Yay! 8 million years later, I finally get around to posting the next chapter. I hope it entertains you as much as it entertains me
Chapter 9, in which the metaphorical fertilizer hits the ventilator The whole stack swayed, pitching first to one side, and then to the other. Several near tumbles later, the tower finally made up its mind and decided to fall to the left. Its trajectory, I realized, would take it directly to the far wall, where it would impact just below the windowsill. There was no time to think – only to act. I vaulted onto the uppermost row of boxes and ran with all my might across the top tier, moving in the same direction as the structure. One of the knights yelled something, but it was lost amid the rush of air and the pounding of footsteps as the tower creaked and groaned its way toward the wall. For the second time that night, death stared me in the face, but unlike my near-miss with the Yolkian guard, things didn't conveniently grind into slow-motion. There was no neat finger-on-trigger reaction; there was only brutal, unremitting speed, the kind of sprinting tripping stumbling plunging blindly forward that reduced the world to a chaotic blur.
And then it was over. The stack of boxes slammed into the siding, and was I catapulted into the air. By some miracle of luck and physics, I came down exactly where I had intended: on the sill in front of the smashed window. I landed on my hands and knees, slicing up my left palm on shards of broken glass, but I was still so thrilled to be in one piece that the injury came as a mere afterthought. As I crouched there, shaking, I was overcome by a sense of triumph at having pulled off such a hardcore maneuver. I only hoped that the others had witnessed my spectacular (albeit somewhat accidental) action-hero stunt.
I looked back over my shoulder, expecting a reaction, but the others didn't seem to be paying any attention whatsoever. Instead, I was rewarded by an ungodly shriek from outside in the courtyard. Well, it wasn't so much a “shriek” as it was a monstrous clucking sound, as if some giant killer chicken were rampaging just outside the wall. Amused by this thought, I peered out the window to get a closer look.
Not even my deep appreciation for irony could cushion the shock of what I saw, and I think I can be forgiven for what I shouted next:
“What in the… WHAT IS THIS SHIT??!”
For there, a stone's throw away, a twenty-foot-tall, poultry-inspired alien menace was chomping down on one of the unfortunate sheep we had just released. My brain darted back to rumors that Goobot was sacrificing to a “fictitious bird deity”...guess that deity wasn't so fictitious after all, eh? But, perversely, the creature's appearance provided the missing piece to the puzzle. Everything was clear now. Why keep a stockpile of animals, both common and rare, locked up in your castle? Why, to feed and appease your hideous alien chicken god, of course!
And hideous it was – bulging purple eyes sat atop three long stocks on its head, which in turn sat on top of a gargantuan, fuzz-covered mass balanced on two scaly legs. It heedlessly squashed bushes and bits of masonry as it walked, and even from a distance it stank of rotting flesh and ammonia. Despite its unsavory appearance and ungodly odor, the creature struck me as being almost comical...well, that is, until it opened its mouth.
“Buck-buck-BEGOOOOOOCK!”
Now, you might think that an organism which produces a sound like “buck-buck-begock” would be inherently amusing, but let me tell you, it's hard to laugh when you see strands of saliva and shredded sheep flying out of a massive beak ten feet away from you.
“Guys,” called Writer Woman, standing in the doorway, “I never thought I'd say this, but...there's a giant chicken outside!”
Her presence in the doorway had the unfortunate effect of attracting the beast's attention, and a second later, she uttered those infamous two syllables of doom, “Uh-oh”, before diving back inside the room. The alien lunged after her and narrowly missed snapping off her red boots. Writer Woman landed tummy-first on the floor, and the other two took a jump back.
“It tried to eat you!” exclaimed Steph, mouth agape. “But I thought chickens were vegetarians!”
“Actually, they're omnivores,” informed Rat Lady, “but since this is a freakish alien monstrosity and not a domestic fowl, I don't think a parallel can be drawn.”
“Hoooooooly jeez, it's coming back!” shouted Writer Woman, scrambling to her feet and hobbling away, just in time for the creature to poke its oversized head in through the door.
The caged animals practically went insane from panic, and the space filled with primal screeches and rattling metal as they threw themselves around inside their steel boxes. Amid the chaos, the Peregrine Griffin gave in to its fight-or-flight instinct, and it launched itself out of the wreckage in frenzied break for freedom. It galloped through the air, eyes bulging, dragging in rasping breaths as its wing muscles labored. The alien noticed; it blinked all three of its eyes at once, then retracted its head from the doorway. It stationed itself in front of the window next to mine and opened its beak, just in time for the Peregrine to shoot through. The giant fowl snapped its prey out of the air, crushing the bones of its wing and torso with a stomach-knotting
crunch. The Griffin's scream was terrible to hear, and I huddled against the window frame, prickles running over my skin like scurrying ants. The alien predator's head was only a half dozen feet away from me, and I could see the doomed Griffin writhing in its jaws. The details were nauseating: dark globs of blood dripped off its front legs, soiling its buff-colored feathers and matting its golden fur.
I’d seen a lot of animals slaughtered in my life. Sheep, cows, pigs, chickens, deer, fish…the latter two I’d killed and cleaned myself. But this, this was different. This unnerved me on a whole different level. Maybe it’s because humans created mythological creatures, so we feel a special connection to them. Maybe our affinity for them has something to do with the fact that Griffins, Dragons, and the like posses an intelligence bordering on sentience. Maybe it’s because, according to some of that folk wisdom I mentioned earlier, Griffins are able to foist their emotions onto other beings. Whatever the reason, I was physically sickened by the sight of this magnificent Griffin – who was clearly self-aware of its pain and its impending death – agonizing in front of me. Lightheaded and fighting an urge to throw up, I sagged to one knee.
A streak of red registered in my peripheral vision, and I felt a gust of wind as the cherry-feathered Griffin sailed past me through the window and sped to the aid of its trapped brethren. With a trilling whistle, it drew its wings back and dive-bombed the alien, slashing the enemy's face with its claws. The alien lost its grip on its prey, and the mangled Griffin plummeted to the Earth like a rag doll, landing amid a pile of crushed and trampled bricks. Cherry – as I had already begun to mentally call the scarlet Griffin – swooped up and flew circles around the alien’s head, and the giant chicken made itself dizzy in a comically ineffective bid to defend itself. I found myself screaming encouragement at the top of my lungs, though without having any real idea what I was saying. The others, who could not see what I was seeing, stared up at me in alarm and confusion.
Inevitably, though, Cherry's luck ran out. As she swooped in for another strike, the alien fowl swung its head around and clamped its beak down on the end of her tail. She shrieked and rolled through the air, and I knew it was only a matter of seconds before she suffered the same fate as the previous Griffin. I did the only thing I could think of doing – I wrenched the silencer off my handgun and began to fire wildly into the middle distance. The loud sound temporarily distracted the predator, and Cherry was able to wriggle free and escape. For a brief moment I inwardly exulted – then the alien began screeching and thrashing around, and I realized that my rash action had been a mistake.
“What the heck’s going on, Mara?” shouted Writer Woman.
The beast wailed and stomped its scaly feet, crushing a small cistern and a clump of decorative bushes.
“Not sure!” I called back. “Best guess, I’d say that douchebeak here didn’t like the sound of my gunshots.”
The alien caterwauled some more, before throwing itself against an adjoining wall, and it occurred to me that the chicken was overreacting so spectacularly that it was edging into humor territory.
“Well, we can't just let him flip out and destroy the castle,” she retorted. “We need to calm him down and, hopefully, get him to leave. Any bright ideas?”
The alien lashed out again, smashing a nearby balcony, and I winced. “Are either of you mages?” I bellowed down to the two knights, without much hope of them answering in the affirmative.
“I know a handful of earth-magic spells,” offered Rat Lady. “If you ever need to speed up the growth of a flower or put a rodent to sleep, I'm your man. But, if you were looking for a spell to stop a crazed, rampaging avian alien...well, that's a little out of my area of expertise.”
“Ditto,” said Writer Woman. “I can cast a spell that makes a fly fly in circles, but I'm pretty sure that wouldn't be of much use in this situation either.”
I was on the verge of face-palming when Steph, in a rare moment of clairvoyance, spoke out: “Magic won't cut it, and neither will getting it to simply go away. Even though I hate hurting animals, we have to kill it. What if it stampedes around to the front of the castle where the battle is going on? I know it doesn't look smart, but it might aid the Yolkians in their fight. We can't risk Captain, Contis, and Cami's safety like that.” After a moment's pause, she added, “Wow, you know what I just noticed? All of their names begin with the letter “C”. Isn't that something? I wonder what it means!” And thus ended the clairvoyance.
“Steph's right,” I said, picking a sliver of glass out my hand. “Ow, mother of – mmhh!” I grimaced and drew in my breath before continuing. “We're going to have to kill it before it does any more damage. There's no other logical alternative.”
There was a moment of silence, and all three of them turned their heads to stare up at me.
“What're you looking at me for? You look like you expect me to do it!”
“Well, who else?” asked Writer Woman. “Rat Lady and I had our weapons confiscated by the Yolkians when we were taken captive, and no offense to your little friend here, but she doesn't exactly strike me as alien-slayer material.”
“It's true!” chimed Steph.
“Besides,” added Rat Lady, “not only do you have the best vantage point, but you are also the one who made it go berserk. It's up to you to do something about it.”
“Great. Just great,” I griped. “Because clearly, castle break-in, assault by Yolkian, attack by Griffin, and near-death via collapsing tower WEREN'T enough for one night. Might as well add “shoot-off with a tremendous predatory chicken” to the list.”
“
Bienvenue Chez Neutron Knight,” quipped Writer Woman with a grin. “And
Bon Appétit.”
I turned my attention to my plus-size quarry, suppressing a desire to shoot her instead. Did she have any idea how hard it would be to bring that thing down? I'd have to hit it right in the eyes, or in its open mouth, which would be a challenge at the best of times. Hitting those tiny targets while the beast was thrashing around, on the other hand, was a different story altogether. Even an expert marksmen like yours truly would have one hell of a time making that happen.
Miraculously, the monstrosity hadn’t noticed me on the windowsill, and I turned this to my advantage. I crouched down and used my knee to steady the ray gun, which felt heavier than usual in my quavering injured hand. Closing one eye, I tipped my head to the side and gently slipped my finger around the trigger. Despite my outward show of grumbling, I felt indispensable as I trained my weapon on the alien. Everyone's eyes were on me, waiting for me to do what I did best: all I had to do was wait for a clear shot.
But then, just as I saw my opening,
it struck again. It was the same sensation that had possessed me in the room with the three Yolkian guards. My blood ran black like bilious sludge, and the edges of my vision darkened until they pinched my surroundings into a stretched-out distant tunnel. I was overcome by an almost fiendish desire to destroy, to wreck and pull apart the very fabric of reality, until everyone and everything crumbled into sand and blew away on the chaotic winds of the abyss. This was my supernatural ability, I realized, but it was not like Ko's, or even Captain's. Intuition told me that mine was a ruinous, evil power, something that I would have to keep locked away except in the most dire of emergencies.
Whatever it was, it lived in my eyes, so I shut them tight, disconcertingly aware of what felt like hands behind my eyelids, trying to pry them open.
Is this what insanity feels like? I wondered, walking the brink for the first time in my life. Desperate for some sort of psychological anchorage to the physical world, I grabbed hold of the wall and concentrated on my breathing, counting down from ten. To my infinite relief, the sensation faded, and I was left gripping the wall, covered in cold sweat. My heartbeat was fast and uneven as the last vestiges of the blackness slithered into retreat.
I looked down to see my other hand still clutching the ray gun, my knuckles white where they clasped the handle. I caressed the barrel thoughtfully, half out of touch with reality.
Why would anyone invent such a device? I mused.
“Mara!” shouted Steph, snapping me out of my trance. “Aren't you going to shoot?”
“Seriously, what's taking so long?” asked Writer Woman. “You're trying to hit a gigantic chicken, not shoot an apple off someone's head. It's not exactly a precision sport.”
I was grateful for the irritation that her words incited. “I”m working on it!” I snapped in response. “I have to hit a vital spot, or I'll just piss it off even more!”
Thank goodness they didn't see me lose it, I thought, reddening with shame. They would throw me out of the Neutron Knights in a second if they suspected the depth of my failings. Pirate, conspirator, attempted murderess, and now borderline nutcase as well?
...And here you go, my mind shot back,
mulling over your own faults when everyone else is in danger. Double idiot! Stop second-guessing yourself, and make the damn shot! My innards felt like they were awash in a sea of ice. Furious, but perfectly composed, I lifted the weapon and lined up my sight.
No heroism here, I thought grimly, then fired.
Snap, snap, snap! I hit two of its three eyes, and the beast went into convulsions, writhing and stumbling in circles. I knew I would never be able to get its remaining eye now, so I fired another series of shots into its neck. While not fatal, this caused the alien to open its beak in a shrill screech, and I rapidly squeezed the trigger three, four, five times, emptying a round into the creature’s open mouth. Rivers of green blood ran from its nostrils and oozed down its yellow, fuzz-covered torso, but I was beyond feeling pity now. Focused and collected, I continued to open fire, knowing that it would only be a matter of time now that momentum was on my side. After another couple of shots, my ray gun ran out of fuel, and I tossed it aside, grabbed my traditional firearm, slid a new cartridge into place, and went right back to firing.
“Holy balls, Mara, you’re a machine!” exclaimed Writer Woman down below.
I wish I was a machine. Things would be so much more straightforward. With a final gurgling cry, the alien lost its footing and toppled earthward. When it impacted, the shards of glass on my windowsill jumped and tinkled with the tremor. After a few final seizures, it fell still, and I lowered my weapon. Satisfied with my kill, I watched as the last of the shell casings rolled off the edge and fell, singing, to the ground far below. I followed them with my eyes, confronted now with the obvious problem: how was I going to get down?
“Hooray! Let's hear it for Mara!” exulted Steph, jumping up and down in place. “I'm so proud to have such an amazing roomie!”
I beamed in spite of myself; Steph did always know how to make people feel appreciated.
“Nice shootin', Tex,” drawled Writer Woman in her characteristic monotone. “I'm impressed.”
“Thanks,” I returned automatically, retrieving my ray gun and tucking both weapons into their holsters. “Now, do any of you want to help me figure a way down off this ledge? I'd break a leg if I tried to jump.”
“I believe someone's already got you covered,” said Rat Lady, pointing behind me. “Look.”
I craned around, and my heart leaped into my throat. Cherry alighted on the sill, fanning the air with her graceful wings. She strutted forward and, to my unquantifiable astonishment, bowed her head and presented her upper back to me. She acted with the air of one returning a favor, but how could she have possibly realized that my gunshots were meant to help her escape? Griffins weren't supposed to be
that smart.
“She wants you to get on,” explained Rat Lady. “It's OK.”
“Is this...normal?” I asked incredulously. “Has a Griffin ever let a human ride on its back before?”
“No idea. But I doubt it's a regular occurrence.”
I took a cautious step toward the Griffin, and she warbled softly.
“Please don't decapitate me, sweetie...” I placated, reaching out to stroke her feathers. She bowed her head lower, and I squirmed, unsure of what to do next.
“Ah jeez,” I said to no one in particular. “I can't even get on a horse, and I'm supposed to figure out how to ride an unpredictable wild animal with razor sharp claws? This isn't a recipe for disaster or anything...”
I gingerly hefted myself onto her back, taking care to move slowly and gently. She stiffened when the soles of my boots scraped against her sides, and I flinched in turn.
“Sorry.”
Once I was in position, I stupidly searched for reigns, then rolled my eyes myself. I was just beginning to wonder how I was supposed to hold on – go for the feathers? Clamp my legs around her sides? – when Cherry pounced off the ledge. After a few seconds of sickening free fall, she unfurled her wings, and we soared high into the night air. Caught off guard, I drew my breath in sharply and reflexively wrapped my arms around her neck. Her plumage was soft and warm against my face, and smelled sweetly of dander and sawdust.
I could get used to this, I thought lovingly, then immediately regretted this sentiment as my aerial steed wheeled around and dove toward the ground.
She landed on all fours, like a cat which has fallen from a height, and I hurriedly clambered off, my brief stint as a Griffin rider over. The others trotted outside to join me, jubilant over our victory. I was still attempting to get my land legs when I got my first good look at the two dead bodies sprawled on the terrace.
“Man,” said Writer Woman, as if this summed everything up.
“How are we ever going to clean this mess?” murmured Rat Lady, voicing my thoughts.
Cherry nudged my arm with her bill, directing my gaze over to a nearby pile of bricks and uprooted cobblestones, where a darker shape lay twisted amid the ruins. The Peregrine Griffin had tried to drag itself away, I realized...even in the darkness, I could make out the smears of blood on the walkway, and I winced at the thought of so gruesome an end. Then the fallen Griffin moved, and I realized it wasn't dead after all.
“Guys!” I beckoned, and we ran over to the downed animal.
It was worse than I had imagined. The Griffin lay shuddering in a lustrous crimson pool – the ground was slick with blood; it gummed up the creature’s eyes and nose, caked its fur, and dripped from its outstretched wings in runny globs. The injured animal tried to hobble away as we approached, but its paws slid on the slippery stones, and it collapsed face-first into the debris. Stunned and half-deranged from blood loss, it began to buck and flap its wings, showering me with warm, sticky red droplets.
“Oh,” cried Steph, tears welling up in her eyes, “the poor thing! I feel it. I feel what's it's feeling!”
I felt it too, and it was visceral. There was no doubt left in my mind that Griffins could influence the emotions of humans – I shared the Peregrine's terror and pain, and Cherry's grief and fear. Tears began to stream down Rat Lady's face, and Writer Woman wiped her nose on her sleeve, sniffling. Gooey liquid ran down my face and dripped off my chin, but in the dark I couldn't tell if I was crying, or if it was blood.
My right hand sought the holster on my thigh of its own accord. Robotically, I undid the clasp, yanked back the strap, and pulled out my handgun. Removing the last ammunition clip from my belt, I loaded it into the magazine chamber, then flicked off the safety and drew back the hammer until it clicked into place. In the still night air, the sound was jarringly cold and precise, and Steph threw me a panicked look.
“Mara, what are you doing?!”
I didn't bother answering. What could I tell her? That the Griffin was mortally wounded, and that the most humane course of action would be to dispatch it now, and save it the agony of a slow, lingering death?
The metallic taste of blood parched the moisture from my mouth. “You might want to turn away,” I said, lifting the gun.
I aimed for the space between the fallen Griffin’s eyes, and prayed that Cherry wouldn’t hate me for what I was about to do. If she was smart enough to make the connection between the gunshots and my intent to save her, maybe she would understand that this was a mercy killing. Hoping that Griffins could sense human emotions as clearly as we could sense theirs, I willed both of them to forgive me.
“Mara,
don't!” begged Steph, but my finger was already on the trigger.
I did the job in a single shot. The Griffin’s death was instantaneous; it dropped like a stone. The anguish in the air vanished, like a shrill musical note cut short, and my shoulders slumped in relief. Wiping sweat off my forehead, I returned my weapon to its holster.
When I turned back to face the others, Cherry was nowhere in sight, and Steph was red-faced with anger and sadness.
“How could you?” she whimpered. “We might have been able to save it!”
“Steph.
Nothing could have saved that Griffin. I wish that there was another option besides euthanasia, but there wasn’t. I did the right thing.”
“How do you
know?” she shot back. “Did the Griffin tell you that it wanted to die? Did it ask you to put a bullet in its head?”
“Didn’t you feel its misery and suffering? It was palpable!”
“That’s not a good enough rationale!”
“I don’t want to fight with you, Steph,” I sighed, resentful of any conflict with my roommate and far too tired and emotionally drained to debate ethics. “I’m sorry. It was horrible, I know.”
She wiped her eyes.
“
Anyway,” said Writer Woman, breaking the tension, “with Clucky lying here dead, I doubt that the rest of the animals will be willing to come out this way. Guess we’ll have to finish releasing them later, once we’ve dealt with cleanup. In the meantime, we should probably rejoin the other Neutron Knights.”
I resisted the urge to point out that if they had just followed my advice and done that in the first place, this whole fiasco could have been avoided. Instead, I flicked on my earpiece, and dialed Captain’s frequency.
“What's your status?” I asked, as soon as he had picked up. “Has the ass-whooping drawn to a close?”
“Yup, all clear. We've got Goobot in captivity, and we're just rounding up the last of the stragglers now. You can rejoin us at any time.”
“Right. Will-do.” I hesitated. “Um...and Captain?”
“Yes?”
“...no, never mind. We'll see you in a few minutes.” I severed the connection, feeling deflated. “All right people,” I said, speaking to the others again, “let's head out.”
---------------------
I'm beginning to suspect that my idea of a good finale scene involves spattering everyone in as much blood as possible.
More on Friday?
~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =
