"What's a Texas?" asked Rambette.
"What's a chainsaw?" asked Christianson.
"I think Texas is a star," said Blight.
"A double star?" asked Bill.
"No, a lone star," said Blight.
"Shut up!" Rambette shouted. "Every minute we stand around jawing about the situation is a minute more they have to munch on Curly. I think we've been breathing spores again."
The rope was still tied to the heavy desk, and Bill followed Bruiser down into the threatening unknown with a great deal of trepidation. Not to mention fear. And trembling. Caine followed Bill, happy to be in search of specimens and secure in the knowledge that androids were unpalatable to alien taste buds. Barfer once again drew guard duty at the top of the rope.
"I wish I had that flamethrower instead of this flashlight," Bill complained as they looked around. "It's a great flashlight and all that, but if I'm attacked.... Flamethrowers are better."
"All we need is Slasher," grinned Bruiser threateningly. "I'm going to wander off in da dark by myself and find my axe."
"Look over here," said Caine. "This is most interesting."
"What did you find?" asked Bill, going towards the light of Caine's flashlight as Bruiser wandered off alone.
"Look at these pods," he said. "Most of the ones in this pool have hatched. There must be a whole horde of the little monsters around here somewhere. Maybe I can collect a few live specimens. I know that I'd feel bad if one wrapped itself around your head and maybe killed you, but consider for a moment the incredible value that would hold for the advancement of scientific knowledge."
"I'm considering," said Bill. "Considering that I would like to suck your brain out through your nose and examine it to see where ideas like that come from."
"Yes, well, I can see your point. But look — some of these pods are in the process of hatching. Take a close look at this one."
"I'll pass, if you don't mind."
"It's glowing with an eerie light," said Caine, scribbling frantically in his notebook with his flashlight tucked in his armpit. "It's moving. Shift your light this way so I can get a closer look."
"That's maybe not the galaxy's greatest idea," said Bill.
"Don't be ridiculous. I must proceed with my observations. I am immune to the —"
"Watch out!" cried Bill as the pod split open and a creature popped out.
"Yow!" Caine screamed, swinging at the alien with his flashlight. "That hurt!"
"Keep it down," called Bruiser. "You're making enough noise to wake da dead."
Together Bill and Caine beat on the cute little baby monster until it quit moving.
"Good thing it's so dark in here," said Bill. "If I was able to see good, I would never have been able to kill such a cute little thing. You'd be one dead android."
"I don't understand," said Caine, shaking. "I was sure they wouldn't attack me. I must have misjudged their adaptability."
"You want to take this carcass?" asked Bill, playing his light on the squashed pile of fur and feathers, already feeling guilty for dispatching the cute little critter. "Maybe study it a little bit?"
"No thanks," said Caine. "It tried to kill me. Something this deadly should be eradicated from the face of the universe, not put in zoos or laboratories where they might escape and wreak all kinds of havoc."
"Yow!" hooted Bruiser. "Yow! Yow!"
"Are you all right?" cried Bill. "Did an alien jump out and get you?"
"No," called Bruiser. "I found Slasher."
"Great," said Caine, heading for the rope in a real big hurry. "It's time to make our retreat. If Curly's down here, there's no hope for him."
"Wait up!" cried Bruiser. "Dere's a whole flock of; dose cute little deadly beasties flying around me. Good t'ing it dark and I can chop dem up with Slasher without feeling bad."
Caine was already halfway up the rope, kicking and beating at the swarm of flying fur and feathers that surrounded him. Spurred on by a sudden shot of adrenalin, Bill caught up with him in an instant. Together they scampered up the rope to the hole where Barfer was keeping the critters at bay, growling and snarling and snapping as if someone was trying to steal his okra.
"Get that mattress," said Bill as he and Caine crawled out of the hole. "As soon as Bruiser gets here, we'll cover up that gateway to hell."
"Dat was close," said Bruiser, popping up and helping tilt the desk on top of the mattress. "Dey almost got me."
"Good dog," said Bill, patting Barfer on the head.
"Did you find Curly?" asked Rambette, walking into the room with Captain Blight and Christianson.
"No, but dat place is crawling with fur and feathers," said Bruiser. "Dey're all over da place."
"We've had our own problems up here," said Blight. "Better watch your step."
"It's the scuttling ones we've got attacking us," said Christianson. "Like the one that Bill stomped. Must be hundreds of them up here."
"They look like little crabs up close," said Rambette. "Got a touch of mouse about them too. They can hurt you bad. Look at Blight's ankle."
The captain's pant leg was shredded and he had a bloody bandage wrapped around his ankle. Christianson's boots were scarred from a few near-misses.
"You won't have any trouble getting specimens here," Rambette said to Caine. "All you have to do is stand still for a couple of minutes."
"I'm through gathering samples for the time being, thank you," sniffed the android. "Maybe I wasn't designed to be on the cutting edge of scientific investigation. There's a lot to be said about working with plants. Plants stay where you put them and most of them don't leap up and attack you."
"We got everything on our part of the shopping list," said Blight. "But no sign of Curly. I wish I hadn't slept through autopilot repair, but it's too late to go back and rectify that little mistake. No sense in feeling bad about something I can't change."
"This is a huge place," said Christianson. "Curly could be anywhere. It might take weeks or months to explore every dangerously dark corner, especially dodging loathsome aliens all the time. We'll probably die before we find him."
"The more we kill, the more they keep on coming," said Blight. "We're fighting a losing battle against impossible odds. And to think, all this is a result of my sweet tooth. I wish I hadn't hoarded all the doughnuts. It probably wasn't a very good thing to do, but what's done is done."
"While you're busy repenting," said Rambette, "don't forget to feel sorry about not letting us have any water."
"That too," groaned Blight.
An alien crab-mouse critter scuttled across the floor. Bill stomped it with his elephant foot before he even had a chance to realize what he was doing.
"Good show," said Christianson. "That foot may be huge and ugly, but it sure stomps aliens."
"That's very odd," said Bill, scraping the gore off the bottom of his foot. "My foot seems to have a mind of its own. It stomps before I tell it to."
"If we weren't in such mortal danger, it would be interesting to explore that phenomenon," said Caine. "Perhaps it is some sort of a genetic memory. I seem to recall that elephants were very fond of stomping on mice. Of course, since our very lives are on the line, we will have to postpone any investigation until a later date, and simply be thankful for your quick reactions."
Bill stomped another alien.
"This way," shouted Tootsie from the door. "Everybody follow me. We've found what's left of Curly."
CHAPTER 13
"Watch your step," cried Tootsie, leading the way. "There are aliens everywhere."
"What kind?" asked Caine.
"The loathsome, dangerous, deadly kind," snapped Tootsie. "What other kind is there?"
"By 'what kind' I meant that I was referring to the stage of their life cycle," pontificated the android.
"Why? You want more samples?"
"No," demurred Caine. "I just want to know if I should be ready to brush them away from my face or hop out of their way."
"Mostly wh
at we've got is the scuttling stage," said Tootsie, turning left down a dark, twisting corridor with a parked forklift with sinister shadows. "But some of the bigger ones are humping around there too. Larry fried one of the Curly-sized ones up with his handy flamethrower. It made a real big mess."
"What's wit' Curly?" asked Bruiser, clubbing a scuttler with Slasher's pommel. "I didn't much like him. But seeing he was our only chance maybe getting outta here, well, I kinda miss him."
"It's just too horrible to explain," explained Tootsie with a delicate shudder. "Wait and see. He's just through here, in what used to be the nuclear reactor room."
"Used to be?" asked Bill, but before Tootsie could answer they were inside, and his eyes and nose told him all he wanted to know.
The huge room was filled with hundreds of small aliens that scuttled around in the cavern like fantastically ugly bees in an alien hive. But by far the most horrible thing was that Bill now knew what had happened to the rest of the crew from the communication station.
They hung on the wall like sides of beef, partially encased in weblike cocoons. They were mummies now, their life force long since sucked dry.
"Curly's over this way," said Tootsie and they dodged and stomped scuttlers to the far side of the room where Larry and Moe were keeping the aliens away from a fresh cocoon.
"He's moving," said Bill.
"They've been munching on him," said Moe. "Look at his ear." For once Bill could tell the clones apart; Larry had the flamethrower, Moe didn't, and Curly was the almost-mummy.
"But he's still got most of his life force," said Bruiser, bashing two scuttlers with a single blow from Slasher. "I t'ink he's trying to talk."
"It's hard to understand him with all that webbing covering his mouth," said Caine. "I believe he's either saying SAVE ME or KILL ME or FOR BOWB'S SAKE DO SOMETHING. At least that's what it sounds like to me."
"Not to me," said Bill. "It sounds more like HELP! Let's get him out."
"Maybe not," said Bruiser. "If he wants us to kill him, maybe we should. I'm good at dat!"
"You been sniffing spores, Bruiser?" asked Rambette. "We can't kill the only one of us who knows how to fix the autopilot."
"Ahh, I forgot," said Bruiser sheepishly. "It's just dat I like to use Slasher."
"Well then, use Slasher to help me cut him loose," said Rambette, hacking and slicing at the cocoon.
While the two were up to their elbows in bits of cocoon, Bill's elephant foot embarked on a reflexive stomping spree, carrying him all around the room.
"If this weren't so life-threateningly dangerous, I'd find it most fascinating," said Caine, clubbing an alien with his flashlight. "This seems to be their primary feeding place."
"It seems to be a place I would like to get out of," said Bill, hopping away. "How's it going, Rambette?"
"We got Curly," she called. "Head for the door!"
"I'm heading where my foot takes me," cried Bill, stomping another scuttler and setting off towards a group of aliens crawling over the control board. "I may be here for years."
There were aliens everywhere, sadistically scuttling and nauseatingly nipping. For some unfathomable reason only the dog seemed untouched. The despicable creatures gave Barfer a wide berth.
"We gotta get outta here," shouted Bruiser, following Bill around the room, happily putting Slasher to good use. "Stop runnin' away!"
"I'm not — my foot is!" cried Bill, frantically following his foot to another cluster of scuttlers, losing his balance and falling into the crackling cocoon debris.
"Help me!" implored Tootsie. "My right arm's stuck in this cocoon!"
"Both of my right arms are stuck," shouted Bill.
Bruiser pulled Tootsie and Bill from their crunchy captivity and hefted Bill onto his shoulder. Bill's foot continued to try to stomp aliens, but since it couldn't reach the ground all it did was pound Bruiser on the back.
"Close the door!" cried Rambette as they tumbled out of the infested room. "Lock it!"
"What good is that going to do?" inquired Caine "We are dealing with incredibly powerful creatures."
"Shut your defeatist android yob," suggested Tootsie, pulling adhesive fragments off her right arm. "These creatures are worse than Chingers. We're all going to die!"
"There's a forklift parked down the corridor," said Caine. "Does anyone know how to work it?"
"Me," said Bill. "It's just like the one I drove back on the supply station."
"Then grab it and pile everything in sight that's heavy and bulky in front of the door," suggested Rambette. "Maybe that'll keep them in."
Bill started the forklift and in a few minutes had managed to build a remarkably tall stack of heavy junk in front of the door. They only saw two aliens during the operation, both of which were quickly dispatched by Slasher before Bill's foot had time spring into action and drag him off the forklift.
"That ought to do it," said Rambette. "Let's head back to the ship. Don't forget to bring all the repair supplies. I'm not coming back here for anything."
In their absence Uhuru had fashioned a new door to the docking tube, welding together chunks of heavy scrap metal. He was reluctant to open it until they convinced him that they were not harboring any aliens.
"I'm covering you with my flamethrower when you come in," he said, opening the door a crack. "Anything that scuttles gets fried."
"Nice flamethrower," said Larry as they filed into the ship. "It's lighter than mine."
"I made it out of the toaster," he said. "In times like these we must improvise. How's Curly?"
"A little chewed on, mostly in the ear department, but basically he's okay," said Moe. "At least as okay as he ever was which, P.S., is not saying very much."
"Someone has got to guard this door at all times," said Uhuru, still wearing his spacesuit. "We've got to keep the monsters at bay."
"I'll take first watch," said Larry. "While you get Curly patched up."
Upon examination in the control room, Curly's physical injuries turned out to be relatively minor, mainly consisting of a nibbled-on ear and a lot of ankle bites. His psychological condition, however, left a lot to be desired.
"You know how when something real bad happens you never remember it?" he asked as Caine wound a bandage around the victim's head.
"Sure," said Rambette. "It happens all the time. In total war you must expect anything. But, war may be hell but we must go through hell to defeat the evil of the Chingers..."
"Belt up!" Bill hinted. "You sound like a recruiting sergeant."
"I was! How bright of you to notice."
"I don't remember what happens to me after two beers," bragged Bruiser. "But I usually wake up in jail."
"It's a protective mechanism that helps people deal with traumatic events," explained Caine, tying the bandage with a fancy bow. "The mind trickily blocks threatening memories out as a form of protection."
"Well, my mind didn't block a single thing out this time," said Curly slowly. "I remember every horrible detail of that appalling experience. An alien nightmare! All those gnashing teeth! Those claws! That terrifying darkness filled with repulsive presences."
"You'll still be able to fix the autopilot, won't you?" asked Tootsie anxiously.
"Maybe," he muttered. "As long as I don't have alien flashback. I get the creeping horribles when I remember what happened."
"Stay calm," suggested Bill. "You're safe now. At least I think you are."
"That's a big help," said Tootsie, attending to the nips on her ankles. "We should all project positive attitudes."
"Look who's talking about attitude," said Rambette, taking off her boot and examining her wounded foot. "You ought to take yours back to the factory. Always moaning about how we're all going to die."
"It's probably true," moaned Tootsie.
"We're banged up, but still alive," said Bruiser. "I got lotsa bites myself, but got in plenty licks too, you betcha!"
"We all got wounded but Barfer," said Bill as the dog walked i
n from the okra room munching on some buds.
"Maybe they don't like dogs," said Blight.
"If they like androids, they'll like dogs," said Caine. "It must be something else."
They all stared at Barfer, but he looked just as ugly and offensive as he always did.
"We gotta have more weapons," said Bruiser. "Heavy artillery, t'ings like dat."
"I'll make a flamethrower out of the microwave," said Moe. "Burn the bastards up!"
"You leave my microwave alone," snapped Uhuru. "That's reserved for food."
"Would you rather I made one out of the officers' urinals?" Moe eagerly asked. "I can build a flamethrower out of almost anything."
"How about bombs?" asked Bruiser. "Flamethrowers are okay, but bombs is great. Boom! Flying guts, gouts of fur, bits of alien!"
"I was thinking about something with a little more pinpoint accuracy," Rambette said. "Uhuru, can you make us some sort of hand grenades?"
"I need explosives for that," he said. "Lots of explosives."
"So make some," said Rambette. "I seem to recall you've done that before."
"Gunpowder," said Uhuru. "A primitive explosive from the dawn of time. I heard about it on a program once. It takes sulfur and charcoal."
"How interesting — we've got that in the potting room," said Caine. "Just don't take it all. I need the sulfur to adjust the pH of the okra's soil. It won't do to have the wrong pH. The okra might turn out even more bitter than it already is."
"But then I'll need potassium nitrate," said Uhuru. "Where will I get that?"
"In the kitchen," suggested Bill. "I know because I was going to be a Technical Fertilizer Operator...."
"It's right next to the sugar, I suppose," Uhuru interrupted sarcastically.
"It's the same as saltpeter," said Bill. "Every trooper knows that the food is laced with saltpeter. It's supposed to keep our sex drive down. Even though it doesn't work too well."
"Is that true?" Moe asked Captain Blight.
"Well, it's just a little additive for the enlisted men," explained the captain. "Don't want them too raunchy on long trips."
"If you want some magnesium to spice up the mix, pull apart some flares," said Caine. "You will have an exceedingly explosive mixture."
On the Planet of Zombie Vampires Page 10
