by Travis Borne
Cooler stuffed, meat overload. Meat, meat, weird-ass alien meat—now just traveling. And the road thinned. It became less defined with every mile, muddier, then rocky again and the makeshift buggy, its humming electric motors, proved itself worthy. It manhandled the terrain like a competition rock crawler.
To construct it Crisp had used parts from the myriad attractions in town. Four electric motors, one at each wheel with no steering joints, yet able to be activated independently, each the size of a residential air conditioner, were stripped from the rising tower attraction. Solar panels swiped from the roof of the theater complex and dozens of Extimeium-X6 batteries nabbed from the main power grid, delivered juice as needed. Crisp and his team fabricated rims using discs taken from the white-rapids water ride. With Lion’s help they deflated and stripped the rafts then wrapped the cylindrical steel core with rubber sheeting from roller-coaster bumper rails. For the vehicle’s frame Crisp sent a team of workers to the chairlift station. Its lower cable station had thick steel shafts already combined with pulleys; after chopping, bending, and welding, the metal structure made for a solid skeleton. Atop the frame they fused an enclosure borrowed from the large tram ride, and on back, a cylindrical storage hull reinforced with steel support beams, courtesy of a tube from the fun house. They kicked out all but the front windows then fabricated a roll cage.
The Griffonizor was born! Crisp had christened it so because it was a chimerical hodgepodge, that and the flaming griffin decals it sported. He’d peeled them off The Slingshot—a ride that flung people up and over town—then re-glued the stickers to the sides of the tram-car’s red shell.
“Nice touch,” Lion had said, standing in the garage, arms crossed, marveling at Crisp’s completed brainchild.
“Not bad, not bad at all,” Jerry added.
Crisp said, “A day for testing and I’d say this beast, ahem—I mean, prototype, is ready. We can use the dirt tracks at the bottom of the hill. Give it all you got—”
“Then a day packing supplies and saying goodbyes—in the morning we’re off.” Jerry shook the hands of everyone involved with the project: beasts, workers, and humans alike. Testing went well, and The Griffonizor was christened with a bottle of champagne…
The road wound its way through the lush green mountains, steepening after each dozen miles or so. But the Griffonizor had more than enough power to climb. Misfits on a mission.
“We probably should have brought him along with us,” Kim said, “in case this thing breaks down.”
“Crisp?” Jake replied.
“Yeah.”
“Right,” Julio agreed. “I’d hate to get stuck out here. And it’s getting chilly.”
“It is taking a beating,” Jake added, his bulging arm bouncing on the open window’s edge like a chicken wing—a big black chicken’s, one that’d sucked a good deal of roids.
“That Crisp, he’s one hell of an inventor,” Jerry said. “But the Griffonizor is doing just fine, although, we’re gonna have to go over that—” Jerry pointed. “—if we want to find out what’s beyond the ridge. The view should be revealing.”
Four heads shook upon seeing the climb ahead; Jerry’s resolve was The Great Pyramid of Giza. After what seemed the steepest section yet they entered then exited a forest of thick trees, smashing many of them, while bouncing side to side and up and down. A clearing soon opened up on the edge of another cliff. The grandest window to the world thus far. Jerry pushed the right foot pedal, neglecting the left, and like a tank the right two tires dug in while those on the left slowed. The Griffonizor turned away from the edge. Rocks and a substantial chunk of earth broke free, falling off the edge.
“Look!” Baldarn said, “the town.” Jerry halted and they all gawked at the view: it dropped jaws and expanded maws. Distant Midtown, at least fifty miles away. A little speck of every color and then some was a sunken pile of unicorn shit, far below. And the road ahead, like a path that took a vehicle, or something, only once per decade, continued to wind its way up the mountain. They continued on. Trees thinned and the third-day’s afternoon stretch was rocky and rough. Peaks ahead stabbed the mostly blue sky like a nightmarish, living pipe organ, disappearing into iridescent ripples.
Day 4. Rest and recharge for lunch. Chilly out, downright. And it looked to be the last patch of grass about the earth. A few bonsai-like, banana-yellow trees provided spotty shade. Under the largest and away from the cliff’s edge Jerry cleaned the catch, quickly with the help of Julio. His sharp claws and coat-rack horns came in handy. Jake, Baldarn, and Kim made lunch and dried strips of meat into jerky for later. And then everyone rested for an hour. They talked a bit, letting the road’s lingering vibration, which all still felt as if hopped up on coffee enemas, dissipate.
“Well, y’all ready?” Jerry asked.
“As we’ll ever be, big man,” Kim replied. Thanks to the neutron-star sun, which seemed to be getting brighter, the batteries were charged in half the time. They reloaded the supplies, pelts, meat, brains, and bags of the most important guts—everything went on ice. Jerry packed various strange creatures too, carefully in another cooler; perhaps Marti, a chemistry scientist of the old world, could concoct something new from the oddities. Some were at least similar to those near Jerry’s usual hunting grounds not far from town, but most were not; some were freak-show worthy. As they’d progressed things became even more bizarre. Even the plant life had become unrecognizable.
Jerry sealed the cooler then hopped into the driver seat. Jake stomped out the fire—a purplish-blue twist of flames that generated less heat—and together with Kim, boarded the starboard side. Baldarn and Julio loaded the massive coolers into Griffonizor’s rear hull and hopped into the back seat. Bellies full of meat, they resumed their trek.
“It’s getting really cold now,” Kim said, shivering. She scooted next to Jerry; his legs, about the size of Carmen’s waist, were hot.
“Why didn’t we bring blankets?” Baldarn said. After a several miles the air became downright icy: good for saving the ice, bad for humans, but especially beasts. Creatures of the underworld, where breathing was akin to blowin’ a blow dryer, the cold was nailing him and Julio the worst. Had they known, Crisp would’ve been told to leave the tram-car’s side windows in place.
“Blankets? For you big man? Ha, big blankets,” Jerry joked. “Plus, you’d slime the fuckin’ things with your zits. But not much farther, I think.” He worked the brake levers with his arms and the pedals with his tree trunks. “We’re almost at the top, look there.” They looked. But nothing looked like anything and the world was getting rocky, rocky and weird.
Kim shuddered and snuggled even closer. And she and Jerry chatted a bit, though not only with words. Jerry found himself attracted to her—there was something besides just her unnaturally pretty looks. Her intelligence, perhaps; she was possibly the smartest person he’d ever met. And her wit, her eyes when she looked deep into his—there was something for sure. He saw a fiery cat ready to pounce him, jump his bones, take all he could dish out.
But the chatting, all talking, even scintillas of flirts, soon ceased. The dot of a sun was dunking itself and they were traveling in the shadow of the ridge. Five misfits, like spooks, rolled along in a contraption more incongruent than themselves. Motors hummed. And the mud-bog rock-crawler tires were panther claws, grabbing and pulling, up the steep sections, sidling the sometimes very narrow ledges. Discursive terrain. Grass, gravel, mud or sometimes sand, but now just a rocky road—it’d been as though the creator couldn’t make up his or her or its mind. Yet within another two hours they neared the top. Had to be. Now, venturing into this new territory elicited only nervous smiles, curiosity was a dulled knife and hope was placed on the back burner. The peak, which had looked to be fully formed from below, now appeared to dissolve into the prismatic purplish-blue sky, and the road wound itself straight into the unknown. Ahead, fog. Curling, intertwining, living fog.
82. A Way Out
By some means, The G
riffonizor pushed on—although its batteries had died hours ago. Through the gauzy white smoke, push, push. In order to climb the steep terrain they’d tossed the heavy Extimeium cells to reduce weight, as well left the coolers in a cave several miles back. Except for Jerry, the others speculated about how the vehicle could still have power. It had to be the white light above, now stronger than ever—even though it should by all means be night. But now it was getting brighter!
Kim was frozen, except where her body met the charged volcano that was Jerry. Somehow, he used a rage deep within himself as he had done in the past. He’d learned things over the centuries, although not through direct methods, and subconsciously he manipulated the power in tune with the world, unwrapping its secrets. Driving along the road rocky long enough to equal a trek up and around Olympus Mons, he thought consciously about this and that, and noticed how, as they neared the top, and the possible end of the road, it became easier to manipulate the world around him. His own body heat—like he’d done with his strength, not so long ago, pummeling Baldarn like an over-sized airbag to stop the raping rampage—was only a small part of it. His mind wandered and he made himself hot, for Kim, yet thought of Carmen and his vow, and all she’d said to him: “You can do it. I love you, no matter what,” and, “I want a baby,” and, “Don’t lose yourself—”
His thoughts hit a wall while Kim held him as if they were having a candid affair. The last thought punched him the hardest, just then. And he only made himself warm to help—there would never be anything between them, ever. He could feel Kim’s desire, but he loved Carmen.
The others looked over the edge, which neared as the road thinned. Level: precarious, pushing it too hard. The drop, straight down—and the world below had become a blur of stretchy white, the throat of a cottonmouth rattlesnake, one with a cold and plenty of mucus. Julio sat behind Jerry but was tall enough to see over Jake. Both Jake and Julio, rearranged for weight distribution, nearly shit themselves. Jerry knew it and so did Kim, because of the smell; they had already gotten used to Baldarn’s stench, his warbles in a constant state of eruption: puss, yellow and foul, roaches and eggs—it wasn’t that. One of the two back-seat riders—either Jake or Julio—had been farting, or had already shit themselves, clear by the perturbed look plastered on their faces.
Jerry seemed to communicate with Kim through a mental channel. They were in sync like oppositely charged atomic timepieces. It was a secret conduit and they shared a few laughs. Smells, like the brighter light and other things, had become more intense, and Jake’s face was funny to look at, but the beasts, so strong and mighty, were gawking, worried oddities who could make even a stoic puff a grin.
“It’s you isn’t it,” Jerry blurted, looking back at Jake.
“Not me, man, honestly.”
“Julian?”
“Not me either. Maybe it’s Baldarn, or you.”
“Baldarn?”
“If I have to shit, Jerry, trust me, you’ll know it.”
“Kim?”
She leaned away and punched him in the shoulder. Laughter erupted, all chuckling, save for Jake.
“Ha! I knew it!” Jerry blasted, still laughing. “It is you. Jake, damn, man. Wheeew, shit!”
They stopped briefly, to let Jake clean himself, then continued on. The Griffonizor climbed a thirty-degree wall of rock while seriousness smothered all traces of the laughter four of them had shared fifteen minutes ago. Arriving, the ledge flattened out but became too narrow to continue any farther. And above, the sky was a shimmering pond of upside-down iridescent ripples. Fog surrounded the peak like smooth white snakes.
“We walk?” Baldarn suggested.
“Or go back,” Jake said. “It’s already been more than a week. Let’s—”
“We go forward,” Kim said sternly. She clung to Jerry and he replied with his eyes.
“Yes,” Jerry replied. His smile contained 5% sinister wickedness. “We leave the vehicle here. Now, I’m guessing above that plane—” He pointed; the jagged mountainside was glossy and shimmered like chameleon paint, with tones of purple and green. “—is some sort of portal, perhaps another way to—”
“Contact Boron,” Kim interrupted.
“Maybe, who knows, but we’ve come this far. Watch this.” Jerry relaxed his muscles and closed his eyes. His body floated in the seat. Awestruck, the others gaped.
Baldarn said, “What in the—”
“I’ve been playing with it for years.” He floated back into his seat. “I learned how to double my strength.” He turned to face the others, then again looked to Baldarn. “Or quadruple it. Ain’t that right, Baldarn?”
Baldarn nodded dolefully. He remembered his actions and was glad Jerry had stopped him, glad he’d gotten the shit beat out of him—wishing just then, he’d gotten worse.
Yet Jerry needed no reply. He could feel Baldarn’s genuine nature; it was a prismatic rainbow hitting him like slugs from both barrels of a shotgun. Now, Baldarn was good, good like an ugly dolt with car-crusher claws, as well heavy with remorse and regret. Jerry said, “I suppose beyond that point we’ll have control over this world. The reason the Griffonizor is now working without the batteries is not because of the light, it’s our curious minds. We are powering it, each of us. The closer we get…well, do you feel it?”
83. Thirsty Travelers
A day shy of four weeks and the Griffonizor rolled into town. They brought meat, guts, pelts—four massive coolers stuffed with creatures that could unexorcise a nightmare.
“Hey, Jerry! Damn, it’s good to have you back, man,” Patrick said, walking alongside the craft; it looked like it’d went through a burning building and the roof was missing. “We’ve been—” He cut himself off seeing how the beasts were chained to it like reindeer, and Jerry had a whip. “What—happened to the batteries?” Julio and Baldarn slowed as Jerry pulled on the reigns.
“We tossed ’em,” Kim blurted, looking down at the citizens, eyes anywhere and everywhere but on Patrick. She smiled with all teeth, brightly as if she was being tickled. Her pupils were large, dark, and wandered about as though she was blind, and her arms hung loosely at her sides. She and Jerry resembled drunks. Jake, with an elbow resting on the passenger window like the standard chicken wing, chuckled deep and low and long—but, as if he’d just exited a haunted house, as if he’d been scared silly. Patrick and the others who’d rushed from Marti’s, the museum, and the attractions, cocked their heads in confusion.
“Yeah…these fuckers needed exercise anyway,” Jerry said. He looked to Kim, smiling. And he looked larger, although not more muscular, just fatter. Likewise, Kim was more pale, green like bile diluted with milk, and lumpy as if she’d been binge eating. Her eyes stopped wobbling about and locked onto a target: Jerry’s package.
“Nothing beats meat,” Kim said quickly, unnervingly. She stared at his crotch. And whatever was in there looked larger, too, moving around as if swimming in Jerry’s new lard.
“What?” someone popped, perplexed.
“They’re…all fucked up,” another uttered.
Jerry just chuckled, saying, “Like the lady said, little men and gals, more meat. Meat makes a world go round.” And now his package pumped like a heart, and he still neglected to acknowledge Pat. But he looked about. A few flummoxed beasts were gawking across the street. “Hey, dickheads,” Jerry blasted, “and you, yeah you—you nasty piece of shit.” To Kim, and not much quieter: “That hairy one looks like my ball sack.” Then yelling again, “Get over here, nut sack. Start unloading this shit, you fucking fucks.”
Carmen arrived, running. The smile on her face could reverse a sunset. She darted down the hill like an Olympic sprinter and climbed into the soiled Griffonizor; the entire thing was covered with burnt guts and innards; the coolers were wide open and smelled like rot, and there were piles of what looked like dead humanoid beings, aliens; some had missing fingers, some missing arms and legs, and some had no heads. But Carmen saw none of it. “Jerry! I’m so—” Kim cold
cocked her and she fell off the truck. Jerry laughed.
“Nice one, Doll,” he said.
“He’s mine now, bitch,” Kim blared; she looked about oddly, as if not focusing on Carmen when she said it, then her glare locked like a missile’s guidance system. Jerry brought the fully loaded contraption to a stop in front of the bar. Kim dismounted, not removing her now locked, penetrating stare.
“Unhook the beasts, Jake,” Jerry roared. Like a drunk Santa he put an arm around Kim and they walked into Marti’s together, ignoring everyone; Kim kept her eyes welded to Carmen until she entered. On top of a lumpy neck, her head twisted nearly backward in order to do so. Patrick and every other in the vicinity stood aghast. From the ground, Carmen watched as her man made her the invisible woman; she took off, running back up the hill.
“Jake,” Pat said, “what in the world? And he smokes now? That looked like a finger.”
“It is a finger, and he doesn’t smoke ’em, just chews on ’em.” Jake released another low chuckle as if it just uneasily fell from his mouth hole. “And you better not disobey either of them, Patty Boy.”
Standing up, wiping his worn-to-the-bone claws, Baldarn said, “Jake’s right. Don’t defy either of those two. You thought the underworld was bad? None of you have seen anything yet.”
Julio added, exhausted like, “Nothing…just, just…it was—horrible.”
If a cuckoo clock had been submerged in gel and its pendulum was still going back and forth, that was Patrick’s head. And he kept shaking it in disbelief, just like those around him. Some were covering their noses and shaking their heads; the smell coming off the Griffonizor was fifty people being boiled in pus.
“Hey, what’s up—oh shit!” Andy said. Running with Crisp, Lion, and a few others, they arrived from the garage, three blocks away. “Jerry’s back, kick ass! What’d they find—”
“Pat!” Jerry called out from inside the bar. His voice seemed to come from everywhere. “You are still in charge. Now, push that shit around back and get it unloaded! We want our drinks. And choose two humans and two beasts at random—or better yet, make ’em someone you don’t like. Send them inside. You have one hour to get it done.”
