Hot Experiments in a Cincinnati Summer

By Arlan Gerig

When I heard about our scientists’ mutation experiments, I laughed. When I saw their results, I loaded my guns.

Tranquilizer guns, of course. As the lab’s lead animal caretaker, only the pistol on my holster was deadly.

“Don’t you have anything that’s not dangerous?” I asked Dr. Jantz, our lead geneticist. He gave a raucous laugh while his eyes gleamed behind thick Harry Potter glasses.

Jantz had bioengineered crocolizards, piranha goldfish, and unihorses––part horse and part rhino. He’d also directed the team responsible for butterbees, a euphemistically named combination of butterflies and hornets. Any innocent child trying to catch a butterfly might be stung multiple times before the parents realized what was happening.

“You gotta grab life by the throat, Steve. Be daring,” Jantz said between puffs from his cigarette while he poured formaldehyde into bottles. Doctor Frankenstein would have been proud.

***

One muggy August morning, I received a frantic call from Jantz. “Steve, we need you down here right away. The animals got loose!”

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and counted to five. “Which ones?”

“A unihorse crashed through our steel door and a couple pens. It’s loose, as well as two crocolizards. My babies are in trouble, Steve! You gotta help!”

I sipped my coffee, savored the burn in my throat, then set down my cup. “On my way. You know, the people of Cincinnati might hang your carcass from a tree for this.”

I sprinted for the truck and raced toward the lab. My repeated written warnings to Jantz and the directors would hopefully negate any guilt by association, especially if it came to lawsuits.

I couldn’t even get within a block of our building. Traffic was stopped in all directions. Two cars lay in the street, flipped like turtles on their backs. Police vehicles encircled the intersection to block the raging unihorse. Using its Clydesdale-like build, the monstrous animal kicked huge dents in one cruiser with its powerful back legs, then punctured a tire with its large horn. It snorted and neighed, eyeing the spectators.

I stepped from the truck and cradled my dart gun, ready for action.

Jantz tapped me on the shoulder. “I followed them down here, but the crocolizards were too fast. They’ve disappeared.”

“Where’s your gun? I’m not the only one authorized to stop them.”

“I can’t shoot my precious creations.” He shuddered. “Not even with a dart gun.”

Heat crept up my face, but I held my tongue. With one hand resting on the holster, my pistol was ready if needed. Slinging the dart gun over my shoulder, I grabbed a second one and checked to make sure all ten tranqs were loaded.

“If you think I can take down your entire violation-of-nature herd single-handedly, then I need to find another job.” I tossed it to him. He fumbled and dropped it.

Jantz wrung his hands. “I can’t, Steve. What if I injure them by mistake? They’re worth millions.”

There was a crunch of broken glass and a patrol alarm blared. The unihorse’s horn had smashed the driver’s window, its hoof about to annihilate the side-view mirror.

“Stop it now before I do,” an officer shouted, glancing at me while pointing his handgun at the unihorse.

Taking careful aim, I fired the dart gun. The creature bellowed, pawed the asphalt, and glared at me. I shot again. This time at the neck. The massive beast neighed and galloped three steps before collapsing. The crowd on the sidewalk cheered.

I wiped sweat from my forehead, searching beyond the surrounding crowd. The crocolizards were next. Cursing under my breath, I whistled to Jantz and did a fast walk up the street.

After looking under cars, inside potted flowers, and through trash cans, I stopped to catch my breath and hydrate. My water bottle triggered my brain. Of course! In this heat, the animals needed water.

I hollered to Jantz, who followed at a distance. “What water holes are nearby?”

Color drained from his face. “The zoo.”

I groaned. “That’s probably where our crocolizards are headed.”

Jantz nodded. “I’ll meet you there.”

I jogged toward the lab truck, mind racing. What if the mini-crocs hid in shrubbery or tall grass? What if they attacked? Jantz and his numbskull brainiacs had given them acid spit like Gila monsters. Fuming in my truck, I loaded more darts.

In the zoo’s parking area, I had to slam on my brakes to avoid screaming parents and children fleeing the entrance. I radioed for medical help, grabbed my guns, and dashed inside.

The zoo’s caretakers waved me toward Swan Lake, a popular attraction. Beady eyes tracked me from the water. The crocolizards had the advantage and left me few choices. I unholstered my pistol.

Jantz caught up to me, heaving for air, and grabbed my arm. “Don’t. That’s a fortune in research and experimentation.”

“They aren’t big, but they’re quick and ferocious. I don’t have goggles if they spit acid.” I leveled the dart gun at the water. “It’s not my first option.”

The beady eyes watched Jantz. Both creatures rushed from the water, scrabbling toward him, jaws open and sharp teeth exposed. My darts had no effect.

Jantz screamed and cowered behind me. I pulled my pistol and fired in rapid succession.

The crocolizards lay still on the ground. My ears were still ringing as I approached.

Jantz followed, his hands shaking. “Why did my babies do that?”

“You were an awful parent,” I grumbled. “You treated them like experiments, not animals.”

Jantz stared at the dead crocolizards while the caretakers approached, He frowned, snapped his fingers, and his face lit up. “You know, I could cross a crocodile with an electric eel. That would be interesting.”

I shook my head and walked back to my truck. “After all the lawsuits from today’s fiasco, nobody’ll fund any of your experiments.”

When I looked back, his face had a thoughtful, faraway look. I sighed. He’d heard nothing.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Arlan Gerig has stories published in Havok, Every Day Fiction, and the Animal Kingdom anthology. Arlan recently fulfilled a goal: a Bahamas mission trip to help Haitian refugees. When he’s not reading a great book, writing flash fiction, or bringing wizard apprentice Gwynfar to life in a YA fantasy novel, Arlan enjoys walking his two pit mixes around his Ohio neighborhood.

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