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Jesus, H. Christ, what is that thing...???
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Chapter Forty-Nine
Brubaker was not a
happy camper first thing in the morning…
“Argh.”
Brubaker
was not a happy camper first thing in the morning. When his phone rang two or
three times, he had to get up, throw off the blankets, and practically run to
the far end of the room. His basement room was over thirty feet long. The only
phone jack was at the west end. His bed was at the east end, placed right
beside the heater outlet and well away from the semi-permanent puddle in the
southeast corner of the room.
Raining
all night. Two inches of fuckin’ water in here at dawn.
It
rang seven times and stopped. The voice-message feature had kicked in. But
almost immediately, or so it seemed to the groggy Bru, it began ringing again.
“Jesus
H. Christ.” Grumbled Brubaker, who had often wondered what the ‘H’ stood for.
He
stumbled out of bed for the second time and ran for it.
“What?”
He blurted through tense jaws.
Bru
was a bad call for early morning telemarketers.
“It’s
Nibbles. Get your ass down here. And bring your bow and some arrows.” His
little buddy yelled.
Stark,
naked fear was unmistakable in his voice.
A
short, sharp jab of excitement hit him right in the midriff.
“What?”
Gasped Brubaker, not sure he’d heard it right. “Are you out of your mind?”
“There’s
a big fucking crocodile in the back yard and it almost ate my mom.” Nibbles
bellowed. “I’m not fucking shitting you, this is real. Get down here.”
Bru
could hear Nibbles’ ma, Bonnie, in the background. Her voice was high and
strident.
“Why
don’t the cops answer, Dale?”
(Nibbles’
mom was the only one who ever used his real name.)
“How
the hell would I know?”
Nibbles’
loud and impatient voice could be heard answering, as Bru’s befuddled mind
tried to grasp it.
“Two
minutes.” Promised Bru with resignation.
Something
real was going on over there. Running down the street, even a hundred metres,
with a bow and arrow didn’t seem like such a good idea. Chuck strung his new
bowstring on to his green and black, re-curved, wood and fibre-glass bow, and
tossed the rotten old quiver into the back of his minivan. As some kind of
afterthought, he put in the other three bows, all with strings hooked up on one
end and wound around them, and another dozen arrows, tied together with a
leather thong, and then he left.
This
way, there was less chance of someone calling the dirty, no-good Lennox Cops on
him.
Would
the hate, not the most pleasant way to live, would it never end?
He
drove down the street, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.
Pulling
up into the end of the driveway, Nibbles and his mother were visible in the
front window. Normally he would have gone to the back door, but they were
beckoning him to come in the front.
The
startling realization came, that for the first time in his life, he’d left the
house barefoot. Huh.
“Take
a look at this.” Nibbles, grabbing his arm and pulling him through the living
room and into the kitchen.
A
pleasant, but fairly small room, it had a bay window overlooking the back yard,
the back fence and the public garden plots which were leased from the city by
apartment dwellers. These were usually the working poor, the elderly,
immigrants, and guys on welfare.
“Where?”
Asked Brubaker impatiently.
“There,”
said Nibbles, pointing to the shrubs along the east side of the yard.
There
was something big and dark and shiny in there, camouflaged like a World War II
ME 163 rocket-fighter, but it had a foot.
“Holy
crap.” Said Brubaker. “That’s frickin’ huge. Did you call the cops?”
Nibbles
nodded vigourously.
“We’ve
been trying for half an hour.” Said Bonnie. “Their line is dead.”
“Okay.
Try again. Okay, Bonnie? It’s probably a good thing you called me.”
Right
then the creature, which looked to be about fifteen feet long, began to move
towards the back of the yard.
“That’s
not a crocodile. That’s not an alligator. What the hell is that?”
They
just stared out of the window in awful fascination.
“Fuck.
It’s a school day.” Bru gasped.
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Meat, meat, where's the meat.
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He
bolted for the front room and the exit.
Bru
whipped open the side door of the van, slung the quiver on his shoulder, and
notched up an arrow. He drew the string back about halfway, then held the arrow
in place with finger pressure.
“We’d
better keep an eye on that thing.” He told Nibbles, who stood at the half-open
front door. “Any luck on the phone?”
Nibbles
shook his head, looking back into the room, consulting with Bonnie.
“Just
stay in the house. If I have to shoot it, I don’t want the arrow to miss, and
bounce off the ground and hit someone.”
Drawing
the string to its fullest extent, Brubaker moved cautiously up the driveway.
That
was one big fucking animal. He didn’t have it in view. Stalking was an old
skill, perhaps grown rusty over the years. The neighbor’s house to his left was
silent and the car was gone. Anne’s kids were probably in day care. He moved to
the right, up against the wall of Nibbles’ house. He went around the corner,
and peered over the gate. He could just see the tail of the animal slithering
along. It was about to disappear from view. Suddenly Nibbles was right there
with him, reaching out and pulling on the string that operated the gate latch.
“Shhh.”
Noted Bru, with a wry head-shake at Nibbles’ reluctance to miss anything.
The
other nodded. Once the gate was open, Bru went through it and hid behind the
corner of the garden shed. He searched the bushes visually, and found what had
to be it, a dark sheen visible through the barren branches and still-clinging
autumn foliage.
Brubaker
was not a hunter. He preferred the camera. It had fewer moral ramifications. He
had once shot at a robin with a BB pistol at extreme range, not even expecting
to even hit the thing. He literally pointed the muzzle two feet above its head.
But he was getting real good by then.
He
really didn’t expect to hit it.
But
he must have. It started walking around in circles, with its head wobbling
around, and he felt so fucking shitty after that one, he never did it again. He
was about seventeen at the time. A couple of guys in a canoe, and a case of
beer. Fun up to a point.
Bru
studied the layout. If he missed, the arrow would be stopped by the neighbor’s
garage. Holding the bow ready, the drawn string up near his cheekbone, he
approached very cautiously. It was evidently aware of him, for it made a sudden
turn.
He
fired without hesitation.
A
hit.
Right
in behind the left shoulder.
It
began to twist, and turn, and whip around like a mad thing. Over and over it
rolled, trying to get at the intolerable pain in its side. It must have thought
some invisible thing was attacking it. It kept trying to bite at its side. Bru
stepped back right smartly, almost bowling over his little buddy Nibbles.
Bru
was having a hell of a time getting another arrow out of the quiver.
“Fuck.”
He bellowed. “What’s going on?”
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Arrows falling out of the bottom of the rotten old quiver.
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Bru
was livid with anger, reaching awkwardly over his shoulder and not having much
luck.
“They’re
all falling out the bottom.” Shouted Nibbles.
“Well,
fuckin’ yank one out the God-damn bottom.” Yelled Bru.
Finally
Nibbles handed him an arrow, and stood there with a half dozen in his hand.
Brubaker
flung off the quiver in disgust, noting a few more arrows in there.
“Get
them.” Bru fired again, and again, and again, as Nibbles stuck arrows into the
soft turf beside Charles where he could reach them easily.
“These
fuckers are hard to kill.” He told Nibbles, standing there in horror.
Watching
open-mouthed, Nibbles saw blood everywhere, sprayed all over by the thing’s
deadly thrashing. He could feel the spray. Brubaker was speckled in red dots,
running down in little streams now.
“Jesus
Christ, Brubaker.”
“Stand
back.” The tail came whipping through, although it missed their ankles by
inches.
“Don’t
go near it,” Bru advised, as the thing seemed to be running out of steam.
***
“Well,
aren’t you the fucking hero.” Grinned Nibbles.
“Are
you kidding? I’ll probably get charged with something.” Said Brubaker in potent
sarcasm.
“What?”
Nibbles’ mom stood there in disbelief.
She
stood in the yard, a knitted sweater over her shoulders, arms crossed
underneath it to ward off the chill. Bonnie was disgusted, but simply couldn’t
look away.
“Don’t
forget, I’m paranoid and delusional.” He reminded them. “Not even human,
really.”
“No
one believes that, Chuck.” Bonnie gasped, shaking a little with the cold and
probably a certain amount of upset.
“Well,
you can testify to that effect at the inquest.” He said.
“What
inquest?” they both said at once.
“Next
time they take me to the loonie bin, I’m gonna make ‘em shoot me dead.” He told
them in no uncertain terms.
“Nothing’s
worth that.” Bonnie said in dismay. “Chuck, you have to get over this.”
“When
them creeps are gone, and we have the OPP in here, then I may sleep a little
better at night.” He told them. “Mind you, the Nassagewaya people may have
something to say about it.”
One
of their people was a martyr to OPP bungling and former Premier Mike Smegma’s
offhand racist remarks. Brubaker was still feeling the effects of his
early-morning angriness. He brought himself up short. Try not to shit on these
people.
It
wasn’t their fault. Maybe it was just low blood sugar or something.
“Is
it really that bad around here, Chuck?” She asked.
“This
is the dumbest, creepiest cop-force in the whole damned country.” He vowed with
conviction.
Suddenly
she was dry-retching, and turning away.
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Go in the house, mom.
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“Go
in the house, mom.” Nibbles suggested, perhaps more aware of the little nuances
of Bru’s moods.
“Sorry
to drag you out of bed for no reason.” Nibbles’ relief was a palpable thing.
He
sagged all over, but especially at the knees.
Bru
just grinned.
“Thank
God you put some pants on.”
“I
see your point,” Chuck admitted.
A
smiling Bru was a thing to behold.
He
felt like Conan the Barbarian at this juncture. Bonnie caught her breath,
looking at Brubaker, all two metres of him. Bow in hand, breathing like a race
horse, no sweat, as calm and cool and collected as a cucumber.
Was
this the same guy?
Nibbles
looked on in silent contemplation, unable to articulate what he felt or saw.
Brubaker…Brubaker
was magnificent…in a virile, masculine sort of a way, of course.
“I’ll
try the phone again.” She headed for the door.
“What’s
with all these sirens?” Asked Nibbles.
Brubaker
had a thought. His smile gone now, he cautiously approached the dying critter.
Standing well back, he wandered around it, looking at the thing, studying it.
“What
the fuck are you?” He asked in astonishment.
Much
to his surprise, he got an answer.
“Muh…muh.,”
It croaked in the saddest, most pain-wracked, and lowest little voice, a voice
he would remember in dreams for the rest of his life.
The
creature crouched there with just the slightest suggestion of breathing, as its
sides rippled in and out.
“I’m
not your mother.” The response torn out of him in sheer awe.
“Then…you…must…be…God.”
The thing observed.
It
finally died with a horrendous death rattle, the ragged breath coming out of
its mouth in a horrid stench.
He
stood there with his jaw hanging.
“Jesus…fucking…Christ…”
Breathed Bru. “What…the…fuck…?”
After
a long silence, he let the tension go on the string and lowered the bow
left-handed to his side. He stood there for a good two minutes. Chuck rubbed at
his whiskers absently. He hadn’t even splashed water on his face yet.
“I
don’t like this at all,” Chuck finally concluded.
Then
he edged closer and studied the animal some more.
“Get
me a big knife.”
Nibbles
scurried to the kitchen door.
He
brought Bru a good-sized kitchen carving knife. Brubaker studied the creature
intently. Placing the tip at a certain point just ahead of the back leg, where
there was a hint of swelling, he shoved it in, and pulled down with a grimace.
There
was a fair amount of blood, and then Nibbles saw it. He saw what looked like
tennis balls, all covered and smeared in gore, and goo, and a milky, mucus-like
sloppy substance.
“Eggs.”
Bru in answer to Nibbles’ unspoken question.
“Does
that mean there’s more of them?” Gaped Nibbles.
Brubaker
nodded uncertainly.
“We
don’t know if they’re fertilized, or what. I can never remember the difference
between ovoviparous and viviparous.”
Bru’s
voice trailed off uncertainly.
“The
one means that it lays eggs, and the other means it brings forth live young.”
Explained Brubaker.
There
was nothing but silence from Nibbles, who was transfixed by all the blood on
Bru’s hands.
“I’m
really starting to hate this.” Chuck concluded. “Got a smoke? I kind of forgot
mine.”
END
Chapter
One.
Chapter
Two.
Chapter
Three.
Chapter
Four.
Chapter
Five.
Chapter
Six.
Chapter
Seven.
Chapter
Eight.
Chapter
Nine.
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Dat is Chuck, ma hooman, all right.
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Chapter
Ten.
Chapter
Eleven.
Chapter
Twelve.
Chapter
Thirteen.
Chapter
Fourteen.
Chapter
Fifteen.
Chapter
Sixteen.
Chapter
Seventeen.
Chapter
Eighteen.
Chapter
Nineteen.
Chapter
Twenty.
Chapter
Twenty-One.
Chapter
Twenty-Two.
Chapter
Twenty-Three.
Chapter
Twenty-Four.
Chapter
Twenty-Five.
Chapter
Twenty-Six.
Chapter
Twenty-Seven.
Chapter
Twenty-Eight.
Chapter
Twenty-Nine.
Chapter
Thirty.
Chapter
Thirty-One.
Chapter
Thirty-Two.
Chapter
Thirty-Three.
Chapter
Thirty-Four.
Chapter
Thirty-Five.
Chapter
Thirty-Six.
Chapter
Thirty-Seven.
Chapter
Thirty-Eight.
Chapter
Thirty-Nine.
Chapter
Forty.
Chapter
Forty-One.
Chapter
Forty-Three.
Chapter
Forty-Four.
Chapter
Forty-Five.
Chapter
Forty-Six.
Chapter
Forty-Seven.
Chapter
Forty-Eight.
Images.
Louis. He steals them from the internet.
Louis
has some
books and stuff from Smashwords. He also has some art on ArtPal.
Thank
you for reading.
