Underworld mousebane and.., p.31
Underworld (Mousebane & Red Mist Book 3), page 31
“You think she was my only queen? Even now I incubate thousands more. I just need the locations of the other teleport receivers. It takes no time at all to grow whole new facilities. It can be done at the touch of a button, by one man alone.” A stubby fist pointed up towards the tower. Dan glanced back as if seeing it for the first time. “But they wouldn’t help me, so I took their children.”
“What happened to you?”
He was no longer the stuttering, blocked-nosed scientist Dan had met in Andrew’s house.
“Only what has happened to people like me the world over. I was mistreated by those inferior, and almost all were inferior.”
“Just because you’re clever?”
The question was ignored.
“I mean you’ve changed, Simon.”
Simon’s movements ceased for a moment. “Have I?” he said. “Has the serum changed me? Or was every one of our meetings before an act? A calculated show of gifted intellect.”
Either could be true.
“The voice in your head, you don’t have to listen to it. It isn’t always right.”
Hey!
“You can’t release the skorts, Simon. I won’t let you.”
“You think you can stop me?”
Simon rose suddenly. He stood hunched, his back a sack something like Martin’s. The spikes lay flat. He’d shrunk like a de-puffed pufferfish. He wiped his sand-covered hands together.
“Did the mother toad do this to you?”
“You did this.” Simon’s voiced lowered to a hiss and he tore the now pointless shirt from his back. “When you gave me that name. I couldn’t forget it. The parasite twisted my thoughts. Made me what I am. It doesn’t give you what you want. It gives you what you think you need. It takes what’s in you already and brings it to the surface.”
Was that why Martin and George had become monsters?
Dan rose on tiptoes to try to see behind the car.
“What were you doing back there?”
“Nothing at all. Just buying some time for my buck to get in behind you.”
Dan and Catman turned around. Their chins rose as their eyes tracked upwards.
Blimey, said the Reptile, that one’s too many garden sheds to count.
The Concealed Claw
The truth is out. The Hedgehog Man is the enemy. He was never to be trusted.
But Dan and Mousebane underestimate him.
Dan did not see the other queen, or the buck hidden in the shadows of the underground room. He does not understand what Hedgehog Man can do if left here. With them, he will be able to create army after army of creatures and send them to the facility, and with the queen and buck under his control he need not infect her babies one by one, they are his from conception.
I know this because I know this!
But—aha!—everyone underestimates the Concealed Claw. And it will be their undoing if their undoing needs be done.
The Hedgehog Man will be stopped. And I am the only one who can stop him.
Only I have the power. Only I carry the greatest and most potentest of elixirs!
I bring the shiitake fire.
As always, the Concealed Claw rides unseen and unknown.
And once my duty has been performed, I will return to Andrew.
Where I once feared death, now all I fear is an eternity without him.
We are endless, he and I.
Oh, Andrew, how I have missed you.
Once my calling is complete, this lost cat will find their way home.
Red Mist
Fear smells the same in any species. And I smell it now.
The creatures know we are here. They are silent, save the sound of their repeated attempts to enter.
The old ones talk. I can sense the images behind what they say like I can the humans, floating impressions, like coloured mist in the air.
They are not scared of the creatures outside. They fear Simon and what he might do with their offspring.
I fear what may have happened to my brother.
I can sense the minds of the creatures outside. Tiny minds like the beetles and centipedes that came to me in Fréo’s cavern, like Biffa and the others in the home of Martin Shields. They are subjugated by another. They fear their enslavement. I can use this.
“Release me,” I say, but the old ones do not understand. “I will bend our enemies to my will.”
I scratch at the door.
“It wants to go out,” says Rick.
“It will be killed,” says Dave.
“You’ve read the document on felines, they do this. In. Out. In. Out. They make a show of wanting to exit, but do not.”
Damn! They think me the kitten that cried big dog.
I scratch again. Look back, deep into the uncovered eyes of the old one. So much like human eyes. “You must let me leave.”
“What if it can save us?” says another. “It is time to make our stand. Simon must be stopped. The children need us.”
Yes.
“The human says he will return,” says Dave. “We must wait. You’ve seen what Simon can do.”
I hiss. “Although he tries very hard, the human is somewhat of a liability. He will require our help to attain victory.”
They eye me. Can they possibly understand?
They share unspoken communication.
“Gather weapons,” says Rick. “Anything with which to fight.”
I have rallied them.
A scrabble of movement. A gathering of clubs and chairs and sharp, yet short, cutting implements. They are no fighting force, but I see the determination in their faces. They will lie down no more.
The door opens. The creatures coil, ready to pounce.
Oh, we can all pounce.
By The Power
Catman hissed and spat, his hackles rising at the huge creature that had somehow sneaked up on them.
“Twig,” Dan hissed. He poked the squirrel in the satchel. “Now would be a good time to wake up.”
Dan dropped the pack and satchel gently to the side. Didn’t want to be encumbered. Didn’t want Twig getting hurt. Unless he could stop Simon physically, the squirrel was likely their only hope.
Simon lurched forward, as did the skort, hemming him and Catman in.
Catman leapt away as the skort swung for him, the huge claw missing by inches. He sprung from the bonnet of the car, lashed out at the creature, then darted away again. It followed him.
Dan held up his guard. Simon battered through it like it was paper, falling on top of him and crashing him to the ground with no skill, just flailing mass.
His ribs groaned. Still not fully healed from the fight with Gatsby by the pool.
Simon took a deep breath, seemingly winded by the fall. His eyes rolled behind skewed glasses. With knees bent and hands pressed against Simon’s shoulders, Dan tried to wriggle free. Simon shuddered and puffed, and with a clipped snick! spikes shot from his back. One stabbed through Dan’s hand pressed against Simon’s shoulder. Another skewered his right thigh.
He screamed. And again when Simon’s body reset and the spikes tore free of his flesh. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced. He was giddy with it. No longer present inside his head. Everything was pain.
Simon took another deep breath and tried rolling onto his back.
Dan grabbed his face with his good hand and wrestled him off. He scrabbled up, letting his skin change, reeling with the agony of his skewered hand and leg. His body curled inward against it. He hopped away, only thinking of escape, desperate for it, everything else an afterthought. He put the remains of the Mini between them.
“You can’t run,” said Simon, pushing himself ungracefully to his feet. “You have no way of leaving this place. Not without the tablet.”
Dan said nothing. He glanced at the satchel near Simon’s feet. Simon paid the bag no notice. He didn’t know Dan had it.
He stumbled around the car. Tried to cover his bleeding leg with his good hand while clamping the other hand under his arm. The blood oozed between his fingers. His stomach rolled. He fought to focus.
“Your blood is visible,” said Simon.
Dan leant on the Mini as he limped, leaving a trail of red. The problem with playing cat and mouse around a Mini was you were never very far ahead.
Behind Simon, the huge skort caught Catman a blow and knocked him to the ground. It towered over him and raised its fist.
“You can’t,” pleaded Dan.
Simon didn’t smile. “It is a thing I can do.”
“I mean you shouldn’t.”
Something small and skort-like leapt from the opening at the bottom of the tower. At first, Dan thought it a skort Simon had sent up to get the past-Earthers.
But then he saw it was different.
A black tumbleweed of limbs, rolling towards the giant skort and covering the distance rapidly. An orange head poked from the top. Behind it, strode five figures in robes, brandishing makeshift weapons.
“I wondered what had happened up there,” said Simon. “My connection with the skorts failed.”
Catman rolled away while Simon was distracted and rushed to meet his brother.
Simon’s attention returned to Dan. “They won’t win.”
The huge skort turned and lumbered towards the cats. They darted in, nipping and cutting, but it wasn’t enough. It swung its claws, trying to knock them down. All they could do was evade.
The past-Earthers started throwing rocks. One was cuffed and lifted high in the air before dropping back down. Catman scaled the thing’s back and bit into its neck, giving the others a chance to drag their downed comrade away before he was thrown clear.
Something fluffy and golden dropped from the back of the skort and ran towards the Mini. Scratchtacular. They had somehow donned their utility belt.
“I will deal with you, and the skort will finish off your cats and the relics,” said Simon. “I will uncover the secrets of their ship. I will find the other locations. And I will lead the army to Earth to complete the plan. Bryn and I will be happy together.”
“You really think this will make her happy? You really think this is what she wants?”
“She told me she loved me. We are together in all things.”
“No,” said Dan. “You think that, but it’s not true. If she loves you, then she just wants you for you. She doesn’t need this. She doesn’t need grand gestures, least of all murderous ones. And she sure as hell doesn’t want isolation.”
Simon’s face darkened. A reptilian smile crept across his lips. “I know it’s what she wants.”
Something in that look made Dan’s stomach drop. Then he shook his head. “Don’t be stupid. Of course it’s not. You’re deluded.” He laughed, slightly manic from the blood loss perhaps. It was still flowing. He clutched the broken metal of the Mini to stop himself from falling. “You do know what a skort is, right?”
He shuffled around as Scratchtacular arrived. They stepped up his legs and offered the flask from their utility belt. Dan understood immediately. He knelt to retrieve it and patted them on the head. “Good job, fluffy barista.”
Simon stopped on the other side of the car. He looked uncertain. “Skort is a cool name for a weapon of war,” he said.
“Hate to break it to you, dickhead, but it’s not.” Dan retrieved Twig from the satchel. “My sister used to wear them in the nineties. It’s a short-skirt combo. No self-respecting woman born anywhere near nineties Earth would allow her boyfriend to name an army of alien killing machines ‘skorts’ it was something she wanted.”
He balanced the squirrel on his forearm above his shredded hand. He could see his tendons and bones and—more worryingly—the ground through his palm. He looked away.
“I’m starting to suspect she isn’t even your girlfriend,” he continued. “Are you doing that whole ‘I’ve got a girlfriend on the internet who’s well fit but she lives in Sweden’ thing? But instead of the internet, it’s ‘I’ve got a girlfriend who I used a magic alien lichen to be my girlfriend’. I bet you are, you little creep. There’s special places in Hell reserved for people like you.”
Where demons have a never-ending supply of viagra.
“No.” Simon rounded the end of the Mini. “That’s not true. I didn’t use the lichen on her. Just the others.” His voice was a niggly little whine. “We are in love.”
Dan quickly twisted off the thermos cap.
Twig’s nose immediately started to twitch.
“What are you doing?” said Simon.
Dan tipped the flask up to Twig’s lips. His hand was shaking. The squirrel cupped the rim to steady it and swallowed. His claws wiggled. His eyes burst open, full of fire.
“No!” said Simon.
Dan screwed the thermos into the sand and stood. Twig was a phone vibrating on silent, a time bomb nearing countdown end, a frozen apple pie that’s this second come out the microwave after having been in the microwave for just over the correct amount of time.
“By the power of the Brown Hotness,” the squirrel said, wriggling like a bucket full of worms. “I haaaaave the pooooweeeeer.”
“Sic ’em, Twig!”
* * *
Everything froze. Simon. The giant skort. Dan.
Dan blinked. His head felt like it was sliding slowly from his shoulders.
“This is well weird,” said Twig, wrapped around Simon’s neck. “It’s like I’m driving Simon, but I’m also driving that big one over there. And a load of others. All the sleepy ones in the facility. A couple of other big ones nearby. He gets around, doesn’t he?”
Behind them the giant skort roared. “Brup!” The sound was echoed somewhere in the distance towards Simon’s desert home.
“I am the loudest of all time!” The squirrel punched tiny fists in the air.
“Sic ’em, Twig,” said Dan, although he thought maybe he’d already said that. The words tasted frothy on his tongue like he was eating wet fluff from beneath the sofa. He leant against the Mini. A sizzling grey blur dominated the centre of his vision. His nose was the mouth of a wormhole and he was getting sucked into it. He rubbed at his face.
A black claw dropped onto his shoulder and he nearly fell over. He turned to find himself eye-to-eye with the Flash. He wobbled on his feet. He couldn’t really see anything, the blur kept growing.
“What have I missed?” said the Flash.
Dan wanted to quip. “Nothing exciting.” But wasn’t sure he said anything as the sand came up to meet him.
Unsquirreled Bewilderment
“Wake if you can, we need you.”
His back ached. He felt like he’d fallen from a great height. He opened his eyes. Three black shapes as long as his arm, but thicker, curved over the top of him. Spatters of cooling warm wet covered his body. He lifted his hand, remembering the injury. A silver bandage, similar to the one Pippa or Simon had wrapped around his ribs after his first fight with Gatsby, had been applied. Another to his leg. The bleeding looked to have stopped. He still felt dizzy. Assumed the bandages were only a quick fix.
The Flash stood over him. A paw placed on his chest. “Lie still, Dan. There’s trouble.”
“More?”
“The creature carrying you has been brought down.”
Someone screamed, “Again!”
Guns fired. It sounded like hundreds of them. More warm liquid splashed down all over him. He glanced down at his feet, saw the arm of the male skort leading to the head. Its open dead eyes stared at him. Its face was bloodied, caved in. He lay in its hand.
“The rest of you better not make any sudden movements.” The accent was German. “If the squirrel leaves his neck, shoot it.”
Whispers of footsteps in the sand.
“There is no need for further violence.” That sounded like Rick.
The German laughed. “I will be the judge of that and my judgement depends upon how you answer my next questions. We’ve looked all over this desert and we can’t find the room. Tell me how to get back and then I agree, there will be no need for further violence.”
A hushed silence fell.
“Don’t all talk at once.”
Another pause.
“Fine. Bring me one of them. The short one.”
There was the sound of a scuffle. A whimper.
“Stop!” Dan pulled himself up by the claws of the skort. He was naked and covered in blood. His own and the skort’s. He must look like something out of a cannibal horror film. “Let them go.”
The hitman’s suit had browned during his time spent on Kepler-1649c. He stood with five other men. All had guns. All looked happy to use them. One held a past-Earther by the arm. Another, standing slightly separate from the rest, looked to be wearing a similar suit to those Dan had met at the police station.
They all stared at him.
“The Ghost?” The hitman turned his head. “I recognise you from your wedding photo. I wondered when you might show up. Why are you covered in jam?”
“Jam? This isn’t jam.” It did smell a bit like jam.
“I see. It’s blood. Sorry, I thought it was jam.”
Several smaller dead skorts had been dragged into a pile at the edge of their camp. Behind that was the flat area where he’d teleported in.
When and how had they come through the portal? Perhaps when Simon had opened it before coming through to retrieve the skorts. He’d entered the facility. They’d left.
“Have you been here the whole time?” Dan asked.
He pointed a finger at the ground. He hadn’t seen them here before. Maybe they’d been exploring the area when he’d arrived.
The hitman nodded. Then gestured to the cats with his gun. “Is this where you and they found your power?”
“Not exactly. Look, I get you’re supposed to kill me, and I get all I am is a pay cheque in your cold, dead eyes, but how about we don’t do this?” He twirled a finger in the air.
“Do what?”
“All of this. How about you just be nice for once? Take the nice thing I’m about to do for you and—I don’t know—pay it forward. No backstabbing. No promises broken. Just good old-fashioned being a human being.” He sighed and threw his palms up, which hurt a lot more than he was expecting. “Maybe even stop hitmanning. Take your particular set of skills and start Robin Hooding. Cream a bit off the top. You get me? I’m sure there’s just as much money in it.” He wobbled, clutching the skort finger for support.
