by RyFT Brand
fence. I didn’t like the look of the yard at all, too many places for creepy-crawlies to lurk. A loud rending of steel turned my eyes back to the building. It sounded like the organ binder had made it through the doors. The fence would take time to climb, too much time. My side was still bleeding, and I knew it could smell my leaking life-force and track me. Still, I had to try.
Offensive weapons check: I still had my macdaddy revolver and a good sampler supply of rounds including copper, rose wood, silver, garlic, armor piercing and trackers, but none of those would help against a binder. I had three, slightly outdated chili pepper bombs, but doubted their effectiveness on a creature that can reconstitute itself, and dreaded the mess. And I had zoom-zoom, my boomerang. I wished I’d had a tazer-mine, but they were too heavy to carry regularly. In other words, I was helpless against this deadly foe.
Time to panic.
Brandishing the revolver I ran into the tall weeds, moving as quickly as the thick brush would allow. But it was slow going and full of thorns and brambles that tore at my clothes and cut my skin. I ignored the pain.
I burst from the weeds into a small pile of rubble; looked like chunks of granite mostly. I climbed to the top, taking the high ground, and turned and waited. I still didn’t hear the thing, just the soft hiss of wind. I watched the little hole in the wall, expecting the organ binder to come oozing through, but it never did. Had it given up? I seriously doubted it. Had something else caught its fancy? But what were sweeter treats than me?
I heard the wind hiss again, louder this time, and spotted a rustling of weeds, something was moving in the grass. My eyes widened, but then the gurgling roar of the organ binder snapped my head around. It stood in the high window, all its eyes were fixed on me, and all of them looked hungry. It leapt from the sill, landing with a splosh, and immediately broke into a run. It towered over the weeds, smashing them aside with great sweeps of its long, wriggling arms.
But my eyes narrowed; I had an idea at last.
I hurried down, half surfing on chunks of granite as I went. Hitting the bottom, I wound a handful of dry grasses around my hand and tore them from the earth. I quickly twisted them together and, with a firestarter from my skirt pocket, lit my makeshift torch. Now all I needed was a pitchfork and some angry townsfolk. I scooted along the grass line, touching the weeds as I went. Most undead things are afraid of fire.
Smoke rose and the flames quickly spread. But the monster was almost upon me.
I scattered back up the pile of stones, falling once and sliding half-way back down. I finally caught some solid footing and stood, but the binder roared in my ear and I felt gooey, wet blops splatter my back.
The thing was right behind me, but appeared wary of the spreading flames. Fire couldn’t hurt a spirit, but the beast wasn’t eager to risk burning its precious physical form. But my fire was burning fast and wouldn’t last long.
I didn’t wait for it to figure it out. I clambered up the little stone hill and picked up the biggest chunk of granite I thought I could manage with some accuracy. The rock had one glass-smooth surface with some carved letters, Beloved Father, there were bits of letters too small to recognize. Apparently I’d been standing on chunks of gravestones. This must have been a granite-works, and the castoffs had formed a small hill. I watched the creature pacing along my fire line, like it was trying to build up its courage to cross. I steadied the hunk of granite in my hand. I could feel my mouth smirking. The symbolism of facing such a dangerous creature from atop a pile of broken gravestones had not missed my attention. As long as I could remember I’d been surrounded by, and driven by, death. Maybe this time death, at least a marker of it, could save my life.
The fire was spreading quickly, but had formed only a thin line as the weeds burned away so fast. Hunger overcame its fear at last; with one stride of its long legs, the creature crossed the fire line and started up the hill.
I hurled my stone as hard as I could manage, caught the beast in its shoulder, and tore the arm off its jumbled body. The arm lay squirming on the ground. The creature looked down at it, moaning in despair, then turned to me and bellowed its rage. As it did it shrunk, loosing a meter of height, and formed a new arm.
But I had damaged it, so I grabbed another rock and tossed it. The beast slapped it away, flinging goo out in a wet, red arc. It caught my next rock in a wriggling hand of what appeared to be intestine fingers, and sent it hurling back at me with impressive force. I barely managed to drop below a blow that surly would have torn my head off my neck.
I stayed down as the creature picked up a rock of its own. I looked around but there was nowhere else to go. But it didn’t throw. Carrying the hunk of granite, it started up the hill; I guess it didn’t want to risk damaging any of my precious organs.
I heard the hiss again, but it was louder, more of a sliding sound—like a large piece of furniture being dragged across a carpet. I’d forgotten all about the other presence, maybe the organ-binder would be more interested in harvesting this other…whatever.
But the binder hadn’t seemed to have noticed, I don’t even know if it had ears. But it had many eyes and they were all fixed on me. I began sliding backwards on my belly down the rubble hill, and kept a grip on the handle of the revolver. At the bottom I looked up and gulped. Even my magic stone wouldn’t save me from harvesting. I made a point to never carry a cell phone or shouting-stone, as those are too easy to trace, but, in that terrifying moment, I cursed my own policy. Even Moxie would have been a welcomed sight. But s/he wasn’t there, only a monstrosity of stolen organs, waving its arms and bellowing at the top of a stone pile.
But it didn’t bellow long. With a great trash of weeds something long, and ringed, and sinuous struck from the grass, swallowed the organ binder whole, and slithered down the opposite side of the hill.
A quadzillipede, nine meters long at least, and as big around as a tanker-truck. It was in a huge curl, rippling undulations waved along its long, gray (gray to me anyway) body. A quadzillion little legs wiggled and wrought with seeming delight. It had no apparent facial features, and I could only assume that the loose end, waving back and forth on its tiny legs, was the beast’s hind end.
Most of the grasses had burned away, a line of dark smoke rose into the dusking sky. There was now no way my presence would remain unnoticed. But worrying wouldn’t accomplish anything; I’d just have to face each obstacle as it presented itself. And right now said obstacle was a two ton arthropod. But quadzillipedes were alive, and anything living could be killed. With a chili pepper bomb in hand, I worked my way around the stone pile and moved along the chain-link fence. Maybe the big worm was content with the organ binder, and would leave a tiny morsel like myself well enough alone, but I doubted it.
To my surprise it did though. At the point I passed closest to it, it was maybe six meters to my right. It raised what I assumed was its wormy head and turned it my way, perhaps catching my scent. But it immediately dropped back down and continued with the process of swallowing.
I slipped back through the hole in the wall and stopped at the tireless forklift. I set my revolver down within easy-arm’s reach and cut another strip from my frayed and filthy skirt. I lifted my cotton blouse enough to expose the jagged cut on my side; the bleeding had already begun to slow. I tied the cloth over the wound, it would heal soon enough, and tucked my shirt back in. I was so focused on the task that I hadn’t paid any mind to the slithering sound from the floor until I felt something wrap around my ankle.
“Holy scrud!” I screeched and leapt away. But something was hanging onto me and weaving its way up my leg. I hopped about, kicking hard, trying to throw whatever off. It was wet, and sticky, and slimy, and there was a needling-tingling sensation spreading over the area of contact.
“Oh no! Get off! Get off!” I shouted and kicked.
It was the organ binder, or at least it was its arm, the arm I’d knocked off. I guess it had crawled after me. “Stupid, stupid girl!” How could I have dropp
ed my guard so amateurishly?
The tingling was spreading, and a wave of numbness followed it. Organ binders secrete a toxin that first numbs, then drops their prey into a coma-like state that allows them to work through the harvesting process. I was going numb, and was faintly aware of a wave of calm exhaustion washing over my brain. I was so very tired. It would be so nice to just lay down and fall asleep.
“No!” I shouted, ringing my fists. “No, no, no!” I hobbled about in a circle, keeping my adrenalin up; I had to stay awake. “Fight it, Jazz!”
The creature had slithered all the way up my nearly numb leg. It reeked of decay, and I could see maggots wriggling within its undulating form. I was running out of time.
I hobbled over to the fork truck, and set my hand on the revolver. But bullets wouldn’t help me here a bit. The only hope was a desperate one, I’d have to loose the leg and hope the stone could deal with it—but I didn’t know if it could replace a limb.
I drew the long, serrated knife from my ankle holster, thankfully I carried a matched pair and the creature had only covered one. I raised my skirt and set the knife against my thigh, just above the squirming mass. This was going to hurt.
Something, a faint sense of reason perhaps, drew
