The Cow Chronicles Part 8: Bob's Pizza

Farmer Joe ran for the police van, but stopped dead in his tracks as he opened the door. Someone else was already sitting in the driver’s seat.

“Hello”, the government agent who had been sitting in the back of the police van the whole time said. “I’m glad I can finally arrest you. You have no idea how boring it is, sitting in the back of a van for nine hours”, he said as he drove away from the Majestic Mesa.

“Wait a minute. Bovine County is back that way. Why are we going into Plugerville?”, Farmer Joe asked.

“None of your business”, said the agent.

Plugerville housed the global headquarters of Bob’s Pizza, Inc., the world’s largest chain of pizza parlors. The CEO, Bob Jenkins, was the third richest person in the world, and it showed in the streets leading to the skyscraper that dominated the Plugerville skyline. They teemed with armored cars, and soldiers holding assault rifles stood guard at every street corner. Military helicopters flew above the streets, and the buildings nearby were adorned with floodlights.

The police van arrived at the parking garage near the skyscraper. The agent guided it into an airlock, and two soldiers walked out. While one inspected the car for bombs, the other led them to a room, where the agent was given fingerprint and retinal scans.

“My friend out there will park your vehicle. We’ll take you to it when you leave”, the soldier gruffly muttered to Farmer Joe and the agent.

People were only allowed to enter the Bob’s Pizza headquarters by invitation. Facial recognition scanners controlled every door in the buildings, from the restrooms to Bob Jenkins’ personal chambers.

Metal detectors were placed every ten feet in the hallways, and surveillance drones flew overhead. All people in the building were required to wear microphones, which transmitted every spoken word to robots scanning for trigger words. There were floor-to-ceiling windows everywhere (Farmer Joe was unsure if the windows were for providing light or an area for the military helicopters circling the building to monitor the people inside), and neon strips ran down the wall, glowing in bright, vibrant colors. The headquarters of Bob’s Pizza may have been Orwellian, but it was colorfully Orwellian.

Farmer Joe stepped into Elevator 103. At least now they were in the upper fifth of the building, where the most prestigious executive of the company worked and lived, which meant that there was seating in the elevator.

The final 25 floors of the 196 story skyscraper surrounded a massive rotunda and plaza. It was ringed with Bob’s Pizza outlets, and massive glass plates that allowed workers to gaze out into the plaza. In the center of it all was a massive fountain, ringed by seven stone pillars, each of which had a previous owner of the company on it.

Sitting on the fountain’s rim was a man wearing a crisp, red tuxedo. Farmer Joe and the agent walked up to him.

“I expect you are the ones Mr. Jenkins requested?”, the man asked the agent.

“Indeed. My name is Inspector Zachary Sanford of the United States Central Intelligence Agency. I am escorting Farmer Joe to the chambers of Bob Jenkins, as he requested”, the agent replied.

“Wait, I’m seeing Bob Jenkins?!”, Farmer Joe half-shouted in surprise.

“Yes. Come with me”, the tuxedo man said. “I’m his butler, by the way”

The butler led him to a massive glass tube that stretched up out of the rotunda. He pressed a button, and a large glass capsule rose up. A small section of the tube opened up, allowing Farmer Joe and the agent to step in.

“Wait, we don’t need more security checkups?”, Farmer Joe asked in surprise.

“Nope. If anyone wanted to hurt Mr. Jenkins, they would have been caught by now”, the butler replied.

Farmer Joe, Zach, and the butler stepped into the capsule, and sat down in upholstered chairs. “Fasten your seatbelts”, the butler told them. At first, Farmer Joe and Inspector Zachary had no idea why. Then, the capsule began to accelerate.

Farmer Joe felt like he was being crushed, then stretched, then crushed again. It was unpleasant, but he got used to it.
The rotunda fell away in an instant. Suddenly, they were looking over the lights of Plugerville. In the distance, Farmer Joe thought he could just make out his home town. Lights slowly meandered down straight lines: cars on highways. In the distance, the flickering lights of planes shone. Suddenly, Plugerville only appeared to be a tiny, yellow dot, and even that disappeared. Before Farmer Joe knew it, he was looking at the whole of the United States.

They were in orbit.

Farmer Joe and Zach were too stunned and shocked to even speak. The capsule glided past a few old satellites, going towards what appeared to be a massive hunk of rusty metal. Suddenly, bright purple lettering flickered on. BOB’S PIZZA, SPACE STYLE, they read.

“I thought they shut this thing down ages ago”, Farmer Joe murmured in amazement.

Slowly, the capsule docked with an airlock stretching into the spherical pizza parlor. The butler led Farmer Joe and Zach through the airlock.

“You see, we thought that Mr. Jenkins would be too easy of a target on Earth”, the butler said. “He commands the company from here”

Unlike the exterior and airlock, which were filthy and deteriorating, the interior of the space pizza parlor was very clean. It was a fairly large, wood-paneled dome. A circular desk sat in the center, surrounded by holographic screens. Strangely, there was no chair at the desk.

“Where’s Mr. Jenkins?”, Zach asked.

“That would be me. . .”, a disembodied, sexless voice said. One of those boxy computer monitors people used in the 1980s and 90s rose from the floor. A hydraulic arm carefully moved the monitor onto the desk. The monitor displayed a bright green, pixelated image of an older version of the Bob’s pizza logo, the one the company had used from 1979 to 1997.

“I have much to tell you, Farmer Joe”, the computer said.

“I want to speak to Bob Jenkins. Also, how did you know my name?”, Farmer Joe replied.

“I-”, the computer began to speak, but was cut short as the screen glitched. The computer began making strange electronic noises, similar to the noises a computer made when using dial-up internet.

The butler looked horrified. He jumped over the desk, and plugged in a cable that had gotten loose. The moment he did, the screen displayed the text REBOOTING. . .
“This takes awhile”, the butler groaned.

54 minutes later, the screen switched back to the Bob’s Pizza logo.

“Sorry about that”, the computer said. “I need to find away to keep these cables from slipping out. As I was saying to Farmer Joe; I am Bob Jenkins, CEO of Bob’s Pizza, Inc.”

“You’re a computer screen showing an old Bob’s Pizza logo that takes forever to reboot”, Zach said, a hint of annoyance in his voice”

“No. You likely know that the head of Bob’s Pizza has always been called “Bob Jenkins”, ever since our 1906 founding”, the computer said.

“Yeah, but aren’t they just different generations in a family?”, Farmer Joe asked.

“No. As a human, I died in 1985. My mind was transferred into a computer, so that I may govern my company forever”

“That makes no sense! Then again, I’m talking to a pizza chef inside an 80s at an abandoned pizza parlor in space”, Zach said.

“Seen stranger”, Farmer Joe said. “Why did you want me here, anyway?”

“I didn’t summon you. Someone else wanted to see you, and at this particular location”, Bob Jenkins said.

“Who?”, Farmer Joe asked.

“Hello, Farmer Joe”, said Farmer Bob.

ZQ Retold Part 9: (Whatever the male equivalent of "damsel" is) in distress

Abe walked through the kitchen, looking through the room. He was trying to find something he and Abe could eat for supper.

The only food the Goblins hadn’t taken was what they didn’t consider food. In other words, Abe and Caleb were living on junk food, the type where the ingredient list covers half the box.

The pantry was completely empty. Abe cursed under his breath. It seemed that the Goblins were trying to starve them. The one thing still in the pantry was a dusty can of tuna. Abe sighed, pulling it out.

EXPIRES: 9/17/12, the date read.

Abe angrily threw down the can, and stormed back to the garage.

“The Goblins stole all our food!”, Abe spat.

“Calm down. I’m sure your cousin has some food. Why don’t you ask him?”

“I suppose”, Abe muttered to himself. “Even if he doesn’t have any food, maybe he knows where some is”

“Guess we have no choice”, Caleb replied, picking up his revolver from its place in a dish rack, which Caleb had brought to the garage.

The first thing Abe and Caleb noticed when they walked onto Affadax Avenue, was that the street was eerily void of Goblins. Scanning the area, Abe saw only a black speck in the sky, probably a zeppelin.

“This street was teeming with Goblins last time”, Caleb muttered. “Why would they suddenly be gone?”

“Maybe they’re planning a surprise attack. Or. . .OH MY GOSH!”, Abe shouted.

Caleb flinched in surprise. “What was that for?”, he asked.

“They probably want to concentrate on a specific target! And unless there’s some other guy in the area who’s selling weapons. . .”, Without finishing the sentence, Abe ran off in the direction of Tony’s house.

Tony ran through his backyard, mowing down Goblin after Goblin with his machine gun.

He ran to a corner, where the old, red picket fence met the wall of his house. Suddenly, a massive gust of wind swept the yard, sending dead skunks sailing through the air. Tony looked up in horror. A dragon was landing in the vacant lot next to his house. Karab stepped down from it.

“Raktalo hek dilwar!”, Karab shouted to a second Goblin, who clutched the dragons’ reins. The Goblin cracked the reins, and the dragon roared out a fireball. In an instant, the fence was ablaze. The ancient posts quickly disintegrated into flaming ashes as if they were made of dust. Karab walked through the fires. It seemed that his white robe was protecting him from the fire.

“How I love dramatic entries”, Karab hissed at Tony.

“You said our deal was done”, Tony growled at him, jumping away from the fence. He aimed the barrel of his machine gun into Karab’s heartless, red eyes.

Clickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclick, the gun said.

Karab began to laugh. “As the aliens in those old movies of yours say, ‘DIE PUNY HUMAN SCUM!’” He pulled a crossbow from a strap from his back, and reached into a quiver hanging from a belt. The quiver was situated where most people with guns kept their holsters. He reached in, and produced. . .nothing.

Surprise crossed the Goblin’s face, which quickly morphed into rage. He began shouting words that Tony guessed were Goblin curse words.

“Well, then nevermind”, Karab snarled. “I can ask one of my soldiers to kill you later. Most of your weapons will be nothing but ash”

“So will your troops”, Tony replied. “I think they’re looting my house, which you just set on fire”

A range of emotions crossed Karab’s face. First shock, then sadness, and then anger”

“They’re expendable!”, Karab barked. “I can ask my leader to make a whole new batch! If their brains are fine, I can even give them the same personalities and memories!”

By now, all of Tony’s fence and about a fifth of his house had been reduced to burnt husks. A Goblin knight, like the one who Abe and Caleb had fought walked up to Karab. The two quickly talked to each other in their native tongue.

Before Tony could react, the knight kneed him, and he crumpled to the ground. He felt rusty metal pressing against his neck, but then heard Karab shout something in Goblin. Pain stabbed through his head as the knight did what he presumed was kicking him in the face. Suddenly, Karab let out a bloodcurdling scream.

As the world faded away from Tony, he thought he saw Abe coming to his rescue.

Tony’s parents were deeply religious. Sort of. They had written their own Bible, and had taught Tony from birth that even worse than the Seven Deadly Sins were the Three Even Deadlier Sins. They were: refusal to eat vegetables, refusal to go to bed before 6 PM, and refusal to clean your room. In any case, he was constantly told that one toe out of line, and he would go straight to hell.

As he had become a dealer in illegal weapons, illegal drugs, and worst of all, illegal dead skunks, Tony figured that, if his parents were to be believed, he would be in Satan’s kingdom. It sure seemed like hell, since the first thing he saw was fire. As he looked around, he noticed that there was far less fire than he had thought. The only fire he could see was only the size of a campfire. Also, hell was very small, and looked like a garage.

Tony sprang to his feet.

“Uh, hi”, Caleb said, as he scanned the area for his machine gun.

“Don’t bother looking for the gun”, Abe told Tony. “It’s toast. Literally”

Caleb groaned. “It’s the apocalypse, and you still can’t refrain from awful puns?”

“Nope”, Abe said, chuckling.

Abe had built a campfire in the garage, keeping the door open to provide an escape for the smoke. In addition, Caleb had found an electric fan, and would occasionally switch it on to blow out the smoke at a quicker rate.

“What is this?”, Tony asked as Abe handed him a skewer with a small, green piece of what appeared to be meat. “Don’t tell me this is roast Goblin”

“It is roast Goblin”, Abe said. “Frank saw the fire and came over. He helped us take out the Goblins. Then he showed us how to cook them. Apparently, he lives on the stuff”

“It’s like eating bugs”, Caleb explained. “Innovative and a way to save food, yet also absolutely revolting”

“Better put out the fire”, Tony told Abe and Tyler after dinner. “Don’t want to give the Goblins a huge signal that shows where some humans are. Humans who just killed one of their highest-ranking”

As Tyler whacked the fire with a piece of the Goblin knight’s armor, attempting to smother it, it became apparent that they were too late.

The ZQ Wiki

So, you may have noticed that several of the recent ZQ Retold stories have been using really strange words. These are words in the Goblin language. There's a page on it on the ZQ Wiki, which can be found here. However, I used a few words that Arthur hasn't added to the page on the Goblin language, which are below.

• Taqua- send
• Ral- for
• Rycelikar- Goblin general
• Yorkrah- Guard (verb)
• Alyek- by
• Rysar- power
• Bek- of

ZQ Retold Part 8: Target Practice

Warning: More than mild graphic content

The waffles were closing in. Abe clutched his toaster, and toasted waffle after waffle. But now, reinforcements were coming in. A line of pop tarts were visible over the next hill. Suddenly, a 70 foot tall Thomas Jefferson arrived, and killed all the bad guys. “Brush your teeth”, he told Abe.

As Abe dreamed, his cousin was having problems of his own. Taking unsteady, deep breaths, he turned on the television. He quickly muted it when he saw the blaring emergency broadcast, as not to wake Abe and Caleb. He twisted the dial through channel after channel. Most were displaying the same text scroll, except for one, which aired Totally Real News.

“This just in”, the tired newscaster said into the camera. “Alien creatures have assumed control of the planet. It’s the liberals’ fault. Thanks a lot-” As the TRN reporter finished his statement, an arrow hit him in the neck and he slumped over. Goblins swarmed into the studio, and destroyed the camera.
Eventually, Tony arrived at the channel reserved for a DVD player or similar device. Static swam across the screen. He took out a key, and opened a padlocked door on the cabinet the TV sat on.

Inside was a strange Goblin device. He pushed a button, and the static slowly became a video feed of a Goblin wearing a long white coat.

“What is it?”, the Goblin hissed.

“Karab, you can’t come next morning. I have visitors.”, Tony said. “A family member and his friend”

“Fine. But they have to be gone by tomorrow evening. Also, you’d better not be giving them weapons. Your people are giving us a hard enough time as is”

Tony paused. “Don’t worry, Karab”, he eventually said. “They’re just kids. How much damage could they really do?”

“According to Dornac, a couple of kids managed to take out a quarikar by themselves”

“Doesn’t sound like him. Goodbye”, Tony pressed the button on the Goblin device, switching it off”

“I had the weirdest dream last night”, Abe told Tony and Caleb the next morning over breakfast.

“So, can we have some weapons?”, Caleb asked. “It was really hard to take out that Giant with just a shovel. We barely survived.”

“Wait, you took out that thing?”, Tony asked in shock. “Anyhow, pick out your weapons. We can do some target practise at your place”

Abe picked up the pistol he had tried to take the last time he had visited Tony.

“How much for it?”, Abe asked.

Tony and Caleb laughed. “Dude there are no stores operating anymore. Why would I need cash? In the meantime, I’ve got a holster for that in here”, Tony said as he pulled a holster out of a cabinet under the sink.

“Thanks”, said Abe.

Caleb ended up choosing a fat-barreled revolver, which he thought could aid in fighting Giants and Dragons. Tony decided to accompany them back to the garage to teach them how to shoot.

“Guys!”, Caleb suddenly shouted. “There’s a battlecart coming!” Abe, Tony, and Caleb jumped into the doorway of a church as a battlecart sped by.

“I’ve got to go!”, Tony shouted, running after the battlecart. Before Abe and Caleb could respond, he was gone.

“What was that?”, Caleb angrily asked. “He gives us weapons and just abandons us on the street? I told you he was a jerk!”

“He’ll probably be back soon. Maybe he’s just going to make sure that the Goblins don’t destroy his house or something”

“Come on, Abe. I guess we’ll have to teach ourselves how to shoot”, Caleb said.

Ten minutes later, Abe and Caleb had dragged bags of fertilizer out of the gardening shed, and leaned them against wooden stakes. Caleb took aim at one, but Abe asked him to wait. He ran inside (the house seemed to be void of Goblins lately), and returned with a permanent marker. Quickly, he drew snarling Goblin faces on each of the bags.

“I wish we could find some green paint”, Caleb said amusingly. “No offense, but I also wish you could draw”

“A friend of mine is a really good artist”, Abe said “I wonder if he made it”

Caleb locked his hand around the trigger, carefully aimed it at the fertilizer, and fired. He was launched back by the recoil. The bag was obliterated, spraying fertilizer across the yard.

“That poor Goblin!”, Abe laughed. He took aim at another bag.

Suddenly, a real Goblin fired a very real arrow, which whizzed past Abe. Abe and Caleb turned in shock, seeing a Goblin standing in the driveway, bow at the ready. Abe fired at the Goblin, killing it. It was then that Abe noticed the second Goblin, who had heard the fighting and come to see what the matter was. It was bedecked in rusty, metal armor, fastened with a leather belt that seemed to be made of the same material as the tunics of the Goblin soldiers. It shouted something at Abe and Caleb, and unsheathed a broadsword from a sheath on its back.

Abe fired shot after shot at the Goblin. He might as well have been throwing tissue paper. Each bullet bounced off the Goblin’s armor. Eventually, it kicked Abe to the ground, and held a sword to his neck. As it’s sword swung through the air, toward Abe’s throat, Caleb ran up to the armored Goblin. He fired a volley of bullets at the Goblin’s head, killing it, along with staining Abe’s face with Goblin blood.

“This stuff smells horrible!” Abe shouted as Caleb helped him up. He ran to the house, and came back with paper towels, to wipe Abe’s face. Abe looked at the dead Goblin.

[This paragraph has been redacted due to extreme graphic content]

He picked up the Goblin’s sword. “I’ve always been better with melee combat”, he said to himself.

“I think that was more than enough training”, Caleb told him.

“Yeah”, Abe replied. “Hey! Whatever happened to Tony?”

“Care to explain this? Karab snarled at Tony. He pressed buttons on the device hooked up to Tony’s TV, until it showed a view from a traffic camera on Abe’s street. It showed footage of Abe, Caleb, and Tony walking down the street, guns in Abe and Caleb’s hands.

“How much damage could they do? They’re just kids!”, Tony protested.

“Oh surrre”, Karab sarcastically sang at Tony. “Two kids who can kill an entire quarikar, not to mention a zeahir? Couldn’t possibly pose a single threat to us”

“Please! I’ll do anything you want”, Tony pled to Karab.

“What I want you to do right now is die! I’m going to tell Dornac to send troops here immediately!”, Karab snapped at Tony, storming out of the door.

Tony cursed under his breath, and ran up to the loft where he slept. A hammock made from a ratty bedsheet was slung between two posts Tony had taken from his fence. Leaning against a bedside table covered with old fast-food wrappers was a light machine gun.  Tony took the gun, and ran down to his porch, waiting for the Goblins.

Five hours later, Tony had fallen asleep, the gun on his lap. After a few hours of sleeping, he awoke to footsteps. The Goblins had done the unthinkable.

They had entered through the back door.

The Cow Chronicles Part 7: Farmer Joe's getaway

The sun lowered down over the fields, casting the shadow of a distant radio tower across the narrow highway. Telephone poles whizzed by, the wires seeming to rise and fall.

Farmer Joe gunned the engines. He had no idea where he was going. If somebody had asked him why he was driving at 79 mph down a rural highway in a police van with sirens blaring, he would have replied “away from prison”

Judging by the angle of the sun, he was driving north. As he did, he began noticing signs reading PLUGERVILLE, followed by a number of miles. Eventually, the rolling fields, farms, and tiny towns gave way to a massive divot in the ground.

Thousands of years ago, when Wisconsin was mostly rolling forests, and the only humans living there were Native Americans, a meteor had hit the future state, leaving a 25 mile wide crater. Years later, when European settlers “discovered”, the area, they came across the crater. After finding extremely valuable materials in the area, they decided to start a mine. As more people came to the area for work, a mine was started.
The people of Farmer Joe’s town hated the people of Plugerville. Although Farmer Joe was neutral on the issue, say a word of support for the local college football team: the Plugerville Plutonium Compounds, and you would be placed on a rung of the social ladder lower than even the people with no cows.

Plugervilles urban sprawl had spilled out of the crater, lining the streets into the city with bars, department stores, and cheap motels.

The neon refracted through the smudged windshield of the police van. Farmer Joe had switched off the sirens on the way into Plugerville, as to not attract attention.

The Majestic Mesa Motel had originally been built in 1953 in the New Mexico desert. Unfortunately, an accident at a science laboratory nearby had teleported the entire motel, and a seventh of the mesa the motel had been built near straight into Plugerville in 1983

Farmer Joe maneuvered the police van through the empty parking lot. The Majestic Mesa wasn’t a popular place to stay, due to local rumors that it was haunted. In addition, many questioned the legality of the business’ existence, as the property deed was for New Mexico, not Wisconsin.

“Come in, Wachowski. Joe’s gone to Plugerville. He’s at the Majestic Mesa Motel”, said the government agent who had been hiding in the back of the van since Farmer Joe had escaped from jail.

“Tell that to the Plugerville authorities. They’ve likely heard of who Farmer Joe really is”, Agent Wachowski replied. He was at an airbase 2 miles out of the unnamed town.

Mr. Chuckles sadly mooed as the cardboard boxes were transported onto the government jet.

Farmer Joe’s cows weren’t the sort of cows that you would see at a normal farm. The cows were as alien as you could get. Not only were they not from Earth, they weren’t even from the same dimension. How Farmer Joe came into possession of the cows is a long and complicated story.

These cows were from an alternate universe, and from a planet that does not exist in our universe. It was possible for them to gain super strength, and, although not all cows had this trait, laser eyes. However, Farmer Joe and representatives from the cows’ native dimension had agreed to deactivate the cow’s abilities, as to prevent the raising of suspicious by people in the area.

However, the cows had a fatal weakness. They were completely immobilized by cardboard. Thus, Farmer Joe had banned all cardboard from the farm limits, much to the annoyance of delivery people. He had even lobbied the city council to ban cardboard from the city limits, but that was quickly condemned by the townspeople, as much of the town’s income came from a cardboard factory.

Meanwhile, Agent Wachowski lay back in the airbase control tower. As he watched the radar for any suspicious activity, he radioed with the jet pilot. “How much of the cows are on board?”, he asked.

“Most of this load. We should be ready to take off in ten minutes or so”, the pilot replied. “There are still a few million still in custody, though”, she added.

“Roger that. I’ll have the team get most of them on the transports. We can take them to the airport at-”

Suddenly, the transmission cut out. Agent Wachowski wheeled around to face Farmer Bob, holding a pair of wire cutters.

“Farmer Joe specifically requested that I take control of the cows”, he spat at Agent Wachowski. “Why are you packing them onto a plane?”

Agent Wachowski’s face turned a deathly pale. “Uh, we were. . .going to take a few to Washington. Examine them. We think that the cows may have helped in the terrorism”

“Farmer Joe requested. . .”, Farmer Bob threateningly told Agent Wachowski as he walked towards him. “. . .that every last cow be taken to me”, He pulled a pen from a desk and pointed it at the government agent’s heart, as if it were a dagger. “Every. Last. One”, he enunciated.

“Carry on”, he said in a sarcastic, sing-song voice as he skipped out of the control tower.

Agent Wachowski watched in horror as the engines of the jet started. He grabbed some semaphore flags from the control desk, and ran out of the door, waving furiously the symbols for STOP STOP STOP.

The pilot gave him a quizzical look, and began accelerating. Agent Wachowski took off after the jet. He had no idea about how to stop the plane. Then, it hit him. He pulled his standard-issue 9mm pistol from the holster on his belt, and fired shot after shot at the engines. Nothing worked, and the plane rose higher and higher into the sky. To Wachowski’s horror, he saw wisps of smoke emerging from the left engine.

In the plane’s cockpit, a red light began flashing. Then a loud, obnoxious alarm began blaring. ENGINES CRITICAL flashed over the screen of the plane’s GPS in bright red lettering. The pilot dove the plane down, skimming over the cornfields as she searched for a place to land. Eventually, she came across a near-deserted highway, and turned the plane towards it.

The plane lowered closer and closer to the road below. Savage, orange flames had begun burning from the turbine. The pilot knew she had to find a landing spot sooner. After narrowly clearing a semi truck, she saw an overpass rushing up to the plane. Swearing under her breath, the pilot maneuvered the plane up again. If she couldn’t clear the overpass, she would die. The bridge rapidly grew in size. The pilot could make out the trash littering the sidewalk, and a government SUV crossing the overpass. It was probably headed to the airbase. The SUV screeched to a halt as the driver saw the terrifying spectacle of a jumbo jet flying 15 feet above your head.

Finally, the pilot found a stretch of highway where she was able to land. The plane thudded onto the rough country highway, leaving wheel sized divots in the pavement. The wheels let out a screeching wail as the plane slowed down. A wooden highway sign was ripped off its post and devoured by the engine. Down the road, the pilot noticed cars pulling to a stop.
Finally, she walked into the cargo hold, which was filled to the brim with panicking cows. She opened the door, and stepped into the sunlight.

“. . .narrowly avoided a catastrophic accident on Route 42, when a government plane caught fire mid flight.”

Farmer Joe lay on the pull-out couch in Room 13 of the Majestic Mesa Motel, watching the evening news. He had checked in under a fake name, and the news hadn’t published pictures of his face yet.

“We now go live to Bryson Air Force Base, where the flight took off”, the reporter said. The camera cut to another reporter, standing on the tarmac of the airbase outside of Farmer Joe’s hometown.

“Few were at Bryson Airbase when the plane took off, but the entire event was witnessed by a man who many here in Bovine County will recognize: CIA operative Rick Wachowski.” Agent Wachowski walked up to the reporter.

“So Mr. Wachowski, how did the incident play out?” the reporter asked Agent Wachowski.

“Well, it all started last night. I had decided to help the base staff out, and volunteered to watch the CCTV cameras”, Agent Wachowski began. “Around one in the morning, I saw a figure run out to the plane, and fiddle around with the engines. I figured it was just a mechanic working a night shift, but it was someone much worse”

“I see. Do you have any idea who might be behind the engine failure?”, the reporter asked.

“I know who the culprit is”, Agent Wachowski replied gravely. “You likely don’t know this, but infamous radical terrorist Farmer Joe has escaped from prison!”

“He’s done it again! If I ever find that son of a gun, I’m gonna-”, screamed a person in the room next to Farmer Joe’s. He turned up the volume on the TV.

“Tell me, Mr. Wachowski”, the reporter asked. “If such a dangerous criminal is out on the streets, ought the government to have notified us immediately?”

“There was some trouble. Anyhow, I had a team do a fingerprint scan of the plane engine. We discovered Farmer Joe’s fingerprints”, Agent Wachowski responded. “I believe Farmer Joe implanted a bomb in the plane’s engine”

“That’s horrible! Can you people at the studio get a picture of Farmer Joe onscreen? People outside of Bovine County need to know what he looks like”, the reporter said. A few seconds after, a picture of Farmer Joe flashed across the screen.

“Not again!”, Farmer Joe muttered under his breath as he ran out of his room. He knew that half of the people in America now knew what he looked like.

“Bye!”, he shouted to the motel clerk as he ran into the parking lot.

“Wait a minute-”, the clerk said, looking away from the TV news stream on his tablet.

Farmer Joe ran from the Majestic Mesa, searching for a getaway place. Alas, he was too late. . .