The Exoskeleton Chronicles

THE EXOSKELETON CHRONICLES

By Chad Descoteaux

Cover art by Joe Dickinson

Copyright 2016

THE INTER-TERRESTRIAL

VEGANARCHY

WORKING-CLASS SUPERHEROES

THE TATTLER

also available at www.turtlerocketbooks.com

PROLOGUE

Jeremy Boon’s journal.

I just killed some of my best friends, friends I kept in jars in my room for most of their admittedly-short lifespans. I fed them, played with them and confided my problems in them when everyone else in my life thought I was being a freak. But, a few minutes ago, I just lost it. I started blaming them for my family problems and just wanted them out of my life. I dumped them out of their jars, onto my window sill, before making them go splat, one-by-one, with a trusty Adidas in my hand. I can still see their gooey remains on the bottom of that ratty old sneaker. They are gone.

Now, I only have one friend in the world. Elaine. I wonder what she’ll say when she finds out what I did to my bugs. She knows my bug collection has been my whole life for as long as I’ve had one, about as long as we’ve known each other. She always calls me ‘Bug-Boy’. She actually helped me find some of the cooler insects I’ve ever had. I miss the nature treks we used to take, exploring the woods between our houses. Well, my old house, back at the trailer park. I miss Pineland Park.

Elaine knows I’ve been upset with my parents for a while. She’s also known me long enough to know that things weren’t always this way in my life. She and I have been best friends since elementary school. I met her at the school science fair, something I used to do every year with my dad. My dad used to teach an insect biology class at the University of New Hampshire. I would always do reports on insects and win blue ribbons by rattling off the Latin scientific name of each insect, something that would impress my teachers make my father beam with pride from the front row of the audience. Even to this day, if someone were to say spur-throated grasshopper, the phrase melanoplus bivittatus would immediately pop into my head and out of my mouth if I let it. Bunch of useless knowledge. I’m fifteen-years-old. I can’t figure out how to talk to cute girls without stuttering like a machine gun, but I know what an oencanthus fultoni is.

I think things started to change when we moved out of the trailer park. My parents and I lived in a trailer until last year, when I was fourteen. Mom and Dad were always talking about how they were saving up money to buy a house. Well, when my dad got a higher paying job at a company whose genetics division had military contracts, it was time to move out of what my grandmother playfully referred to as the ‘portable ghetto’. We moved into a bigger place in the still-in-the-middle-of-the-woods suburbs of Wolfeboro, New Hampshire. I was still in the same school district, so I didn’t have to leave my one friend behind, which was good, because that was when our family life started to deteriorate. I would need Elaine to confide in more than ever.

My father and I used to be inseparable. He would always come home from work a few minutes after I got home from school. He would help my mom with dinner and me with my homework. They always seemed so happy. They were a team. They always made each other laugh to boost the morale of their bond as they shared in household chores together. But that all ended when we moved into the bigger house.

My dad would work from the early hours of the morning until at least seven at night. The nature of his job made it impossible for him to call home when he was going to be late, because he was cooped up in a very secure, top secret laboratory with no phones or Internet going out. This made my mother upset, as our routine of eating dinner together as a family was compromised. She didn’t know when to start cooking so it would be ready for him when he got home and this was the start of many arguments as my dad would come home exhausted and hungry at a different time every night.

My father used to chat with us about what happened at work that day during dinner, which was of moderate interest to someone like me, who loved learning about insects. Now, he was either too tired or what he was working on was military-level classified anyway, so there was a distinct breakdown in communication. Arguments became more frequent between my parents. I overheard a lot of hurtful things being screamed both ways, across the living room, from behind their bedroom door and up the stairs.

Elaine was always there for me. Let’s just say she could relate when I started talking about how my parents were fighting all the time. She’s told me some stuff about what it was like before her dad moved out. I’m sure she realizes that I don’t need any more stress in my life, which is why she always sticks up for me when guys like Wally Crimson are pushing me around. Then again, I can see why Wally doesn’t like me. There was that one time when his brother Neil was trying to burn this melanoplus bivittatus with a magnifying glass in the school parking lot. I kind of pushed him around. I called him a psycho and threw one of his shoes in the dumpster, but only to rescue the innocent insect from a horrible, fiery death from the smelliest kid in school. Wally would have thrown me in that same dumpster too if Elaine hadn’t stepped in. I owe her a lot.

And now I’m leaving her behind. Mom is moving me three hours away to live with her sister in Rhode Island after the divorce is final. I don’t know why I took out my frustration on my insect collection. It just reminds me of my dad, I suppose. Insects are his career and his career broke up our family. It’s a fair association.

I should probably go say goodbye to Elaine. She understands how needlessly anxious I feel when I have to interact with people. She knows how hard eye contact is for me and how hard it is for me share my feelings without burying my head in the sand like a jittery ostrich. But she won’t understand if I don’t say goodbye. She’ll be upset. But I can’t. I guess that’s one last friendship that’s about to go SPLAT!

CHAPTER ONE

BUG BUSTERS

Twenty years later.

Somewhere in Rhode Island.

Poking his head through a grate with a gas mask on his face, thirty-five-year-old pest control worker Jeremy Boon watched with ardent interest as a cockroach stumbled through a ventilation duct. The determined roach was making his way towards a crack in the cement foundation of this twenty-year-old office building. Jeremy recognized this species of insect right away, having been in the fumigation business for many years, not to mention his childhood obsession with insects.

American cockroach. he thought as the cockroach used his hind legs to push himself through this crack in the wall of this vent. Periplaneta americana. Jeremy smiled underneath his mask. He knew he had found where the infestation was, which would make the rest of his job much easier.

Pulling his head out of the hole in the ceiling, Jeremy looked over at his business partner, Bill, who was standing next to a clean-cut, neatly-dressed accountant named Glen Hall. Glen was the man who had hired them for this job. He was the head accountant at this accounting firm and waited eagerly for Jeremy’s expert diagnosis of the problem.

I found the nest, Jeremy said emphatically. Realizing his voice was muffled by his gas mask, he pulled off the mask before speaking. Why do I always think one step ahead? Jeremy thought to himself, frustrated. I should have waited until I was ready to spray before I put on this stupid mask.

Well, that’s good, Glen said, seemingly relieved. The floor has been evacuated, so you guys can spray if you want.

Well, actually, I wanted to try something different first, Jeremy said. He stepped down from the chair he was standing on and looked around the room, formulating a plan in his mind. By the time he looked up and smiled knowingly at Bill, Bill knew what Jeremy was thinking.

Bill reached into a duffel bag and pulled out a small, clear plastic dome, about the size of a pizza pan. Glen watched with curiosity as Jeremy opened a small suitcase, about the size of a toolbox. This suitcase contained countless small vials of differently-colored liquid. He found one that was labeled ‘Periplanta Americana’ and took off the cap. He screwed this vial of liquid into a small port on the side of the plastic dome. The liquid spilled into the bottom of this device, piquing Glen’s curiosity as Bill secured a second tube to the port on the other side. This tube was from the large, metal tank of insecticide Bill was wearing on his back.

Sensing Glen was confused and always relishing the opportunity to rattle off at the mouth about something he had meticulously constructed himself, Jeremy started to explain what this dome was. An invention of my own design, Jeremy said proudly as Bill rolled his eyes at his geeky friend. He had heard this speech a thousand times in front of a thousand different clients before. These vials contain pheromones for every insect I usually come into contact with in my line of work. This device has a heating unit underneath it that will evaporate the liquid and send the aroma of the pheromone solution into the air. Glen took a closer look at this plastic dome and sort of understood how it worked, now that it had both the pheromone solution and a tube full of poison plugged into it. In about four minutes, every cockroach in that nest will be scrambling towards this thing like its mating season. Or spring break.

Oh, so it attracts them into this dome and then you turn on the poison, Glen said, a bit impressed by this unusual invention. I see.

It allows me to use a very small amount of poison, compared to what the big pest control companies would use just by callously dumping a half tank of pesticide into that small crack, Jeremy explained. With this, our efforts are more focused. It’s safer for the environment, pets, people…

Told you, Uncle Glen, Bill interrupted. Jeremy knows his stuff. He’s been obsessed with insects for as long as I’ve known him. He knows what they do, what they like, how they mate. Even how they think,

You invented this yourself? Glen asked Jeremy.

Yup, Jeremy replied. I patented it too. But, honestly, I don’t have much of a business mentality as far as marketing and selling these things are concerned. All I know is killing bugs.

Glen was so fascinated with Jeremy’s invention, tentatively nicknamed The Bug Dome, that the two pest control workers let him stick around to see how it worked. They just happened to have an extra gas mask, so Glen put one on along with Bill as Jeremy activated the device. Steam that represented the evaporated pheromones billowed out of the machine and it barely took three minutes to start working.

Suddenly, the tiles that made up the ceiling of this office started teeming with cockroaches, all pouring down the walls like they were made of brown liquid. The cockroaches crawled up the legs of the table in unison and dropped into the small hole on the top of this dome one by one. Bill tried not to think about the fact these few hundred cockroaches were all mating with each other as he sealed off the top of the Bug Dome and turned on the poison. Bug orgy! Bill quipped as he turned the knob on the poison tank up to full blast. Green smog filled the dome and concealed these countless twitching, dying insects from view.

Soon, the vigorous scrambling activity inside the dome started to slow down. When the pesticides filtered out of the side of this device, the dome was filled with dead cockroaches that could easily be disposed of by dumping the contents of the Bug Dome into the garbage and washing it out with ammonia.

Glen started laughing. He had no clue how easy this office fumigation job would be and was happy he could report a successful endeavor back to his own bosses. And, being an accountant and a far more business-minded person than Jeremy, thoughts started going through Glen’s mind about how to market this amazing device to homeowners. He saw these Bug Domes on store shelves in every hardware department and every hardware store in the country. Even if there was no poison involved, people could just get all the bugs to pile into this machine so they could be tossed in the garbage. Maybe there could be some kind of disposable bag in the dome, like a vacuum cleaner or litter box. What convenience! Glen thought.

After jokingly suggesting that Jeremy go on the popular TV show ‘Shark Bait’ and pitch his invention to the corporate sharks on that show, looking for new and innovative investments, Glen had an idea. He thought of an old friend of his who recently bought a popular chain of hardware stores. I could give you his e-mail, Glen suggested to Jeremy. He might know someone who would like to invest in this thing.

Knowing he was way too socially nervous to actually go in front of a bunch of business people, especially on national TV, and pitch his invention, Jeremy politely accepted a business card from Glen. The man’s name was Larry Sawyer and his offices were in New York City, a four-hour drive away from Jeremy’s current Rhode Island address. The very thought of driving in a city as large and cluttered as New York City made Jeremy nervous. He slipped the business card into his breast pocket, thanking Glen for his encouraging words.

Walking out of the building with a tank of pesticides on his back and the rest of his equipment in his hands, Jeremy followed Bill towards their business van, which, thanks to Bill, was callously double-parked over two handicapped spots. The side of the van was decorated with their business logo, an international ‘no’ symbol crossing out a frightened-looking cartoon cockroach. The back of the van had the same logo, along with the name of Jeremy’s company ‘Bug-Busters’ and their phone number, 555-SPLAT. Whistling the theme from one of his favorite 1980’s movies (and the inspiration for the name of their business) ‘Ghostbusters’, Bill opened the back of the van and started loading the equipment into it.

I think you should call that guy, Bill said to Jeremy, tossing the duffel bag in on top of the poison tanks.

About the Bug Dome?

Yeah. It’s a great invention. It’ll be great to get rich off something you’re passionate about, dude. You can retire by age 40. Buy a house in Bel-Air, Bill said with a certain enthusiasm only Bill Hall could pull off. What better way to put the big pest control companies out of business than by giving the common man the same power they charge too much money for? Jeremy could not help but smile at his friends’ humorously rebellious attitude. Hey, if you want to give your pitch a little more showmanship, I could always go with you. I used to do improv comedy in college, remember?

Jeremy remembered. He shut the doors on the back of the van as both he and Bill got into the front. Bill was still whistling the Ghostbusters theme as Jeremy got into the van. Who ya gonna call? he sang, turning to Jeremy and teasing his friend some more. "Hopefully that guy!"

Bill lived on the other side of town from his Uncle Glen’s office building, so Jeremy drove him home before heading home himself. You sure you don’t wanna come by? Bill asked Jeremy after he had spent the entire ride home talking about a kegger he was supposed to have