A meeting with the Director of Intelligence of the National
Security Agency (NSA) couldn’t fully occupy Race Banner’s thoughts at this stage in his life as he drove to the headquarters in Fort Meade, Maryland. He was one month away
from retirement and in no mood to chit chat with another bureaucrat. After thirty years in obscurity
with the NSA, behind the scene involvement in some of his country’s darkest
operations, he was ready to live life as a normal citizen. Jokingly called the Nerd Assassin by his friends, Race was the go-to man with the
knowledge to infiltrate the world of rogue governments and take out their
scientists. Now he was one month away
from a new life cultivating medical marihuana on his farm south of Santé
Fe, New Mexico. This thought always solicited a
smile; his little secret, an act of defiance to counter the thirty years of blind
allegiance to his country. It was his
time to call the shots now, to have the final say in the direction of his
life. His vehicle’s presence was detected
one mile from the NSA headquarters after entering the fort. Pole mounted cameras followed his movement
into the parking lot and instantly scanned his retinas for identification.
Fingerprint scans and voice analyzer allowed him access beyond the receptionist
at the front desk. This was level one
entry for the basic NSA operative. To
gain access to the bowels of the headquarters, to the offices that don’t exist, required the swabbing of his
inner cheek for an instantaneous DNA identification that was undeniable.
At this level it was not unusual to meet in a spartan office
with only one table and two chairs. It
sent a message of getting to the point.
What was unusual was the team of 4 lab-coated scientists standing behind
the Director, Lt. General Michael Langeford (Ret.) as he sat facing Race. Race had only the vaguest recognition of one
scientist, someone he recalled working with on a failed mission to clone Kim Jong-il
and replace the North Korean despot after he was kidnapped by Navy
Seals. As he sat, Race still believed it
unlikely he would get another assignment so close to the end yet that notion
faded when Langeford slid a folder towards him with Level 5 Top Secret stamped on its front; the highest security level.
Langford broke the silence. “It is a pleasure and an honor
to meet you agent Banner. He dispensed with introducing the scientists. Despite the general's efforts, Race easily detected in his voice a dreading mannerism. This was serious, more than the typical
assignment to remove another lab rat in Iran or China. The scientists remained silent as the general
continued. “You are familiar with the
Zombie Parasite? Race nodded. The Zombie Parasite was a genetically
modified variant of Toxoplasma gondii, a parasite with the remarkable
ability to alter the brain of infected rats, making them attracted to the urine
of cats and in the process inclined to be captured and eaten. When eaten, the parasite finds its way to the
gut of the cat where it flourishes and lays eggs which are expelled in
the urine to continue the life cycle when new rats detect and lick it up. Race
had peripheral knowledge of the project’s success of altering the parasites’ DNA
to make it seek out the brain of people who unknowingly ingested it in food. Preliminary results showed that once infected,
the human entered a zombie state and immediately imprinted on the first person
in its sight. In this state the zombie
followed every order from its master
without question. There were rumors that
Al Qaida prisoners were infected with the parasite and once imprinted, were
fitted with a vest of C4 explosives and a detonator and allowed to rejoin their brethren in
Pakistan. Success was spotty as
detonation of the vests occurred more often than not in public areas but this
was explained away as callousness on the part of militants. There
was no concrete answer as to why the zombie blindly obeyed its master to the
detriment of its own life. Speculation
had it the parasite accepted this as a symbiotic relationship where eventually
it would encounter a large population and enhance the odds of passing on eggs
through its urine.
Scientist no. 1 spoke up.
Mr. Banner, we are at the point where there is a need to observe the
parasite’s interaction with other infected individuals in a large population, say
20,000 people. Scientist number two explained
further. To infect a large population in
an aggressor’s country would not allow us to tightly monitor or control the
movement of the infected. In short, we
could not guarantee that imprinting would occur with a reliable master.
What we need from you, the general interjected, is to recon
a town in the United States that is a perfect laboratory for the next level in
this experiment. A town where the
citizens average IQ is below the national standard. Where people would be oblivious to
manipulation or not have the wherewithal to question any change in their
pathetic existence.
“Have you found such a town?” Race asked.
Yes replied the general.
The town is called Dungpileton, Texas.
Noting that Race raised an eyebrow upon hearing this, the general asked
“Have you heard of this town?” Race replied that he did and thought to himself, “who
hasn’t”?
Epilogue
Dungpileton, Texas. A
mid-size town of 20,000 residents on the Texas Gulf Coast, fifty miles southeast
of Houston. Founded in 1890 by Thaddeus
Angleton, the town took its name from the byproduct of cattle and horse feedlots throughout the county of Brazoia which used the city as its repositories. Periods of boom and bust followed for decades thereafter until the state sent in the
Texas Rangers to set fire to the mountainous piles of dung in an attempt to
eradicate diarrhea, typhoid, scabies, cholera, and intestinal parasites which ran
rampant within the ghettos of the dung workers or dungies. With their
livelihood destroyed the dungies regrouped to build the low paying, non-union businesses
now prevalent in modern Dungpileton or what passes for modern. The denizens however, never lost their love for dung.
It is their city motto - “Fimus est rex rgis. Porro ago rex”!
Translated, it means “Dung is king.
Long live the king”!
Even by East Texas standards, dungies are crude and backwards thinking dullards. This reputation is a source of pride and exploited as a huge source of revenue by way of tourism. The annual Dung parade and crowning of Miss
Dung draw in tens of thousands of paying tourists so it is imperative the city
keeps up appearances. The true power
behind Dungpileton is a consortium of families that decide who will be mayor
and city council members (always men) because family members are the only ones who
remember to vote in general elections. Keeping in line with females of the state Republican Party, the women of
Dungpileton are born into a Stockholm
Syndrome of acquiescence to the patriarchs of the ruling families. The families
also decide who will be clergy of the churches and members of the police force with the latter
paid with stock in national donut chains. If one looks at Dungpileton as if living in a
bubble then it is fair to say there is no corruption. The tightly controlled gambling, prostitution
and meth businesses are seen as matter of
fact because the citizens believe this is the way it has always been. The arrangement is not without its
consequences. With a wink and a nod from
the Texas Education Agency, the Dungpileton independent school district produces
an assembly line of graduates with a thinking capacity one could posit as
functionally retarded. In a state that
is number one in health uninsured, Dungies have the
highest per capita rates of diabetes, heart disease, obesity and communicable diseases. The mayor, Thad Angleton IV, never forgets to
tell any stranger he holds the patent for a padded arm rest on shopping
carts to allow Dungie shoppers some measure of comfort as they lean on
their carts for support; a walk popularly known as the shopping cart shuffle.
