All Our Tinfoil Gods

Dale didn't turn around. He watched the man's reflection in the curved security mirror above the aisle. Mid-forties, cargo shorts, hiking boots. Textbook. The Bigfoot shirt was a clumsy attempt at misdirection. They were trying to paint him as a simple cryptid enthusiast, a harmless eccentric. But Dale knew. This man was almost certainly Section 4, PSYOP Division, sent to monitor his research into the subterranean reptilian financiers controlling global borax futures.

The man, Gary, stopped at the drinks cooler. He saw the woman by the jerky. He knew her. Not personally, but he knew the type. Her username was 'LizardTruth62' on the forums. He'd seen her posts. Unhinged stuff. Clearly a disinformation agent, probably on the Majestic 12 payroll, tasked with flooding the zone with nonsense to discredit genuine research like his own—namely, the tracking of Sasquatch migration patterns through ley line fluctuations.

Gary grabbed a bottle of water and approached the snack aisle with a feigned casualness.

"Hot one tonight," Gary said, his voice a little too loud in the quiet store.

Dale turned slowly. "They're saying it's the weather," she replied, her voice low and even. A test. 'They' being the media, the puppet masters, the ones who create the narrative.

"Always are," Gary said, nodding. He glanced at the jerky rack. There was only one bag of the good stuff left. Teriyaki flavour. High in sodium, but excellent for long-term preservation during extended field surveillance. He needed it.

"You out here for the... scenery?" Dale asked, her hand hovering near the last bag. She needed it too. High-energy protein was vital when you were on the run from the black helicopters.

"Something like that," Gary said, trying to sound folksy. "Doing a bit of... camping. You?"

"Geological survey," Dale said smoothly. "Studying subterranean rock formations."

A perfect double-entendre. Gary's eyes narrowed. 'Subterranean rock formations' was obviously code. He knew what she was really looking for. He decided to push back.

"Find any interesting... fossils?" he asked, emphasizing the last word.

Dale's grip tightened on the shelf. 'Fossils'. He was taunting her. He knew. "You'd be surprised what you can find if you dig deep enough," she retorted. "Things that have been sleeping for a very, very long time."

The Jerky Gambit

They stood there in a silent battle of wits, a cold war being fought in the warm glow of the 'Beef & Pork Products' display. The clerk, a teenager named Kevin, was hunched over the counter, bathed in the blue light of his phone, utterly oblivious. To him, they were just two weirdos taking forever to pick a snack.

To Dale and Gary, this was Checkpoint Charlie.

"You know," Gary began, leaning against the opposite shelf, "a lot of people get lost out here. Go chasing shadows. It's easy to get distracted from the real big picture."

'Big picture'. A pathetic attempt to link his Sasquatch nonsense to her very real, very dangerous work. Dale almost scoffed.

"The picture is as big as you're willing to see," she countered. "Some people are content to look at the footprints. Others want to know what's wearing the boots."

Gary felt a flash of anger. She was mocking him. Mocking his years of plaster-casting prints, his painstaking analysis of tree-break patterns. He decided to end this.

He made a move for the jerky. Dale's hand shot out and grabbed it first.

"I believe I was here first," she said, her voice dropping to a near-whisper.

"I think you'll find it's a communal resource," Gary whispered back, his fingers closing around the other end of the bag. "First come, first served."

They were now locked in a gentle, but firm, tug-of-war over a twelve-dollar bag of dried meat. Their eyes were locked, a universe of paranoid accusations passing between them.

He's trying to starve me out, Dale thought. Sabotage my mission.

She's trying to take my provisions, Gary thought. This is how they operate. Death by a thousand cuts. Or in this case, death by no teriyaki.

"Hey," Kevin the clerk said, not looking up from his phone. "You guys gonna buy that or just pet it?"

The intrusion broke the spell. They both dropped the bag as if it were electrified. It fell to the floor with a soft crinkle.

Gary straightened his t-shirt. Dale smoothed down her practical vest. A truce, for now. An acknowledgement of mutually assured destruction.

"You can have it," Gary said, his voice magnanimous. "My camp isn't far. I have other supplies."

A lie. He had half a packet of digestive biscuits and a bottle of flat cola. But he couldn't show weakness.

"No, you take it," Dale said, equally gracious. "My survey site is close by. I can resupply in the morning."

A bigger lie. She was living out of her car and was down to her last protein bar. But she wouldn't give this government stooge the satisfaction.

They both stood there, refusing to take the jerky. It lay on the floor, a symbol of their stalemate. Finally, Dale sighed. She picked up the bag, walked to the counter, and placed it down.

"I'll take this," she said to Kevin. She paid in cash. As she walked out, she gave Gary a look that said, 'This isn't over.'

Gary watched her go. He waited a moment, then went to the counter.

"Got any more of that teriyaki jerky in the back?" he asked Kevin.

Kevin looked up, his face a mask of profound indifference. "Nah, man. That was the last one." He went back to his phone. Gary stared out the door into the black desert, feeling the sting of defeat. The game was afoot.