter 1 People never use to talk about Atkins Falls, hell hardly anyone could have told you it existed save for the folks that lived there. That is until the summer of '72. Locals, well local, me, Sheriff Tom Lauderdeen, the only one left in these parts. I called it P-Day, our spineless leaders and the media called it "responsible action", as if nuking a small town on the outskirts of nowheresville, The Athabasca Sand Dunes, was responsible. "*What a sight eh Stew? Quite a show, who woulda thunk Canada, the friendly North, just up and spread the whole king's ransom on their own?*" Stew didn't respond, although Tom might start to actually worry if he did. Stewart P. Shodden or Stew as Tom called him, was an hemit crab. A reticent yet cantankerous little scoundrel that Tom found still alive inside his tank at the local pet store. Like most wildlife still in Atkins Falls, Stew had his own "foible". Tom remembered reading that word in a comic book so that's what he called them. An oddity of sorts, foibles were mutations that surviving insects, plants and wildlife had gained. Not Tom though, nope, but he had Gertrude, his 12G, so he thought the odds were fairly even. unlike some of the scarier things he'd seen, Stew only seemed to glow brighter and brighter the angrier he got. The little fella was quite tempered. "*Remember the time you pinched my ear so hard I fainted stew! All because I ate the last can of pickled asparagus hah!*" Stew didn't answer, he never answered but that was a good thing. Tom couldn't go crazy, not in Atkins Falls, not after P-Day. As far as Tom knew, none of the critters could talk. He only spoke with Stew so he could fill the silence. Tom had always felt uncomfortable with silence, even before P-Day. "*Silence is the absence of action, that's what I always say, eh Stew*?" At the third mention of his name the little hermit crab popped it's beady little eyes out of his shell, which had begun to faintly glow. "*Getting antsy are ya little buddy? Don't worry we're almost there*" The hermit crab glowed the slightest bit brighter but Tom paid it no heed. Stew had a short temper afterall, being woken up before lunch usually made him glow brighter than a hot iron. This was nothing to fret over. Besides they were maybe an hour from chopped mutton with a side of perfidy soup. He called it that because it was just boiled water and mushrooms he found growing around a mutated pig's pen. Usually they made him feel great but they had given him a few bad nights as well. He'd waited a whole month to do this batch, it was a full moon, Stew had just molted and there was a woolyback to be skinned and chopped. "*Oh yes Stew, tonight we eat and drink and let the fungus guide our dreams*" He looked at the slain animal over his shoulder thinking "this was one of those breeding ones I reckon." "They just fuck and eat, eh Stew? You ever seen a woolyback that just goes and goes until they die? Glad we bagged this one early, I've seen them destroy entire lives with their carelessness. Just destroy while farmers fields!" The hermit crab was now sitting on Tom's Head. He liked to perch up there and keep watch. Tim didn't mind, Stew usually picked the bugs out of his hair, foibles and lice...how can an entire race of creepy crawlies gain the same foible. Not just lice either. It seemed all insects had taken on the hive mind. Each controlled by a large King or Queen. Tom avoided their areas. Giant ants, bees, hornets, the million eyed spiders, mudcrabs...he needed none of them. He stuck to the hills around the falls, always avoiding the sand dunes directly. He feared scorpions, he didn't need to see them with foibles. He hunted woolybacks, kept goats, grew what he could and kept the pond clean. Not the water itself, though. Since P-Day all algae in the pond had formed together into a massive blob. It patrolled the ponds waters consuming everything that entered. Ol' Tom only snuck a bottle or 2 weekly. He checked his traps, nothing unusual, a few legs without bodies, gotta be quick in these parts. Tom wasn't too upset, he already had a whoolyback and he didn't fancy being there much longer. The pond was the only fresh water source left and his supply from the gas station cooler was out. He couldn't make perfidy soup without some fresh water. Plus all the animals seemed to come drink here, why shouldn't he? Tom carefully tied two glass bottles on the end of his walking stick, uncorked their tops, then proceeded to hesitantly but slowly creep up one of the large rocks near the edge of the pond. He could see what appeared to be the shambling mass of algae off on the far side, probably eating a deer too slow to escape while drinking. The water was crystal clear as always. Tom lowered his stick gently, ensuring to disturb the water's surface with the smallest of force. The mass could feel movements in the water, this was a quick in and out but a safe one. This was the only time Tom liked silence. The 23 seconds it took to fill his bottles felt like years for Tom. Each moment dragging it's heels before the next but finally as the smallest of bubbles escaped his bottles Tom sighed a breath of relief, raised them gently and crept back down the rock. Once back down Tom corked the bottles, turned on his toes and was face to face with his worst nightmare...a Mother Greentip Scorpion, 10 meters wide at least. Tom unskung Gurtrude from his back, muttered "*ah shit, here we go again Stew*" As 1000's of tiny little eyes opened across the scorpions back. The screech if the horde, this was a full brood.