by Jeff Strand
I'm still shaking, though now it's from rage and sorrow instead of fear. Well, there's some fear, too. Plenty of it. But at the moment, I'm focused more on wanting to skewer that Cyclops and roast it on a spit.
"Are you okay?" Harriett asks Jeannie.
"Hard to breathe."
"You don't have to come with us."
"I'm coming with you. I'll be fine. It's just...look at what it did to him. I've never seen anything like that."
"It's not going to happen to anybody else," Harriett says. "We're going to find a car, and chase it down, and drive right over it. Repeatedly. Its life is over."
"I've got a car," says Gordon, digging into his pocket and taking out a set of keys. I take them from him.
"What are you doing?" asks McGarnet. Her gun is out.
"They say they're here to kill it," Gordon tells her. "I believe them."
"You're not letting them go."
"Yeah, I am."
"But the prophecy—"
"Our prophecy is better than yours," I say.
McGarnet points the gun at Gordon's head. "I mean it. You're not letting them go."
I'm absolutely convinced that she is willing to shoot him. But she won't shoot me, since I'm still supposed to be sacrificed to the Cyclops, so I step between McGarnet and Gordon.
No, wait. She won't kill me, but she might still shoot me in the leg or something. Dammit.
And then I think that I'm wrong about this, too, and that she will put a bullet through my forehead. I consider stepping back to where I was standing before, but, no, I hold my ground.
McGarnet stares into my eyes for several seconds. Then she lowers her gun. "All right," she says. "Do what you can."
"Thank you."
Gordon points to his car. I figured he'd have an official law enforcement vehicle, but it's actually a normal green sedan. No sirens or flashing lights for us. Harriett, Maraud, Jeannie, and I run over to the car, leaving Seth's body behind. It feels weirdly like we're abandoning him.
"I'm driving," says Harriett.
"No, you're not," I say. "You can't drive."
"You're absolutely right. I don't know what I was thinking. I'm too caught up in the moment."
I get into the driver's seat. Harriett takes the front passenger seat, while Maraud and Jeannie get in the back. I start up the car, floor the gas pedal, and we take off down the street.
"Don't we need a spear or something?" asks Jeannie. "Maybe an arrow? We've got to put the poison on the tip."
"No," says Harriett. "That only gives us one chance. It's too large of a risk. We need to incapacitate the creature and then force-feed the poison to it."
Sounds good to me. I swerve around the corner. The Cyclops can't have gone far.
It hasn't. It's right there, walking right in the middle of the street. We're in a residential area, and I can see a couple of people peeking through their front windows at it.
"Ram it," says Harriett.
In theory, I should be weighing the pros and cons of driving this vehicle right into a giant monster. There is almost certainly a high degree of risk involved. But I don't hesitate. I just turn the steering wheel and aim straight for that murderous piece of crap. I hope everybody else in the car is cool with this plan.
The Cyclops looks back over its shoulder at us. It shoves the last piece of Seth's arm into its mouth and chews.
I speed toward it. Everybody braces themselves for impact.
The Cyclops doesn't even try to move out of the way. The car smashes into it from behind, knocking the giant creature up onto the front hood. It strikes the windshield, shattering it. As I slam the brakes, the Cyclops tumbles off the car and onto the street.
Harriett and I wipe chunks of safety glass off our clothes.
The Cyclops gets back up. I'd hope to see some blood, or internal organs, or at least one appendage bent in an unnatural manner, but the Cyclops doesn't seem to be harmed at all.
It does seem to be mad, though.
I put the car into reverse, floor the gas pedal, and speed backwards about twenty feet. Then I put it back into drive and floor the pedal again.
The Cyclops swings one of his claws as if trying to bat the car away before it hits him. But we get in another direct hit, and this time the momentum takes it all the way up onto the roof of the vehicle.
It doesn't fall off.
Crap. Now we have a Cyclops on top of the car.
I speed forward and brake suddenly, trying to dislodge it. That doesn't work. I try again. No good. A third try doesn't work, either.
The Cyclops smashes its fist against the rear window, shattering it with one blow.
All four of us in the car utter some variation of "Oh, shit!"
What would be nice right now is a ridiculously low bridge that I could drive under to knock the Cyclops off. I don't think I'm going to find one of those.
I need to focus.
The Cyclops roars and slams its fist against the trunk. I can't actually see the impact, but it sounds like it made a huge frickin' dent. How are we going to get this thing off the car?
It reaches through the shattered window. Maraud grabs the door handle, but before he can open it the Cyclops seizes him by the other arm. Maraud lets out a cry that, to his credit, is far more rage-filled than fear-filled. Then the Cyclops pulls him halfway out of the vehicle.
Jeannie wraps both of her arms around Maraud's legs and tries to pull him back into the car. He's quickly sliding out of her grip.
Harriett opens her door and gets out of the car while I pull the lever to recline my seat as far back as it will go. I twist around and scramble halfway into the back seat, then grab Maraud's ankles and pull as hard as I can.
"It's going to eat my head!" Maraud shouts.
He's twisting around so much that it's hard to keep holding him. It would be difficult enough to pull a big guy like him back into the car even if there wasn't a giant Cyclops tugging on the other end.
I hope Maraud doesn't tear in half.
The Cyclops leans its head toward Maraud, jaws wide open.
"Pull harder!" Maraud shouts.
"We can't!" Jeannie shouts back.
"Yes, you can! I believe in you!"
Maraud's right foot pops out of my grasp, but I grab it again. My hands are going to leave bruises on his ankles.
The Cyclops sticks out its tongue, which is black and covered with boils. It slides its tongue over Maraud's face, licking him from nose to forehead and leaving a trail of dark saliva. It seems to like the way he tastes.
Maraud cries out in disgust.
I dare to glance away for a second to see what Harriett is doing. She's hurrying out of the front yard of the house next to us. It's littered with various toys, including a plastic slide, though Harriett has stolen one of the child's possessions.
She bashes the red tricycle against the back of the Cyclops's head.
It's not enough to split open the Cyclops's skull, but it's enough to pull its attention away from Maraud. It releases his arm, and the berserker drops onto the trunk of the car. Fortunately, he lands on his ass rather than his spine.
Jeannie and I drag him back into the car.
Harriett swings the tricycle at the Cyclops again. This time the Cyclops deflects it with its hand, then yanks the tricycle away from her. The Cyclops roars, and then flings it all the way across the front yard and onto the roof of the home. It rolls off and crashes down upon some potted plants. I doubt the Cyclops intended for that to happen, but it was still pretty impressive.
While I crawl back into the driver's seat, Harriett quickly makes her way back into the front passenger seat and slams the door. "It's a lot sturdier than I expected," Harriett says. "I believe we need a different plan."
"Agreed," I say.
The Cyclops slams both of its fists upon the top of the car. The dent is so severe that it nearly strikes Jeannie's head. The Cyclops slams a couple more times, forcing Maraud and Jeannie to duck down to avoid injury.
<
br /> I floor the accelerator.
The car moves forward a few feet, then stops. The tires squeal and I can smell burnt rubber. The Cyclops has grabbed onto the car by the frame of the rear windshield, and is holding us back.
That thing is stronger than it looks, and it looks strong as hell.
I brake, put the car into reverse, and floor the gas pedal again. Maybe I'll rip off its arm or run over its foot or something.
The Cyclops lets go, but as the car moves past it, the creature slams its fist onto the front hood. It's a really good hit that not only crumples the hood, but makes the engine stop running.
As I frantically turn the key in the ignition, the Cyclops does a double-fisted second smash. The rear of the car rises into the air and for a second it feels like it's going to flip over. But it crashes back down. Smoke billows from the front. This car isn't driving anywhere.
The Cyclops crouches down, reaches beneath the vehicle, and lifts it. It's now struggling a bit, but still, it's lifting the car with all four of us in it.
Everybody throws open their door and gets the hell out of the car. Fortunately, all of the doors still work, and we're all clear of the vehicle before the Cyclops pushes it all the way over. It lands with a crash that would certainly have squished anybody still inside.
"Did you seriously train for this?" I ask Harriett.
"Yeah. But his bones were supposed to break."
"We're running away now, right?" asks Jeannie.
"Yes," says Harriett.
"Yes," I agree.
Maraud shakes his head. He looks extremely pissed. "No way. This thing needs to feel some pain."
The decision about whether or not to continue doing battle with the Cyclops right now feels like something we should put to a vote, but Maraud is already running toward it. I can tell that he's in full-on berserker mode by the way he's bellowing, but if he's going to do this, I might as well give him an extra boost of rage.
"Kill it, Maurice!" I shout.
The Cyclops takes a swing at Maraud that, if it connects, will probably knock his head up onto the roof of the house just like the tricycle. But one thing we seem to have in our favor is that the Cyclops isn't all that fast, so its swing misses. Maraud gets behind it, then leaps upon its back. Well, it's more like he climbs up its back, but he does get up there.
"I'll be right back," Harriett tells me. "Don't let him die."
"I won't," I promise, even though it's a promise I have no way of keeping. If the Cyclops decides that it wants to see a shower of Maraud's body parts rain over the entire town of Rapport, what am I going to do to stop it?
Harriett hurries off. Jeannie looks like she wants to follow her, but stays by my side. We could definitely use a new car; unfortunately, there's evidence right in front of us that we don't know how to properly care for a motor vehicle, and I don't think any kindly folks will offer their keys to us.
"Maraud, get down from there!" Jeannie shouts. "You won't do us any good if you're dead!"
Maraud responds with an incoherent berserker battle cry, which I believe translates roughly to, "You're not the boss of me." He successfully climbs all the way up the Cyclops's back and wraps both of his arms around its neck.
The Cyclops makes a phlegmy choking noise.
Maraud squeezes hard. The Cyclops's eye seems to bug out even further from the socket.
If this were a pro wrestling match, the Cyclops would be in deep trouble. Maraud doesn't look like he's going anywhere. The one big point that the Cyclops has in its favor are its sharp, flesh-shredding talons, so when it reaches back to get him...
"Let go, Maraud!" I shout. "Let go!"
Maraud releases his grip on its neck and slides off its back. The Cyclops takes a swipe at him that misses.
"We need to chop its claws off!" Maraud says.
"Want me to try to find a giant pair of fingernail clippers?" I ask. "Let's get out of here!"
I hate to be the cowardly, whiny member of our group, but when the attempt to commit vehicular homicide failed, we should have taken it as a signal that perhaps a quick retreat was in order. We need to come up with a better plan than trying to strangle it.
Of course, if I could get a chainsaw, I might be able to slice off its hands, in which case Maraud might indeed have the opportunity to break its windpipe without meeting Seth's fate. Something to consider for later.
Harriett emerges from the closest home. She's holding a pair of ski poles. I'm not sure why a family in Arizona would have ski poles readily available, but maybe they were planning a trip to Colorado.
The ski poles are quite a bit longer than the sticks Harriett used so long ago to knock out the muggers, and they're much flimsier, so Harriett doesn't look all that comfortable wielding them. But they do have spikes on the end, which could be useful.
Jeannie reaches inside the car and scoops up a double handful of the safety glass. She flings it at the Cyclops. None of the glass strikes its eye, but Jeannie's got the right idea, so I scoop up a handful as well.
My aim is better. But the Cyclops closes its eye in time, and none of the glass strikes its eyeball. Still, if we can blind it, we'll be in much better shape.
Harriett begins to smack the creature with the ski poles, focusing her efforts on its left knee. She hits hard and fast, striking it over and over, dodging the Cyclops's attempts to remove her head.
Maraud leaps onto its back again.
One of Harriett's ski poles breaks in half.
She jabs the spike from the other pole right against the Cyclops's knee. It doesn't react with an ear-piercing shriek of hellish agony and the pole doesn't break the skin, but this clearly doesn't feel good.
Jeannie and I grab some more glass. We fling it at the same time. Neither of us hit its eye, but a few chunks go into its mouth. Maybe they'll do some damage from the inside.
Harriett's other ski pole breaks in half.
Credit to her parents: Harriett is doing a pretty amazing job of beating the crap out of the Cyclops with those ski poles. If it were less durable, that creature would be lying on the ground in a bloody pulp. They trained her well.
My third attempt to fling glass only results in a couple of cuts on my palm. Time to help out more. I run over to retrieve the tricycle.
After I pick it up, I see that about a dozen onlookers are standing outside of their homes. I guess they figure that there are enough potential victims for the Cyclops to choose from that they aren't in immediate danger.
Harriett smacks and jabs the Cyclops with the broken ski poles while Maraud tries to wring its neck and Jeannie throws chunks of glass at it. If I hurl this tricycle at just the right moment, I might splatter the Cyclops's eye. Or I might hit Maraud in the head. Or I might throw out my back like an old man.
The Cyclops's left knee has taken a ridiculous amount of punishment, and the creature remains standing. But if the four of us sustain the attack, giving it no mercy, maybe we can actually do this.
I don't have the strength or accuracy to fling the tricycle from a safe distance, so I have to get right up to the Cyclops. I raise the tricycle over my head and throw it.
There is an awesome crack as it hits.
Right in the jaw! I got that son of a bitch right in the jaw!
The Cyclops roars at me. I immediately realize that hitting it right in the jaw with a metal tricycle does not necessarily mean that I harmed it. I think all I did was increase its anger.
At least I didn't hit Maraud or throw out my back.
Maraud tugs as if he's trying to perform the Heimlich maneuver on the Cyclops's neck. Anybody else's neck would snap, but the Cyclops just bugs out its eye a bit more. When it reaches back to try to mangle him, Maraud is forced to let go and slide back down to the ground.
The Cyclops roars yet again, and then it...did that thing just smile? It looks very much like a legitimate smile. It's impossible to say for sure, but the Cyclops may be enjoying itself. Maybe it likes having victims fight back. A nice change o
f pace.
I really hope it hasn't just been toying with us.
It turns around and reaches for Maraud. It misses with its left hand, but gets him with the right, and picks Maraud up by his leg, which is apparently one of its favorite offensive techniques.
Harriett jabs it in the back, a bunch of times in rapid succession, none of them breaking the skin. The Cyclops turns around and grabs her by the leg as well. She drops one of her ski poles.
It hoists both of them into the air, and I'm pretty sure its plan is to bash them together. This can't end well.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Harriett and Maraud are thrashing around like crazy. I wish I had an enormous fluffy pillow to put between them before the impact. The Cyclops seems to be struggling to keep its grip on both of them, but neither of them have dropped safely to the ground.
What can I do?
Well, if its hands are full, I suppose I can grab the ski pole that Harriett dropped and try to stab it into the Cyclops's eye. Blinking won't protect it from that.
Even though the Cyclops can't slash me open with its talons, it feels a bit suicidal when I rush toward it. I know it's not suicidal—it's heroic, if anything—but it's difficult not to feel as if I'm charging toward my death.
The Cyclops swings Harriett and Maraud at each other.
They collide. But they were thrashing around too much for the Cyclops to get any real momentum with the swing, and they put their hands out to help block the impact. So while Maraud and Harriett do, technically, whack into each other, it's not enough to burst them like water balloons. They each let out a grunt of pain, but each of them will live to see another few seconds, at least.
The Cyclops brings them back to its sides. Neither of them are thrashing around quite as much anymore.
I pick up the ski pole. To jab this thing into its eye, I'll have to hold the pole by the very end and then jump as high as I can. I still might come up short; I don't have time to do an accurate measurement. It's unlikely to work, but if it does, we'll have a blind Cyclops.
