By me, with art by Sam Messerly.
Click here to read from the beginning.
I ran for my rifle, stumbling, a mess of rage. I found the weapon in my closet, pulled it out, struggled with the cloth zip cover. I finally managed to rip off the covering, grabbed the stock awkwardly, stumbled towards the door, tripped and banged against the wall. By the time I was out the door, I thought Warbell would be long gone.
He was still there. He had not moved since I dashed into the house. I felt hot tears in my eyes, burning, and I knuckled them away. I had brought my rifle outside in the bright morning light, despite the security team, despite the absurdity of trying to kill a full-sized tyrannosaurus with a single rifle. My anger dissolved my rationality. One of the security men came running my way. My rifle was still pointing at the ground.
“I’m sorry,” Warbell said. “I have to finish this.”
I dropped my rifle before the security guard could yank it from my hands. I pointed a finger at the old lizard before me.
“Get out of my garage,” I said. “Get out of my life. I won’t be your stupid ambassador anymore. Get out of here!”
Then the security guards took away the rifle, grabbed my arms, roughed me over, had me on the ground in my pajamas as they yelled incoherent words I couldn’t understand through my wall of rage. But as one of the security guards shoved my head against the grass, I watched the old lizard, and the old lizard watched me.
Later that day everything was removed from my garage. All of Warbell’s things were taken out and moved somewhere, anywhere far away. I didn’t want to know where. I just wanted him gone. I know Warbell came and helped move things. I saw him come, but I huddled in my room, shutters pulled.
And I got remonstrated by Mayor Pilky, and at least one newspaper columnist criticized me roundly in the local paper later that week, though few details were given concerning the reasons for the drama. I couldn’t tell people that Warbell was the source of the disappearing death virus—there was no proof. What could I say? How could I prove anything? Yet on the other hand, I didn’t go to jail, despite the dinosaur being our “king.” Apparently the old lizard never pressed charges.
It had just lasted a few weeks, really, that I had a tyrannosaurus living in my garage.