The New Normals Chapter 6

The sun hung in the air suspiciously long that day. They continued to debate whether or not the man’s words could have had any meaning as Roland helped Kit clean out his car.

“I mean, sure, the man was a loon… but wasn’t that oddly specific?” Kit asked, shoveling his scuba gear into a black trash bag he’d grabbed from the floor of his car.

“He spoke in rhymes. And what was that bit about the end of the world? He was a loon. You said it. Don’t think I even saw him blink. I’d be surprised if he made it till nightfall. I wouldn’t worry. Don’t see too many people out here but the ones you do are bound to be a little — eccentric.” Roland retrieved his newly acquired shades and baton, along with Kit’s fishing rod.

“He was holding an avocado-shaped maraca… eccentric may be the understatement of the y — leave the fishing rod, I’ll get a new one if I need it.”

“Just because he’s eccentric doesn’t make him a prophet,” Roland argued, placing the fishing rod back into the car and making his way around now to the trunk.

“All I’m saying is that it’s a little concerning is all…”

“So you were pretty good at card counting, huh?” Roland asked, opening the trunk.

“Why?”

“Just this sprawling pile of cash here…”

“Yeah, well… should be a lot more,” said Kit begrudgingly.

“Not to make a big deal or anything, but this is more money than I’ve had in my entire life… must be close to a million dollars in here.”

“It’d take awhile to count, but by my math it’s about $1.2 million. Not enough to cover the debts but…” Kit didn’t seem to know where he was going with this.

“Help me get it into the bag?” He veered in a different direction instead.

The bag quickly grew burdensome. Roland was surprised that they managed to fit it all.

“Never actually seen a thousand dollar bill before. Useful,” commented Roland.

“Casinos.” Kit seemed eager to change the subject.

“So where do you think we should go, left or right?”

“I think that if we keep heading to the left we’ll end up in Vegas.”

“And you actually wanted to go to Veg — ”

A high pitched whistling sound began suddenly and interrupted Kit’s train of thought. Its source was unclear to either of them, but it seemed to be rapidly getting louder. This was a matter unworthy of debate. They looked left and right at each other and seemed to be in agreement over that much.

The desert was as wide open and barren as ever, but the whistling was heading toward them like a speeding train, its pitch distorting, deepening and growing at an alarming pace. Then suddenly, a second high pitch noise joined with it, followed quickly by a third and fourth. The fifth to join in would have been more noticeable if it weren’t followed immediately by a colossal crash that sent shards of glass flying into the air. Kit had been cut just above his eyebrow. Roland pulled a piece of glass from his arm and grimaced. This was the first time that Roland, too, appeared distraught.

Kit’s car had been nearly turned into a pancake. On top of it proudly sat what looked like a small, beige gold boulder, and what smelled like a heaping pile of —

“It smells like shit,” commented Kit.

“It does a bit…” agreed Roland.

Shards of broken auto glass surrounded it on both sides as jagged, twisted metal poked out of its every orifice. Neither spoke for a couple moments. The whistling continued. Kit shot a quick, consoling look toward his car before frantically beginning his search for cover. Once he found an outcropping of rock to duck under, he darted toward it; once he’d made it there, he desperately gestured for Roland to join. Roland moved cautiously toward Kit, wiping some of the blood that had trickled down toward his hand onto his jacket as he did so. He sat besides Kit and removed his newly lifted shades as another crashing sound startled both of them.

“Not the best spot, but beats standing out in the open I guess,” said Roland over the chaos.

Yet another crash reverberated in the distance, followed by an unmistakably familiar, maniacal cackle that emerged from somewhere over the horizon.

“That sounded kind of li — ”

The loudest crash yet cut Kit’s new thought short. A cloud of dust surrounded them.

“I think this may actually be feces.” Roland sniffed at the air curiously. The crashes now were happening every few seconds. His white rhinestone jacket was dirty enough now that he was beginning to look like a true desert dweller.

“I think it’s… whale poop.”

Kit didn’t have any better suggestions but decided still to scoff at the suggestion. This went unheard over the various-sized crashing noises that continued sounding all around them now. Again, Roland inhaled thoughtfully.

“Well, I’m not an expert… but I’d say it smells the part. I’m putting my money on the poop of a large animal. A whale I think.”

“But why?”

“I’m still trying to figure that part out…” admitted Roland.

Kit held his nose shut. Roland continued to sniff at the air.

“What are you doing!?” shot Kit.

Roland paid Kit little mind as he curiously approached the heaping mound of purported whale poop. He kept a cautious eye toward the sky above him.

“Yep… whale poop I’d say for sure. It’s… oddly fragrant when you get used to it.” He examined more carefully.

“It’s poop. It smells like poop.” Kit looked irate.

“Did you know that whale poop is actually an ingredient of some perfumes? You won’t see it in the ingredients list though. I doubt many perfume wearers would actually like to know what they’re spraying on themselves before dates… I think there’s another word for it… one less scary.”

“You don’t seem that surprised by any of this.” Kit spoke slowly through his irritation, mounds of shit still falling all across the deserted landscape and fading echoes of a most joyously deranged victory screech still faintly audible.

“Not the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen,” said Roland.

“Really?”

“Top three. I’m almost certain there’s a word for this… it’s on the tip of my tongue.”

“For raining whale poop?”

“Not the raining part… the whale poop.”

“It’s ambergris,” sounded an unfamiliar voice amidst the continuing onslaught of whale droppings. She had arrived without an approach; perhaps unforeseen circumstances had made this easy. She had on a pair of jean shorts and a darkened, multi-colored tank top. It was difficult for Roland to tell whether or not this was by design as she wiped some brownish sludge from her elbow.

She was nothing if not casual. Her voice had a childish timbre that stood at odds with the way she was carelessly braving the oddest of Mojave desert storms. Neither Kit nor Roland were startled by her abrupt arrival. This, again, was due to — mitigating circumstances.

“Ah! Ambergris, that’s the word!”

“No answers on why it’s falling from the sky then…?” Kit muttered to Roland before turning to greet their new companion.

“The whale shit not surprising to you either?” asked Kit sarcastically.

“Ah ha! He admits it’s whale poop.”

Kit shot him an annoyed glance and then turned more graciously toward the new guest.

“Well… no that’s a little surprising,” she spoke airily and with little worry.

“So you’ve never seen shit rains before either?” Kit pressed.

“Nope. Don’t believe so.”

She continued after a brief pause.

“This here is most definitely bizarre. Although can’t say it’s completely unexpected.”

“Not unexpected?” echoed Kit.

“Well maybe the specifics of it are a bit odd…”

“You thought something like this might happen?” asked Roland.

“Well… my dad was a big believer in Revelations, you see.”

“And are you?”

“Well, no. Have you read Revelations? It’s silly. End times though… possibly… probably.” Medium sized chunks of ambergris continued raining down.

“So no eternal lake of fire? Drat!” said Roland with warm-hearted sarcasm.

“This does all come off as a bit biblical now that I think of it, I guess… in a kafkaesque sort of way at least.” acknowledged Kit

“I’ll admit that all his talks of Armageddon used to seem a lot sillier than they do today,” she said seriously.

“Anyways, I’m Violet.”