Slime Squad Vs the Last Chance Chicken

by Steve Cole

  “But what will we do when Klukk and his gas get to the next town?” asked Danjo. “We can’t hope to outrun every monster in Trashland.”

  “And we didn’t have a chance to get a sample of Klukk’s gas,” said Plog bitterly.

  “Don’t speak too soon,” Furp told him as a familiar whistling, whooshing sound started up. KRUMP! A long-range gas shell burst open in the distance and white smoke curled up from inside it. “Klukk’s started his bombardment again. He must be aiming for the Polystyrene Wilderness.”

  “ATTENTION, POLYSTYRENE PEOPLE,” Klukk’s distant voice boomed out. “You hate the Slime Squad . . . You will destroy them on sight . . .”

  “I didn’t think anything lived in that wilderness,” said Danjo.

  Furp nodded thoughtfully. “Clearly he’s taking no chances. No doubt he’ll start bombarding Choketown next – and that is inhabited.”

  Danjo nodded. “Big, red burly monsters – you wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of them.”

  “Let’s make for the Polystyrene Wilderness first,” Plog decided. “It’s on the way, and with any luck we can collect a gas sample there in peace.”

  But just then the engine spluttered and died and the Slime-mobile ground to a halt.

  “We don’t have any luck,” said Zill crossly. “We’re out of fuel. I don’t understand it.”

  “There’s a spare fuel can packed under the exhaust pipe,” Danjo revealed, opening the doors and going outside. “Oh, no!”

  “What is it?” Plog followed him outside, closely followed by Furp and Zill.

  “When those mattress-mites attacked the Slime-mobile they put their teeth through our fuel tank,” said Danjo. “All our fuel has leaked away.”

  “What about the spare can?” asked Zill hopefully. “There’s a hole in that too!” Danjo squirted slime-ice at the puncture to seal it. “There’s only a little left – barely enough to get through the Polystyrene Wilderness to reach Choketown. We can’t afford to waste any.”

  “And we can’t afford to waste any more time either,” said Plog. “We need that gas sample, right away.”

  “Er . . . I think we might be about to get it too!” Furp pointed to the sky as a much louder whistling started up – and a massive explosion bloomed just to the right of them. “Klukk must’ve seen us stop – and he’s trying to hit us!”

  KA-KRUMMP! Another shell burst apart behind them and the shock wave threw Plog to the ground. He gasped to see a third shell sailing down from the clouds just overhead. “Klukk’s bang on target this time,” he yelled as the ominous whistle grew to an ear-piercing shriek. “And with the Slime-mobile stuck, we’re sitting ducks!”

  Chapter Six

  POLYSTYRENE POWER

  “Maybe not!” Zill jumped up and got busy with a new web of slime-strands, spitting them out sixteen to the dozen between the roof of the Slime-mobile and the ground. “Danjo, quick – fire as much thick, gooey slush under this lot as you can.”

  Plog watched her work.

  “What’s the plan?”

  “Soften the landing,” she mumbled.

  Furp got what she was driving at. “If the shell strikes something soft, it might not break open!”

  The shell was almost on top of them, its high-pitched whistling drilling through their brains. Frantically Danjo sprayed a juicy pile of cold sludge under Zill’s slime-net. With one end of the net fixed to the Slime-mobile, Furp and Plog took up the other end to make a kind of slushy hammock.

  “Here it comes!” Danjo bellowed as the large metal ball finally fell with an almighty . . .

  Ker-SQUELCH!

  The gas grenade skimmed the side of the Slime-mobile, hammered into the net and splattered into the slush, spattering the Squaddies with goo. Plog held his breath . . .

  But the shell did not go off.

  “Yahooooo!” Zill jumped into the air. “It worked!”

  Plog gave Zill a big hug. “That was a brilliant plan. Well done!”

  “I can’t wait to start studying this stuff,” said Furp. Then he held his tum as it made a riotous gurgling sound. “But I do wish that roast cockroach we all ate would stop interrupting.”

  I wish I’d never touched it, thought Plog, holding his swollen tummy. Then he heard more whistling steal into the sky. “Come on, there’ll be more shells dropping at any minute – and I don’t fancy trying to catch them all!”

  Danjo poured the last of their fuel into the tank and Zill slid back into the driver’s seat. Furp moved Maynard the maggot-chicken away from the lav-lab and into Plog’s seat so he could start his experiments. Plog watched the clever frog-monster as he drilled into the captured shell and drained off a little of the gas into his trusty toilet.

  “Excellent,” said PIE from the screen by the doors. “And not a moment too soon. The situation is growing worse. My sensors show that gas attacks are taking place all over Trashland!”

  “What?” Plog jerked in his seat. “Surely Klukk’s voice can’t be heard everywhere?”

  “Klukk must have sent maggot squads with gas-grenade launchers far and wide,” PIE said gravely. “And the maggots have been telling their unfortunate victims that they worship Lord Klukk and must battle anyone who says a word against him . . .”

  The screen blurred to show trendy blue monsters in Goo York knocking down skyscrapers to build statues of Lord Klukk in their place. It blurred again and showed junkjacks on Pongo Beach painting a huge chicken mural on the side of the Cast Iron Cliffs. Another change of scene showed brawling monsters in the Broken Furniture Valley – one bunch were waving wooden signs proclaiming Lord Klukk to be the best thing ever, and attacking anyone who dared to disagree.

  “Why is he doing this?” cried Danjo.

  PIE’s face faded back into sight on the screen. “To cause chaos and confusion, thus splitting the population – so the rest of Trashland won’t band together to stop him before his gas cloud engulfs everything.”

  Danjo’s eyestalks drooped. “Even if we could clear all the monsters out of Choketown . . . where would we send them? Nowhere is safe!”

  “This could be the end of the world,” murmured Plog, and his bottom rumbled as if in pained agreement. “And with our fuel almost out, it looks like Choketown will be the scene of our final stand.”

  “Cheer up,” said PIE brightly. “The Dirty Nappy Dunes are full of gas, but still the Dunes-dwellers seem unaffected – well, apart from bumping into each other a lot because they can’t see where they’re going. And there are no reported cases in the Poo-nited States either . . .”

  “Yet,” muttered Zill.

  “Hey!” Danjo said suddenly, tapping his head. “An idea is here!”

  Plog was glad for a distraction. “Oh?”

  “What if we could make more gas masks?” Danjo jumped up. “We wouldn’t have to evacuate anybody – they could just wear the masks and stay safe until we beat the gas.”

  Plog grinned. “Fantastic plan!”

  “I’ll give you my designs,” said Furp, “then you can get to work.”

  Danjo nodded. “How many monsters are there in Choketown?”

  “About five thousand,” Furp replied, fiddling with his instruments.

  “And how many extra gas masks can we make?” Danjo asked eagerly.

  “Er . . .” Furp considered. “Two.”

  Plog’s ears drooped. “Two?”

  “Only four thousand, nine hundred and ninety-eight more monsters to worry about then,” Danjo sighed as Furp passed him some papers. “Still, I guess every little helps . . .”

  Within the hour, the Squaddies had reached the barren, pitted plains of the Polystyrene Wilderness – and come up against a huge white cube of packaging lying across the track.

  “A polystyrene roadblock,” Zill noted, slipping on her gas mask. “We need to shift it.”

  Plog shivered as he put on his own gas mask and stepped outside. The white expanses of the Wilderness were made whiter still by the creeping gas filling eve
ry crack and crevice.

  Zill scampered down, and she and Plog crossed to the polystyrene blocking their path. Plog dug his fingers into the cube and heaved – accidentally pulling off a huge white chunk as he did so.

  “Ow!” came a dry, throaty gargle.

  Zill jumped. “What was that?”

  But Plog couldn’t answer. He was speechless with shock as a huge, craggy figure detached itself from the cube – a thing of living polystyrene!

  “You just broke off one of my feet,” rasped the boxy thing, two vivid pink eyes blinking open in his jagged head.

  “Um, sorry,” said Plog.

  “Hang on.” The burning pink eyes narrowed. “You’re part of the Slime Squad, aren’t you?”

  “Er . . . no!” Zill said quickly. “Never heard of them.”

  “You are! You are my enemies!” With a scraping, scrunching noise the polystyrene person got to his five remaining feet and raised fists like huge white bricks. “I must destroy you!”

  “We must destroy you,” came a sinister chorus from all around. To Plog and Zill’s horror, more of the mysterious monsters came crunching to life, rising up from the layers of polystyrene all around, pink eyes shining with hate and heavy hands set to crush the Squaddies flat . . .

  “Here we go again!” Plog stared up at the polystyrene warriors. “We’re not your enemies! There’s this gas, see. It’s allowed a giant mutant chicken to hypnotize you—”

  “Destroy!” roared the nearest towering monster. The hard white slab of his fist slammed down towards him . . .

  Zill pushed Plog clear and the polystyrene punch just barely missed. “I don’t think they’re listening, Fur-boy. And we haven’t got time to waste convincing them. Look!”

  Plog glanced behind – and saw a huge army of mattress-mites swarming over the top of a wide polystyrene hillside. The hillside too was coming to life as scores of many-legged monsters cracked apart from the piles of packaging.

  “We’ve got to get out of here!” Zill cried.

  Plog shoved hard at the legs of the white monster towering over them, who fell in a tumble. “That’s the roadblock cleared. But we’ll never outrun the reinforcements!”

  Zill gulped to see a tidal wave of mattress-mites and mighty white monsters approaching fast down the hillside towards them . . .

  Chapter Seven

  NIT!

  “One chance!” Zill lashed out a slime-line and lassoed a big chunk of polystyrene at the base of the mound. “Give me a hand, Fur-boy.”

  Plog joined her in tugging on the big brick, his muscles straining to their limit – and as the piece finally pulled clear, the entire hill above it began to collapse. Shouting in dismay, the hypnotized monsters fell with it, crashing down with a squeaky, dusty bang.

  “Right,” said Plog. “Run!”

  “You cannot escape me for ever, Slimy Simpletons!” Now the hill had been levelled, the giant Lord Klukk was visible once again before his towering curtain of smoke. His voice echoed out at a billion decibels. “Soon I shall have total control over Trashland.”

  “So why is he so bothered about stopping us now?” Plog panted as they bundled back on board the Slime-mobile.

  Zill pushed Maynard out of the way and hopped into the driver’s seat. “It can only mean there is a way to stop his gruesome gas – and he’s worried that we will find it!”

  “I reckon you’re right.” Plog turned to Furp, still hard at work in the lav-lab beside Danjo. “Any progress?”

  PIE’s computerized face appeared on the screen. “Do not disturb Furp now. I believe he is very close to a breakthrough.”

  “I’m very close to a break-wind,” Plog muttered as his tum chugged and bubbled again. “Danjo, how are you getting on?”

  The crab-creature held up a single mask. “What’s the panic?”

  “The mattress-mites have been joined by some pink-eyed polystyrene,” Plog explained. “Klukk’s got the population of two whole towns after us. You’ve got to find a cure, Furp – you’ve just got to!”

  “I’m trying!” Furp assured him.

  The tense journey continued in silence – save for the gurgle of tender tummies and the bubble of concoctions in Furp’s strange tests. Plog helped Danjo finish gas mask number two. Maynard clucked.

  Zill drove them over rickety bridges and treacherous swamps. But as they neared Choketown, her heart plummeted into her roach-stuffed tum. “We’re too late,” she gasped. “Klukk’s smoke – it’s everywhere!”

  Plog jumped up, nudged Maynard aside and joined her at the front. Sure enough, the lights of Choketown were shining dimly through a dark purple haze, like a big bruise on the landscape.

  “It’s OK,” Danjo assured them. “Choketown’s always smoky and smoggy and dusty – that’s how it got its name. There are so many factories, mines and refineries there that the air is really filthy.”

  Zill turned up her nose. “How does anyone manage to live here?”

  “Well, every hour the fans come on,” Danjo explained. “Look, it’s happening now!”

  The dark clouds over Choketown were starting to curl and whirl. Suddenly they began to streak slowly away in all directions, thinning out. At first, all Plog could see was a tall tower, its square roof crowned with an impressive array of massive electric fans, whirring and whooshing the air pollution away. Slowly the rest of Choketown came into sight – an ugly collection of coal pits and furnaces, smelting works and smoking chimneys, all stained black with dirt. Even as the fans died down, the dirty clouds began to gather again and hide the town from view.

  “Not the prettiest place in the world,” Zill remarked as she started to drive closer.

  “And the monsters who work there are as hard as atomic nails,” Danjo reminded them.

  Suddenly Furp leaped in the air. “Perhaps we won’t have to worry about them turning against us!” he cried. “I might have found the answer!”

  Plog’s ears shot straight up and Danjo’s eyes bulged to the size of beach balls.

  “Well, what is it?” Zill asked excitedly, wagging her tail.

  “The cure’s been within our power all along, I’m sure of it,” Furp twittered. “Right under our poor little noses. Now, I must test it out on Maynard here. Get ready to open the windows! Er, Maynard?”

  But Maynard clucked sulkily and shook his head. “Buk-buk!”

  “Don’t be in a grump just because I pulled your head out of the toilet,” Furp told him. “We don’t have time to waste.”

  “Cluck, cluck, CLUCK!” said Maynard rudely, and suddenly started running about the Slime-mobile like a headless chicken-maggot, flapping his arms and squawking like a looper. CRUNCH! He crashed into the lav–lab’s workbench and sent the experiments flying. Test tubes broke open and beakers split. Bubbling goo splashed over Furp’s crash helmet and set it on fire! The image of PIE on the smellyvision set vanished into static.

  “No!” Furp wailed, leaping to the rescue of his headpiece, blowing as sparks spat and spurted from inside. “Oh, dear!”

  Maynard started pecking at the workbench beside him as though it were covered in tasty grain, cracking open a jar as he did so.

  “Look at what you’ve done,” Danjo yelled crossly. “You crazy nit!” He quickly fired slime at the helmet, putting out the flames, while Plog grabbed Maynard and sat him on the toilet before he could do any more damage.

  “Furp,” Zill called urgently. “Is the crash helmet badly broken?”

  Plog flicked switches on the screen. “We’ve lost contact with PIE. But I guess we don’t need him right now if you’ve found the cure for the hypnogas, right?” He looked at Furp, who was staring down at the helmet. “Er . . . Furp?”

  Furp made no reply. And then Plog saw a tiny wisp of white smoke escape the broken jar on the desk. “Gas masks, quickly!” he roared.

  Danjo and Zill quickly followed Plog’s example and put on their masks. But Furp just went on staring – and then he jumped through the air and landed on Plog’s b
ack, pulling on his fur.

  “Hey!” Plog cried. “Furp, what are you doing?”

  “I’m a nit!” Furp squeaked. “A crazy nit!” He rolled his eyes and crawled over Plog’s back. “Ohhh, look what I’ve done. Nit, nit, NIT!”

  “Oh no!” Zill wailed. “Furp must have breathed in the gas!”

  Danjo slapped a pincer to his forehead. “And when I told Maynard that he was a nit and to look at what he’d done, Furp heard it as a hypnotic command.”

  Plog managed to pull Furp off from his back. “The cure, Furp! Do you remember the cure?”

  “Cure?” Furp frowned as if struggling to remember, then stared at the workbench. “Yes, look at what I’ve done – I’ve found a cure!”

  “Please, Furp, what is it?” Zill begged him.

  “It’s . . . nnnnnnnnnnnnn-nit possible to say!” Furp laughed, hopping about crazily. “Nit, nit, nit.”

  “Buk-buk-buk,” said Maynard, apparently approving of this change in his captor.

  “It’s no good.” Plog covered his eyes. “We’ve lost Furp, we’ve lost contact with PIE, and we’ve lost our last chance of finding a cure for the gas in time.”

  “Look!” Furp said, pointing to the floor. “Look at what I’ve done!”

  Zill frowned. “He hasn’t done something gross, has he?”

  “No.” Plog saw that Furp was pointing to some pieces of paper on the floor, and stooped to pick them up. “Hmm . . . it looks like Furp was making notes.”

  “Nits!” Furp chirruped, hopping onto Danjo’s crimson shoulder.

  “No, notes,” Danjo told him.

  “Look at what I’ve done!” Furp said again. “Look! Look!”

  “These are notes on the cure!” Plog beamed. “Even hypnotized, Furp’s trying to help us.”