The Guac Bug

The Meteorite

Quentin Thomas, lawyer, and his favorite client, Walter Gruen (Gruen Pharmaceuticals), had been motoring along the Skyline Drive that Wednesday morning. They had stopped at a deserted overlook, parked the car, got out, and they were looking down into the valley and the seven loops in the Shenandoah River, when something shrieked through the air behind them and exploded with a blinding light into the front of the lawyer’s brand-new Pathfinder.

The two men stood paralyzed a moment, then rushed back to the car. The radiator was steaming and sizzling and gurgling. Whatever had hit it had left a six-inch hole in the grille. The coolant mix of water and glycol was dribbling away on something very hot and was immediately changing into steam.

Thomas put his hands on his hips and looked dubiously at his friend. “Meteor?”

“Meteorite,” corrected the chemist. “Can I have it?”

“It’s all yours.” The Lawyer reached into the front seat for his car phone. “Meanwhile, let’s see if the ranger can find us a tow truck.” As he placed the call he was thinking a few feet farther west, and he… or Gruen… oh well… No use thinking about it. They had been lucky. But never underestimate your chances of being struck by a meteorite. That woman in Alabama… the thing went through her roof… actually scraped her leg… And that village in India… one had hit a dog. “Oh, hello? Ranger? Look, I have a problem…”