Deadeye- Episode II

by David Rex Bonnewell

  Sister Tillage stepped back and began twiddling her fingers as Daverex pulled out a large towel from the crack. A moment later, hot water was flowing freely again and a dozen or so vines shot down from the ceiling of The Grove right above Daverex's head. He dropped the towel and slowed time, avoiding contact with the vines only to be struck by a second dozen or so vines. They wrapped tightly around his arms, legs, torso and neck, holding him firmly in place where he stood. One vine also wrapped tightly around his helmet on the spot where his mouth would have been exposed had he not put his helmet back on, presumably to keep him from calling for help should he have attempted to steal The Grower's Orb when it was there. It was as though each vine possessed the strength and toughness of a boa brambler, like the one that nearly killed Daverex a short time ago. He struggled to break free, but to no avail as Sister Tillage approached him, a winner's grin decorating her angelic face.

  “At last I have you right where I want you, trapped and helpless like a fly in a spider's web,” Sister Tillage said. “You proved to be clever and resourceful for a hominid, but you are still just a simple hominid; an antiquated mouth-breather of woefully limited intelligence and capability.”

  Daverex could almost feel the seething bitterness and contempt in Sister Tillage's voice, though it sounded strange in her natural lilting tone. He continued to strain against the vines that securely held him, despite the futility of his actions. With an expression of deep worry, both in his face and in his voice, he said, “Wa-what do you p-plan to do to me?”

  “As distasteful as it is for me and to put it in such a way that perhaps even you will understand, I am planning to become you, to take your form, your memories, your knowledge, indeed your very identity. I must admit, however, that I am intrigued to discover first hand the secret to your uncanny physical ability to thwart me the first time we met...the time I took the identity of your friend, Gaston Melchor. Your small mind did not even register that I am a Ha-ha-kjo'un Fnikk, did it?”

  Daverex shook his head and then said, “Why are y-you going to t-take my identity?”

  “It is a shame, but not unexpected, that even a clever hominid like you could not figure out what I really am. I am going to take your identity so that I can finally obtain the artifact that you have locked away in that pathetic excuse for a mechanized assistant of yours and claim my rightful place as ruler of my kind. The rules of my kind's annual contest state that only one hominid's identity may be taken per Ha-ha-kjo'un Fnikk per contest to minimize harm and our exposure, but this year I scoff at that limiting rule. Once I am ruler, I will declare myself ruler for life and replace this ridiculous annual contest with war. All out war against your undeserving kind.

  Too long have the Ha-ha-kjo'un Fnikk lived in the shadows. We will conquer this planet, then your planet of Earth, then every other planet with hominid inhabitants until every last one of you inferior apes are wiped out of existence. And with the aid of the artifact I will surely succeed. Oh yes, I know of its incredible power – of its ability to bring about the utter destruction of even the most advanced and long-reaching civilizations. But enough about that. Your precious Sister Tillage screamed like a banshee from the pain I caused her. It was exquisite to behold. Such raw emotion. Twenty seconds in, she was already begging for death. I tossed her into the Cave of Sorrows with the rest of the weaklings.”

  Daverex stared daggers at the dead ringer, forgetting for a moment that he had been pretending to be terrified. Now his voice had slipped into an incensed tone. “Where is the Cave of Sorrows?”

  The dead ringer raised a thin eyebrow as it began to finally see through Daverex's earlier facade. “I...think we better just move this along now. Too much time has already been wasted. Are you a screamer, I wonder? You don't look like a screamer, which is rather disappointing, though at the same time refreshing. Well, we shall find out. This will hurt tremendously, but do not fill your tiny brain with fear. It will only last about a minute.”

  Daverex thought of the one thing that was sure to distract the dead ringer. “Wait! Would you like to hear a joke first?”

  “Oh yes! Please.”

  “What did one astronaut in deep space say to the other astronaut in deep space?”

  “Oh! I have not heard this one! What did one astronaut in deep space say to the other?”

  “Well, I sure am glad I put my helmet back on.”

  “I do not get it. Is that the punch line?”

  “No. It frees me up to yell for help. Fracas! Get in here and knock this psycho bitch out!”

  Fracas rushed into the room, Aegis close behind, and cold-cocked the stunned dead ringer with an iron-like fist to its jaw! Its head spun around eighty degrees before its body fell limp to the ground.

  “Nice work, Fracas,” said Daverex. “Now, get me free of these vines.”

  Fracas went for the vines wrapped around Daverex's torso first, Trying to pull them apart between his hands with all his considerable might. Fibers of the vines began to snap.

  “You're doing it, Fracas!” Daverex said, “Keep it up!” Then the vine wrapped around Daverex's neck tightened suddenly, cutting off his airway. In a strained voice, he said to Fracas, “Stop! Stop pulling!”

  Fracas let go of the vines around Daverex's torso. The vine around his neck eased up and he gasped for breath. Then he said, “These vines seem to have some degree of intelligence. Go for the one around my neck, and do it in one swift yank, okay? Don't give it time to react by tearing off one of my limbs or ripping me in half!”

  Fracas nodded and then grabbed hold of the vine around Daverex's neck. This time, instead of trying to pull the vine apart between his hands, he gave it a sharp tug with both hands. With a loud, throaty grunt and a triumph of brute strength, he tore the vine completely apart. All the other vines then released their hold on Daverex and retreated back up onto the ceiling like a wounded animal whose instinct is self-preservation above all else.

  Fracas rubbed his strained arm muscles and Daverex collapsed to the ground, but Aegis was kneeling by his side a moment later. Detecting no serious injuries on Daverex's body, Aegis helped him up to a standing position and walked with him around the room until he could do it by himself again.

  “Thank you, Aegis. And thank you especially, Fracas. You saved my life there.”

  The twins nodded at Daverex.

  “I would have called for your help sooner,” said Daverex, “but I wanted to learn what the dead ringer had planned. And now I know. The bastard underestimated me. That was a huge mistake.”

  Daverex looked down at the dead ringer's limp body. It had changed into its natural form. Except for being exceedingly pale and having no discernable genitalia, it could pass for a tall, lanky (though pot-bellied), sickly human male. Its head, however, was a hideous thing that made all the other creatures Daverex had seen before it look ordinary in comparison. He picked up a nearby burlap sack and covered its gruesome head with it, then he and Aegis dressed it in a pair of denim overalls that were lying on a nearby table. Now the dead ringer could pass for a deathly ill and possibly contagious Reaper.

  Daverex gathered up half a dozen small pouches of dried fruit and nuts. Then he looked at the twins and said, “We'll probably need these to barter with. They're worth a great deal where we're heading next. Now, which of you two wants to carry the dead ringer out of here? I don't want to leave it here and risk it regaining consciousness. If it starts to wake up, you have my permission to knock it into the next universe.”

  The twins smiled and nodded at Daverex in unison. Then they immediately arm wrestled to see who would have to carry the unconscious dead ringer first. Aegis lost and casually tossed the dead ringer over his shoulder. They all exited The Grove, Daverex leading the way and the twins following close behind side by side. Soon many of the tribes people stopped what they were doing to deliver inquiring gazes upon the dead ringer. Daverex jabbed a thumb back at the body and said to them, “Ate way too much bad bird meat. Gonna get some healing for the
fool.”

  They all stared a moment longer at the deathly pale, limp, pot-bellied body Aegis was carrying over his shoulder and then went back to minding their own business as though what Daverex had just said was a common and perfectly normal occurrence within Facility One.

  When Daverex and the twins exited Facility One, they were soon stopped by the three guards. The smaller guards pointed their spears at the trio while the big guard approached the dead ringer and reached for the sack covering its head, saying, “What's wrong with this guy? He looks awful!”

  Daverex quickly spoke up, “Stand back! He's carrying a deadly contagion!”

  The big guard dropped his arm to his side and took several steps back, putting him right next to the dead ringer's rear flank. He then reached for the sack with the tip of his spear. “What sort of deadly contagion?” he said as he began to pull back the sack with the spear tip.

  “It's from poisoned bird meat. He's randomly expelling deadly toxic gas...from both ends!”

  The big guard immediately pointed his spear away from the sack and looked to his left. When he realized how close he was to the dead ringer's backside, he did a double take and then promptly back pedaled a good distance from the dead ringer. Then he motioned for the other two guards to do the same. They did and Daverex and the twins continued on, making sure to steer clear of the big guard in front of them, who then said, “Get him some help quickly and far away from here.”

  “Roger that,” said Daverex, “We're headed for Facility Two. There's a real doctor there who should be able to help.” Her name was Dr. Fiona J. Vasser and although Daverex was headed in her general direction, he had no intention of coming anywhere near that crazy bitch.

  “How are you going to get there quickly?” the big guard called out. “It is a very long journey.”

  Daverex and the twins stopped, but did not turn around to face the big guard. “I am a Founder,” said Daverex. “We have our ways.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  D averex removed The Nomad's Stone from his pocket and he and the twins touched it while he closed his eyes and concentrated on the entrance to the parking area just outside Facility Two. In a few moments they were all transported instantaneously to the parking area entrance.

  Daverex opened the door to the familiar building and was greeted immediately by an only somewhat familiar face. A boy about twelve years of age, the spitting image of Dan “The Man” Danival, stood behind the counter flipping through an old issue of Car Mechanics Magazine. “Well, Dan, did you discover The Fountain of Youth or what?” Daverex said, smiling.

  The boy looked up and paused chewing a wad of bubble gum long enough to answer Daverex. “Beg yer pardon?”

  Daverex noticed the boy was wearing a dark green mechanic's jumpsuit with a name tag that read 'Danival Jr.'.

  “You're Danival's son?”

  The boy suspiciously eyed the dead ringer and the twins with their automatic rifles slung over their shoulders. He reached under the counter with his right hand and grabbed the handle of a sawed-off shotgun, squinted and said, “A'yup. Somethin' I can do fer ya, stranger?”

  Daverex was pleasantly surprised to discover Danival had a son. “I know your father very well. Is he around?”

  The boy blew a huge bubble with his wad of pink gum and then said, “In da garage tinkerin'. Ya need a parkin' spot?...Place ta hide da body maybe? That'll cost triple.”

  “The body?” Daverex asked.

  The boy nodded towards the dead ringer. “Looks like he been dead fer a good long while. How come he don't stink?”

  Daverex followed the direction of the boy's nod and said, “Oh! No. No. He's not dead.” Daverex chuckled. “Just very sick. We're taking him to see Doc Vasser.”

  The boy's suspicious squint softened up, though his hand remained on the shotgun. “You know the Doc? Well, I guess ya ain't exactly a stranger then. Just the same, y'all stay put thar a tick.” He reached under the counter with his other hand, pulled out a walkie-talkie and held it up to his mouth. “Hey, pa? Over.”

  “A'yup? Over.”

  “Got a fella 'ere says he knows ya real well. Over.”

  “That don't narrow it down much, son. Got a name? Over.”

  The boy held the walkie-talkie towards Daverex.

  “It's Daverex Newell, Dan. Over”

  “Daverex! You crazy son of a bitch! How the hell are ya? I didn't expect ya back again so soon! Over.”

  “I'm good. Something else came up and I need your help. Over.”

  “Say no more, my friend! I'll be right thar quicker'n ya can say hydraulic booster unit. Over.”

  Two seconds later, Danival Sr. came barging through the rear door into the reception area, wiping black grease off his hands with a dirty rag. He wore a dark green mechanic's jumpsuit very similar to his son's. “Daverex!” he bellowed, a broad smile on his grease-streaked face. Out of the corner of his mouth, he said to Danival Jr., “You can take your hand off that shotgun now, son.” Then Danival Sr. tucked his rag into his back pocket, strode over to Daverex with his arms wide open and gave him a quick hug and a pat on the back. He turned around to face his son. “I see you already met my son, Dan “The Little Man” Danival Jr.”

  Danival Jr. took his hand off the shotgun and nodded. “Pleasure, Daverex.”

  “Chip off the 'ol block, that one. Smart as a tack 'n tough as a tungsten drill bit. Ain't that right, son?”

  “A'yup,” the boy said right before blowing another huge bubble.

  “He's a quiet one. Gets that from his ma. Stays outta trouble though...for the most part. I always say he's a thinker, not a stinker. Ain't that right, son?”

  “A'yup,” the boy said as he went back to chewing his gum and flipping through his magazine.

  “Ya didn't see him last time ya was here on a count o’ he was runnin' some errands for me. His ma is a...travelin' entertainer of the boo-dwar variety if'n ya catch my drift. She don't come 'round these parts too often, so I been lookin' after da l'il man. Anyway, what's it I can do ya fer, my friend?”

  “I need to find a place called The Cave of Sorrows. Ever hear of it?”

  The boy stopped chewing his gum and stopped flipping through his magazine just as his father began nervously rubbing the beard stubble on his chin. Then they both stared at Daverex as though he just told them the world was ending...again. Finally, Danival Sr. said, “A'yup. I heard o' dat place. Even know where it is. Why would ya be wantin' ta go ta dat cursed place though?”

  “I need to find an artifact and rescue some innocent people trapped inside the cave.”

  “Is life ever borin' fer ya, my friend?”

  “It used to be, but not anymore.”

  “How deep do ya got ta go into dat cursed cave?”

  “I don't know exactly. Very deep by the sound of it. Why did you call it a cursed cave?”

  “Because it is. It's chock full of traps designed to kill.”

  “Den dare's da lich!” the boy piped in excitedly. “Whoever manages ta survive the traps, the lich'll kill personally 'n turn 'em all into undead soldiers fer his growin' army!”

  “A lich?”

  The boy nodded, pulled out a comic book and pointed to a menacing-looking skeleton made living by means of powerful magic. It wore a plush magic-caster's robe of crimson and golden yellow untattered by time, assorted bejeweled rings on its boney fingers and a golden amulet around what was once its neck, all untarnished by the elements, for every piece of adornment on the living skelton was magic in nature. It stood upright and overtly confident, weaving a spell at the reader, its hollowed eye sockets glowing fiery red. “Dat's a lich,” the boy said to Daverex.

  “Dat's enough story tellin', son. Put that comic away,” said the boy's father.

  “It ain't no story, Pa. Da lich is real!”

  “It is a story if'n I say so.” Danival looked back at Daverex and said, “Don't mind him. It's the traps ya gotta look out fer. They's every-damn-where in dat cave.”

&nbs
p; “And look out for da lich too!”

  “Boy, dat's enough I say!”

  The boy looked away in admonishment and mumbled, “It wouldn't hurt ta keep an eye out's all I'm sayin.”

  Danival either didn't hear his son or simply chose to ignore him and continued, “Da worst part 'bout dem traps is dat dey're reset every time dey're triggered. No one knows who does it.”

  The boy looked like he was about to blurt something out, but then quickly scribbled something on a pad of paper instead and slid it toward Daverex, who read it. It said, IT'S THE LICH!!!

  Daverex winked at the boy and said to Danival, “Why is it called The Cave of Sorrows by the way?”

  “I was wonderin' when you'd come 'round ta askin' dat. Ya mean besides da fact dat death lurks at every turn? Well, da Reavers over dar at Facility One go dar ta die when dey reach dare fortieth cycle as dey put it, or if'n dey become too crippled ta be of any use, whichever comes first.”

  Daverex looked shocked, “Seriously?”

  “A'yup. Damn shame, but every culture's got dare ways 'n I seen a truckload come 'n go from 'ere. Da Reavers believe dat dying in da cave gets dem closer ta dare god. Dare’re deadly poisonous 'shrooms what grow from da cave walls. Da Reavers eat dem 'shrooms, but dey don't suffer none, or so I'm told.”

  “Why would they choose to die that way?” asked Daverex.

  “Well, since da 'shrooms grow naturally on da cave walls – and only on the cave walls – dey believe dat eatin’ dem allows dem ta die by da Grower's own hand as dat Brother Harvest fella put it.”

  Daverex thought about how close Brother Harvest must be to forty years of age and, of course, his twin sister and Daverex's lover, Sister Tillage. “Why would they choose such a young age to die?”

  “Dey believe dat ta live past forty cycles is ta outlive dare usefulness, plus from the time dey learn 'bout dare god at an early age, dey get anxious to join dare god in da blissful ever after. I get dat.”