GENOCIDAL BASTARDS
Michael A. Kechula
World War Nine broke out while I was inspecting the Doomsday Shelter twenty miles below Area 51. I was incommunicado for three days. During that time, Martians staged a sneak attack, waged nuclear war, won, and departed with the spoils.
When I emerged from the shelter, I checked nearby Las Vegas. Horrors! Beside me, the only other survivors were cockroaches.
Fortunately, the Doomsday Shelter had plentiful supplies, so I made that my home. Except for human companionship, life was normal. Mornings, I exercised in the gym built for 500,000 people. Afternoons, I browsed the Shelter’s vast library of a billion volumes. Time passed quickly. But after six months, I found myself extremely lonely.
Then I discovered hundreds of books containing photographs of every female cockroach in America. The book covers said they were printed by Royal Press, publishers to His Royal Highness, The King of North American Cockroaches. The printer’s address was a few blocks from Caesar’s Palace Casino in Las Vegas.
Waving a white flag, I approached the place. Suddenly, I was surrounded by very nasty looking, heavily armed cockroaches. “I come in peace,” I said. “I wish to see your King.”
Recognizing that I was human, they put away their weapons, and shook my hand. Then they told me to lie on the ground. When I did, untold numbers lifted me and carried me into the royal chamber in the basement of Caesar’s Palace.
“Your Highness,” I said, as they lowered me at the foot of the King’s throne, “I’m delighted to see you. And I’m pleased that you and so many of your subjects survived.”
“We all survived. Your scientists were right.”
“In what way, Your Highness?”
“They predicted that the only survivors of thermonuclear war would be cockroaches. So, how did you manage to stay alive, seeing that you aren’t one of us?”
“I was twenty miles under the ground inspecting the Doomsday Shelter. When I came to the surface, I saw bodies and destroyed buildings everywhere. When I saw some of your kind scurrying around, I knew there were other survivors.”
“So why are you here?” he asked.
“I saw your books in the Shelter’s library.”
“Ah yes. I had them published to show casino owners how beautiful my female subjects were. I sent copies to every casino in town, hoping they’d hire some as show girls.”
“I can’t imagine why I never saw any on stage at the casinos,” I said. “Actually, that’s why I’m here. I have an idea that may serve our mutual interests.”
We spoke for hours. Afterward, he ordered a beauty contest in which only the most stunning of his subjects would participate.
The contest was held in Las Vegas in what was left of Caesar’s Palace. It rivaled in grandeur any Miss America Contest I’d ever seen. Seeing hundreds of gorgeous, female cockroaches posing in swimsuits was something to behold.
I married the winner with the King's blessing.
Since then, we’ve mated hourly to repopulate Earth. The cross-species pollination is working. When we have sufficient offspring, I’ll build a humongous army, nuclear weapons, and rocket ships. Then we’ll get revenge.
Beware, you genocidal Martian bastards! The cocka-humans are coming!
- - -
Michael A. Kechula's flash fiction has been published by 127 magazines and 35 anthologies in 6 countries. He's authored two collections of flash fiction tales: "A Full Deck of Zombies - 61 Speculative Fiction Tales" and "The Area 51 Option and 70 More Speculative Fiction Tales."
Michael A. Kechula
World War Nine broke out while I was inspecting the Doomsday Shelter twenty miles below Area 51. I was incommunicado for three days. During that time, Martians staged a sneak attack, waged nuclear war, won, and departed with the spoils.
When I emerged from the shelter, I checked nearby Las Vegas. Horrors! Beside me, the only other survivors were cockroaches.
Fortunately, the Doomsday Shelter had plentiful supplies, so I made that my home. Except for human companionship, life was normal. Mornings, I exercised in the gym built for 500,000 people. Afternoons, I browsed the Shelter’s vast library of a billion volumes. Time passed quickly. But after six months, I found myself extremely lonely.
Then I discovered hundreds of books containing photographs of every female cockroach in America. The book covers said they were printed by Royal Press, publishers to His Royal Highness, The King of North American Cockroaches. The printer’s address was a few blocks from Caesar’s Palace Casino in Las Vegas.
Waving a white flag, I approached the place. Suddenly, I was surrounded by very nasty looking, heavily armed cockroaches. “I come in peace,” I said. “I wish to see your King.”
Recognizing that I was human, they put away their weapons, and shook my hand. Then they told me to lie on the ground. When I did, untold numbers lifted me and carried me into the royal chamber in the basement of Caesar’s Palace.
“Your Highness,” I said, as they lowered me at the foot of the King’s throne, “I’m delighted to see you. And I’m pleased that you and so many of your subjects survived.”
“We all survived. Your scientists were right.”
“In what way, Your Highness?”
“They predicted that the only survivors of thermonuclear war would be cockroaches. So, how did you manage to stay alive, seeing that you aren’t one of us?”
“I was twenty miles under the ground inspecting the Doomsday Shelter. When I came to the surface, I saw bodies and destroyed buildings everywhere. When I saw some of your kind scurrying around, I knew there were other survivors.”
“So why are you here?” he asked.
“I saw your books in the Shelter’s library.”
“Ah yes. I had them published to show casino owners how beautiful my female subjects were. I sent copies to every casino in town, hoping they’d hire some as show girls.”
“I can’t imagine why I never saw any on stage at the casinos,” I said. “Actually, that’s why I’m here. I have an idea that may serve our mutual interests.”
We spoke for hours. Afterward, he ordered a beauty contest in which only the most stunning of his subjects would participate.
The contest was held in Las Vegas in what was left of Caesar’s Palace. It rivaled in grandeur any Miss America Contest I’d ever seen. Seeing hundreds of gorgeous, female cockroaches posing in swimsuits was something to behold.
I married the winner with the King's blessing.
Since then, we’ve mated hourly to repopulate Earth. The cross-species pollination is working. When we have sufficient offspring, I’ll build a humongous army, nuclear weapons, and rocket ships. Then we’ll get revenge.
Beware, you genocidal Martian bastards! The cocka-humans are coming!
- - -
Michael A. Kechula's flash fiction has been published by 127 magazines and 35 anthologies in 6 countries. He's authored two collections of flash fiction tales: "A Full Deck of Zombies - 61 Speculative Fiction Tales" and "The Area 51 Option and 70 More Speculative Fiction Tales."
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