FEAR THE WUBZ
GERONIMO BOSCH ©2015
It all
started with Cousin Wubz.
Dex
wanted to help his Cuz. But no-one dared help Dex – Not even Zap. And he was
all balls.
Then,
they snatched Zap’s kid sister.
That
changed everything...
*****
It is
said: The Freaks come out at night.
Well,
in Dominion City, the Freaks are out twenty-four-seven.
There
are, in fact, so many Freaks out on the mean streets and congested airways of
Dominion that the genuinely disturbed and deranged go virtually unnoticed. You
could say they fit right in...
Freaky-deaky
hairstyles: check.
Semi-sentient
nanobotattoos: check.
Variglo
bod-mod piercings, augmentations and embellishments: double checkaroo.
The
latest in lurid and outlandish fashions: check dat mutha.
No
shizz from nobody no-time attitude: check dat every which way and check it
quicksmart, before someone makes off with all the checks.
But,
even if you’re one of the Freaks, don’t mean you’re safe...
...Not
by a long stretch.
Even
by the bent and crooked standards of the rest of Dex’s kin, Wubz was the black
sheep of the family; the wild card, the loose cannon... a real hard-baller.
Dex
could remember Wubz raising so much hell and souring so many scams his folks
had going that, when Wubz finally took up with the local Outfit over at Ric’s
Yard, their Grandaddy told Dex’s aunt: “Let him go, Zora, or he’ll crush this
family. Let the villains decide if he makes the grade.”
And
Wubz had a good run with the Outfit. If anything, it calmed him down. Knowing
that you’re not the meanest mutha on the streets can do that to a wannabe
psycho.
The
family calmed down too. They suffered the occasional visits from their
mobbed-up member, where Wubz came on tough, showing them the hard hand and
creaming off what he saw as his legitimate slice of the action. His dues, Wubz
called it. Protection money, more like. Nobody ever talked about it; it was too
much a thorn in their pride.
Still,
nobody liked to see what happened with Wubz when the Outfit changed hands and
Ric bought the bullet.
Zoot,
the boy wonder, was supposed to be a frickin’ genius: From the outside, he
seemed like a musclebound, mechanoid prick. Sixteen, seventeen years old and
savaged his way to the top; a genuine, hell-frozen-over type maniac.
Knowing
Wubz’ new underworld boss was a stone-cold psycho might have prepared his folks
for what came next – You’d have thought. But, you’d have been wrong.
Dex
recalled only too clearly seeing the glowering heft of his henchman Cuz come
shambling through the door. It was Founding Fathers’ Day and Wubz had come for
his slice of the family pie.
But,
it wasn’t the Wubz of old...
...Maaang,
did he give them all a fright though.
Dex
could tell something was wrong right away: the sunken eyes shaded beneath Wubz’
deeply-furrowed brow; the twitch of his cousin’s face; that haunted look.
They’d all seen Wubz in some states through the years; raging, wired, frayed on
the cusp of a comedown – but this was something else.
The
flailing limbs Wubz tried to pass off as acts of random violence. He played it
tough, like nothing was going down.
But,
in his cousin’s eyes, Dex read the desperation of the damned. It was like
looking into the eyes of a wounded animal.
On
impulse, Dex reached out to his Cuz, touching Wubz on the arm.
Ordinarily,
Wubz didn’t want anyone touching him. Dex was cruisin’ for a bruisin’.
But,
on this occasion, Dex thought his Cuz seemed to welcome the contact.
The
arm itself was taut like cable. Dex could feel the electricity coursing through,
trembling the flesh. Yet it was shivering cold and clammy to the touch.
And
then, Dex was gripped in the iron vice of his cousin’s hand.
Wubz
pulled Dex towards him, wrapping an arm around his young relation’s neck.
Straight
off, the rest of the family sensed that Dex was in mortal danger and stepped right
up. Everyone was punching and kicking Wubz whose grip showed no sign of
slacking.
It was
looking like curtains for Dex, eyeballs bulging and his face turning blue...
That’s
when Nana grabbed her taser stick, jabbing it into her grandson’s neck. It gave
Wubz just the jolt. And, finally, the rest of the family were able to wrench
Dex free.
A
smell like cooked bacon filled the room. Wubz sat there rigid with steam coming
right off of him.
For the
longest moment no-one said anything. And then Wubz broke down in tears. “It’s
not me.” He wailed. “It’s not me.”
Everybody
was shocked and mortified. It was likely only the ladies in the room; Nana and
the two sisters, who had ever seen Wubz cry. And that had been when he was a
small boy. In the meantime, he had grown into one big, mean hoodlum.
The
whole family froze. Witnessing a gnarly Skidz Freak mobster cry is the sort of
thing they later have you shot for.
It was
Dex who got it together first, offering his cousin the outstretched hand of
forgiveness. Dex knew something wasn’t right. They shook.
“What
gives, Cuz?” Dex croaked, massaging his throat with his other hand. “’Sup...?”
Wubz
was out of control. He couldn’t stop the flow. But, through the twitching and
the tears, he came clean with the skinny. And then they knew, without shadow or
doubt, that Zoot was the one they all needed to fear.
What
Zoot had done to Wubz went beyond the pain. Zoot had explained to Wubz every
last detail of his living hell, describing his ordeal with merciless candour
and teasing out the finer nuances of the soulless sentence, laying them out
bare for the victim to savour and dwell upon.
With a
staggering, heartless intellect at his disposal, Zoot, the crime lord and underworld
gang master, had sought the means for perfect control over both his competition
and his crew. His research had led him to refine the active ingredient and
mechanism for mind control found in one of nature’s more perplexing products of
evolution and conduits of reproduction, namely, Ophiocordyceps unilateralis, an entomopathogen, or
insect-pathogenising fungus more commonly known as zombie ant fungus.
In his
reformulation of the fungal transport mechanism, Zoot had succeeded in
preparing the acme of all dictatorial regimes; a slave serum which, once
imbibed by the unwitting subject, gave a modicum of control over the subject’s
activities to a foreign agent; a puppet-master, as it were.
Imperfect,
in its early stages of development, this serum was only to be improved in its
functioning capacities through experimentation on a series of human subjects,
preferably individuals whose behavioural characteristics were already known to
the researcher. Wubz, a low-level goon with little ambition and only the merest
hint of a psychopathic nature, provided one such ideal candidate for
experimentation.
And
so, with a hearty slap on the back and liquor tumblers raised in salutations,
Wubz, unwittingly, had become Zoot’s latest guinea pig, downing the slave serum
in one.
When
Dex’s Cuz cried: “It’s not me” he meant it. Zoot was the one trying to crush
the life from Dex in an exhibition of control over his minion. It needn’t have
been Dex. It could have been anyone near, if not exactly dear, to his subject.
The point had been made. Wubz was no longer in control.
“I
feel it; I’m changed.” Wubz complained to his family. “I’m alive. And, I’m not
alive. My thoughts aren’t my own. There is no ‘me’ anymore. But, I’m still here.”
The
rest of the family pretended that they didn’t care what happened next to Wubz.
It was the easier route to take.
Dex
didn’t buy it. He saw that they were all too afraid to help their relation.
They were all too scared that the same thing might happen to them. They’d
rather die.
Wubz
wanted to die too. But only part of him did. Crucially, it was that part of him
that was no longer in control.
He
asked the family to do it for him.
Nobody
had the balls.
Nobody
wanted it to come back on them.
Dex
didn’t really blame them. No-one thinks: ‘Hey, I’d like to be a zombie.’
Dex
wanted to help, but he didn’t know how. He figured on blackmailing Zoot,
somehow, to put things right with his Cuz – But, how...?
He
knew he couldn’t pull off a stunt like that on his own, but none of his folks
dared to help. They wouldn’t even talk about it.
Dex’s
crew, Da Moops, were no better. Sure, they all could talk big about taking out
Zoot... BLAP, BLAP, BLAP. But, when Dex got real, Moops got real quiet,
avoiding eye contact and finding other things to do and say.
And
then Zap’s kid sister, Rain, got snatched off the streets.
Zap was
with her at the time: Got put on his ass, trying to fend off the Skidz Freaks.
He hopped on his hover-board and followed the skidjacked floater back to the
Yard, so he knew it was Zoot’s boys that took her.
When
Zap told his folks they went to pieces. Zap told Dex he could see the fear in
their eyes. They were all for doing nothing. Rather mourn their loss than draw
the anger of a mobster.
Maybe
it was youth on their side, but Dex was up for it and Zap was too.
You
could say that Dex got lucky: Zap was younger, but a big unit with half a
brain; odds were he wouldn’t prove a liability. Dex was pushing seventeen; the
same age Zoot was when the psycho took control of the Yard. Dex had skillz, he
was street, but he could only marvel at the gulf between himself and his
adversary. Dex tooled up from the family arsenal; Zoot had weaponised body
parts. Zoot was part man/part machine; part super-abundant muscle, all freakin’
psycho.
Figuring
time pressing, the two of them hopped their Hovers and schemed a plan to blow
both their minds while scooting on down to the Yard. There was nothing else for
it...
*****
Dex
had been conducting recon on the Yard for a couple weeks prior to Rain getting
snatched. It was time the groundwork paid its dues.
There
was no way a couple of punk kids were going to win a shootout with a gnarly
bunch of Skidz Freaks. And it wouldn’t further their aim any to do so. This
meant going in all guns blazing was out of the question. A more subtle approach
was required...
They
tailed a lone flyer in a hot skiddoo, weaving illegally through fly lanes on
their hovers, until the Yardee pulled up a couple blocks later hauling
supplies.
When
the douche exited the venue and was making for his stationary floater, they
rushed him, sticking him from behind with a taser. They bundled the Freak into
the waiting vehicle and put to the rogue a proposition.
The
proposition was this: they fly to a rip-off joint, do the dirty, and load the
swag on board the Freak’s skiddoo. They flip the flyer back to the Yard,
complete with booty as proof of their credentials. They wanted in, wanted to
join the Yard. This was their audition.
“The
alternative” said Dex, “is not so pretty: we shock you up and hang you out like
a kipper; flip the flyer back to the Yard and use you as our audition. Take the
first option and we’ll cut you in on the bounty before we head back; no-one’s
any the wiser. Sure, you’re compromised, but you get a pay-off besides.”
The
Freak took the first option. Dex knew why: Freak thought Da Moops would drop
their guard at some point, meaning the Freak could flee the scene with pride
intact.
Didn’t
happen...
Dex
left Zap guarding the villain – His instructions: “If the Freak moves, or gives
you any yap, shock him with the Ruptors and sling him in the back. Just be
ready to burn. I’ll be back in ten, stat.”
In the
meantime, Dex knocked off a merchant in precious metals, using the tricks of
the family trade. In this case, insider knowledge was the key: Dex knew that
the in-store security had been compromised in advance of his Uncle Riz planning
a heist of his own a couple of days hence. Dex knew he’d be in line to cop it
from his kin for snarling up a sure thing. But, he figured, if he was still
alive and not twitching like Wubz following an encounter with Zoot, he’d cop
all the flak and laugh about it later. “Sure beats being a zombie...”
Besides,
Dex only cleaned out the swag he could carry on his Hover. It was no more than
a token gesture. The place would be ripe for the picking again in no time.
Uncle Riz would be sweet.
Upon
presentation of the goods back at the Yard, the thieving and skidjacking duo of
Zap and Dex were met with a less than enthused response from their would-be partners-in-crime.
Zoot was nowhere in sight. They were left to deal with some gnarly screwball
with android peepers and a tell-tale twitch to his face; some Freak who had
clearly taken the ‘pirates of the airways’ analogy to heart and had a
skull-and-crossbones motif moulded into the metal plate covering the back of
his head. “Nah, Yoot...” He declaimed in menacing patois, “ya don’ get to be
‘da one who decides. ‘Ting fo’ ‘da boss mang – He decide...”
Dex
held the suspicious glare of the sneering henchman.
“So,
let him decide...”
Cue
laughter from the Skidz Freaks.
Tough
crowd, thought Dex. He flashed a look across at Zap; flushed red and burning
with anger.
“Ya
like lambs to slaughta’!!”
Dex
could feel Zap tensing beside him. Much more of this stonewalling and the Moop
was gonna blow...
“Well,
at least I still got a mind of my own.”
The
Freak’s android peepers widened and whirred. His jaw clenched and his face
twitched involuntarily.
“How’s
that mind control serum working out for you...?” Dex chided. “I’ve a mind to
grab the swag and flee this joint before the puppet-master comes a-calling...”
Low
laughter rumbled gutturally through the henchman’s grinding teeth.
“Nah, ya
won’ be leavin’ – He decide... or we decide. Ya got nutin’.”
Zap
turned toward Dex, fear brimming in his eyes; fear for his sister; fear for his
life; fear at what he might be about to do.
A
spasm wracked the face of the Yardee before them, as his droogs were gathering
in close, in a tightening arc about the newcomers. The force of the spasm cinched
up the Freak’s face and he raised a hand to his head as though that might help.
It must have been painful, causing him to stagger and he stepped forward,
raising his other hand to grab hold of Dex by the shoulder.
Dex
took hold of the Freak’s hand, clammy to the touch, trying to brush it from his
shoulder.
The
Yardee breathed heavily in Dex’s face, a gust of moist earth mixed with battery
acid.
Zap
was coiled and ready to spring.
The
facial spasm subsided eventually and the staggering Freak straightened,
inhaling deeply.
Then
he cleared his throat: “Boss mang decide. He will see you now...”
*****
The
Yard Boss was every bit as intimidating as they had been led to believe.
In
fact, if anything, Zoot’s reputation failed to do him justice.
In
person, Zoot was a towering hulk of an individual, pumped-up on steroids and
augmentation regimes since his pre-teen years. His twenty-year-old face bore no
trace of the teenager, worn by the ravages of drugs and trauma, not to mention
genius and psychopathy.
As Dex
and Zap were ushered in to his orbit by the Yardees, Zoot stood absorbed in the
play from a hundred or so miasma ports and data streams, occasionally motioning
to orchestrate the activities of teams of mutant Freak technicians labouring
diligently on various projects all around the workshop.
One
arm ended in a huge, clunking, metal fist, the fingers of which were plugged in
to an enormous construction sphere. Each chunky metal digit emitted pulses of
light, manipulating faculties within the sphere, controlling operations
directly. His other arm, unfeasibly bulky and sculpted yet essentially human, was
gesturing in the direction of Dex and Zap. A hooked index finger impatiently
beckoned the brazen duo toward him.
Dex
gulped hard in an attempt to swallow down the fear rising from somewhere deep
in his gut. He stepped forward first in a show of confidence, trying to
maintain his swagger. Beside him, he could almost feel Zap trembling in his
MegaPunk Power-Boots.
“We
brought booty... a haul of precious metals. We got skillz aplenty.”
Dex
was trying hard to sound street, projecting loudly.
“What
makes you think I give a rat’s ass...?”
Zoot’s
voice boomed around the hangar workshop. Powering down his metal mitt, he
disengaged from the construction sphere and turned the might of his armoured
frame towards the young upstarts.
“We want
to join your crew, get a piece of the action...”
Zoot
looked upon the pair with utter contempt, his steely grey eyes giving them
nothing.
“Oh, I
got plans for you Moops – Just on my terms, not yours.”
Dex
knew, right then, they were rumbled. Any cover they might have had was laid
bare. The element of surprise was lost. And that was all they had to begin
with.
“Yo’
da’ Boss Mang...” Dex agreed. “Might sure is right.”
Zoot
nodded slowly, allowing a chilling, omniscient smile to play across his worn
features.
“So, I
ask myself: Why does a guy, who knows what I am capable of, come before me
now?”
Dex
felt a cold hand grip the back of his neck. The grip was firm, unyielding and,
somehow, familiar. He looked round to see cousin Wubz staring back at him.
Wubz’
left eye was twitching wildly and Dex felt an awful dread sinking in the pit of
his stomach.
“Do I
really have to explain my plans for you... or should I allow Wubz, here, to
explain it to you all over again...?”
Dex
looked over to where Zap was struggling against the tightening grip of his
cousin’s other hand. Zap was squirming manfully, but all to no avail.
The
puppet-master continued, delivering his lecture in a mildly-amused monotone which
still managed to project threat and menace, “A great man once said: ‘Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only
light can do that.’”
Zoot
paused, eyes narrowing, nostrils flaring; savouring his conclusion.
“Then,
the fool got snuffed by the forces of darkness – I got news for you Moops...
the darkness can always get darker!”
Dex
heard Zap’s strangulated plea: “Gimme my sister, you goddamn psycho...!”
Then
everything went black.
*****
Dex
awoke to the sound of sobbing nearby.
He was
imprisoned in a rudimentary cage, one in a row of similar holding pens.
Zap
was stationed in the row opposite, slumped down on the floor of his cell; one hand
was gripped tightly about a column barring the entry; the other reached
forlornly outward between bars, opening, closing, to the beat of his sobbing.
Zap
had his head down. He raised it as Dex addressed him: “Yo! Moop – Get it
together. We bin’ in worse scrapes than this...”
Dex
was shocked at the sight of his compadre.
Zap
was gone to pieces.
He was
a pure, solid wreck.
“I saw
her, mang...” Zap was slavering and gasping, blubbing like a kid. “We are sooo screwed!”
Dex
flinched at the morbid fear in his partner’s eyes. “Who, Zap...?” Dex knew the
answer, but he asked the question anyway. “Who did you see?”
For an
age it didn’t seem like Zap would answer, didn’t seem like he could bring
himself to say her name. He was looking back down at the ground again, sobbing.
“Rainy...” he said, eventually.
Zap’s
grief was palpable in the way he said his sister’s name.
Dex’s
mouth began producing way too much saliva, like he was about to be sick.
He
spat on the floor of his cell. There was nothing to be gained by both of them
losing their grip – He had to keep it together.
“So
you’ve seen her... she’s still alive, then? Stay strong, if you wanna be good
for her; you wanna help her, doncha?”
Zap
was breathing heavily, trying to compose himself.
“She’s
alive.” He moaned. “But, she aint Rainy no more...”
To
prevent Zap going to pieces again, Dex pressed him with questions: “Was she
here, Rain? What did she say to you...?”
“Her
hand was sooo cold, mang – it’s not
her; it’s not Rainy...”
“Dude:
what did she say?”
Zap
looked across at his friend; the other caged Moop. His eyes were glassy and
distant: bereft and yet searching; searching for hope amid a hopeless
situation. Lighting upon nothing, Zap broke eye contact with his buddy,
appearing utterly crestfallen; his spirit ground down by the lack of a
solution.
“Zap..?”
Dex endeavoured to keep his partner from drifting.
“I
gotta do what she tells me... or else, she says, they’re gonna hurt her.”
“What
is it that she wants you to do?”
“She
wants me to drink from two cups. I have to choose which one...”
“What’s
in the cups...? Zap, keep talking - Tell me, buddy: what’s in the cups?”
“I
don’t know – One’s gonna turn me into one of them; a frickin’ zombie!”
Dex
was breathing heavily too, vibing off his companion, struggling to find the
positives. He felt hollow from the guts down, all the weight suddenly in his
chest.
“Come
on, guy, it’s fifty-fifty. Hang in there. You’ve always been lucky...”
Zap
just looked at him grimly.
“The
other cup will kill me. Then they harvest me for body parts.”
Dex
let his chin fall, briefly, to his chest. But he came up fighting.
“Listen
to me, mang – You don’t have to do what she says...”
“But,
they’re gonna hurt her...”
“Look,
Zap: you said it yourself; that’s not your sister, dude, not anymore.”
“They’re
gonna use her for parts. Sell her organs, use her for parts...”
Dex
could tell he was losing his friend, the fear and hopelessness overwhelming Zap
once more.
“It
aint your sister mang...” He reasoned.
“I
can’t let ‘em hurt her.”
“You’ve
gotta let her go, chief. Try and save yourself.”
Dex
was feeling panic setting in. His brain had begun churning out negative thoughts;
nothing productive – No use to anyone. This
is where your luck runs out...
“Then
what are we here for...? I can’t do it; I can’t let ‘em hurt her.”
Zap
collapsed in a renewed bout of sobbing; sorrow and self-pity getting the better
of him.
Dex
tried to focus. They needed some kind of escape strategy, or else a means of
buying some time. He’d been shaken down of all gadgets and weaponry, natch.
There were no fixtures and fittings to the cell, no visible lock mechanism
either. In the absence of any hook from which to hang hope, his brain ramped up
the negativity, running the churn harder, faster. This is what fate feels like. It all comes down to this...
...And
then, a gentle, lilting voice...
“Hush
now, Bubba... don’t cry, Bubba.”
Dex
hadn’t even noticed her ghosting in on her bare, blue feet...
“Don’t
cry, Bubba. Here’s a nice drink for you...”
The
young girl’s voice was soothing as she attempted to mollify her brother’s
distress.
Rain
was standing in a simple Variglo tunic which came down just below her knees,
proffering two cups through the bars of Zap’s cage. The lurid, shifting colours
of her garment were in stark contrast to the pallor of her little arms and
legs, all mottled and blue-grey, looking distinctly sickly. In addition, the
child’s shoulder-length dark hair was all matted and straw-like with no natural
sheen to it.
Dex
reached through the bars of his cage, making a frantic grab for the girl. He
was trying to knock the cups from her hands. One cup contained an
unnatural-looking blue concoction, the other an equally foul and suspect green
liquid; both appeared injurious to health and were giving off unpalatable
vapours.
“Zap,
don’t do it! I’ll get us out of here, mang – I swear!”
The
girl who had once been Rain remained, frustratingly, agonisingly, just out of
reach. Dex’s fingers were left groping thin air.
Zap
knelt on his haunches, considering the two cups being held out before him. He
wiped the back of his hand across his quavering lips, looking sadly across the
way at his desperate friend, his fellow captive droog and Moop.
Dex
continued to implore him: “We aint done here, dude, believe... can’t you see:
the psycho’s just playin’ ya...?”
Dex
persisted with grasping the air... if he could just grab the girl’s hair; pull
her backwards, knock her off balance...
But,
it wasn’t to be.
In a
rush, Zap took hold of one of the cups.
He
downed the metallic blue liquid in one swift motion.
Almost
immediately upon swallowing the foul brew, Zap fell sideways to the floor,
choking and clutching his throat in agony.
Rain
turned her head. She was smiling. It was a weak smile, but her thin, blue lips
revealed her satisfaction.
She
looked at Dex’s outstretched hand still desperately trying and failing to get
hold of her. Then, she shifted her gaze, looking directly at her brother’s
friend.
Her
eyes were dead pools, devoid of all lustre.
Dex
had known the girl, Rain. He had known her a little, enough; the way a dude
knows his buddy’s kid sister. Rain had been a smart kid: funny, sort of old
beyond her years; the way some kids with older siblings can be.
All of
that was gone.
This
child; this zombie; this minion of Zoot’s was a crushed soul.
Her
eyes were cold and calculating. She gained pleasure only from pleasing her
master.
The
smile left the zombie Rain’s face and she shook her head at Dex with a look of
disdain; like he didn’t understand.
Zap
was still squirming around the floor of his cell in the latter stages of his
death throes.
The
zombie Rain turned her head back towards her brother, to witness his demise.
Dex
was chilled to the bone as he saw the smile return to her face.
He
shouted a stream of profanity, venting his frustration: at the girl; at his
friend’s decision; at his own plight. But, mainly, Dex’s anger was directed at
Zoot: the puppet-master; making everyone around him dance to his tune...
As Zap
finally succumbed to the toxic blue swill, breathing his last and shuffling off
this mortal coil, his sister rounded on the other detainee, one brimming,
steaming cup of green dreck still held in her right hand.
The
zombie Rain was all sweetness and light again as she sought to do her master’s
bidding. Her eyes widened in a show of innocence and she spoke once more in her
sing-song voice as though butter wouldn’t melt in that cold mouth of hers:
“Hey, Dexie, I have a nice drink for you...”
Raging,
Dex shook his head, shook the bars of his cage, roaring loudly in an attempt to
blow the little girl over. If he had been able to get his hands on her right
then, it horrified him to think what he might do to her.
Rain
smiled, offering the cup to him and pulling back deftly as Dex went to knock it
out of her hand.
“But
you have to be a good Dexie and drink it all down, you hear...?”
Dex
was spitting, apoplectic, as he searched for a shred of humanity remaining in
those insipid eyes.
“...And
what will you do if I don’t...?”
It was
childish, sinking to her level. But it was all he had...
“You
have to drink the nice drink.”
That
sing-song voice; her innocent smile...
“...Or
what: how will you punish me?”
The
zombie Rain twirled her lank, dead hair with the fingers of her free hand.
“If
you don’t drink the nice drink,” she cooed, “the nice Mister Zoot will feed you
to the monsters.”
Dex
scoffed at the suggestion, blowing a jet of scorn through his pouting lips.
“Well,
the nice Mister Zoot doesn’t scare me. And I’m too old to believe in
monsters...”
The
blank-eyed slave child continued twirling her hair and shrugged her shoulders
like she really didn’t care.
Cocking
her head at an angle then, she gave a little tinkling laugh.
“Don’t
be silly, Dexie. I can see the monsters... they’re right behind you.”
As
much as Dex thought, I’m not falling for
that tired old routine, he knew, he really knew, from the vibration
underfoot to the feeling of eyes on the back of his head, he knew, that he
really ought to look behind him. And – call it better judgement, call it
survival instinct – he knew in that sudden, sinking moment that he wasn’t going
to like what he saw...
At the
back of his cell, the smooth, blank rear wall had altered in appearance,
clearing into a transparent partition between Dex’s cage and a larger, more
brightly-lit chamber which contained a collection of vaguely humanoid
creatures; life-forms which in all probability were the fruits of
experimentation by his host, the crazed genius, Zoot.
Lumbering
shapes with reptilian jaws and muscular, worm-like appendages pressed hungrily
up against the transparent partition, straining and salivating in their
eagerness to burst through into Dex’s cell and make his acquaintance.
Dex broke
into a cold sweat.
A
primal fear gripped the length of his spine, from his genitals right up to the
base of his brain.
In
that moment, Dex knew that he would do anything to avoid becoming the new
plaything of these grotesque apparitions; these monsters, before him.
Squirming
against the bars of his cage, Dex turned to face the zombie Rain.
She
was smiling, innocently, as he knew she would be, offering the cup towards him
with the green potion that would make him just like her.
“Drink
the nice drink, Dexie, for the nice Mister Zoot...”
* * * *
AUTHOR’S FOOTNOTE: Ophiocordyceps
unilateralis is a naturally occurring tropical fungus which exerts its
influence over Camponotini ants. This so-called zombie fungus alters the
behaviour of infected host ants, causing them to leave aside routine activities
and travel to the underside of low-hanging leaves, where the host ant clamps
its jaws to a major vein in the leaf remaining there until its death. Even in
death, the fungus retains control over its host, the ant’s jaws remaining
fastened tightly to the supporting vegetation. From this position, fruiting
bodies grow from the host ant’s head, eventually rupturing to release fungal
spores. These spores fall to the forest floor, coming into contact with fresh hosts
and the reproductive cycle continues.
To the best of the author’s knowledge, this fungus has yet to be
reformulated for the purposes of mind control in humans. Something tells me,
though, that it is only a matter of time...
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AUTHOR BIO
Some
of my best ideas arrive when I'm sleeping.
You
know the type: Some clown with a melted face offers me a bag of jelly beans
that contains the whole damn Multiverse; each one I eat is me chomping down an
entire Universe... this one's sweet... and this one's really bitter. That one
tasted like gorgonzola!
And
it's not as if the clown has any qualms about this senseless devouring of
reality... I ask the freak: "What happens when I eat the Universe that
we're in right now...?"
And,
the weirdo just looks at me with eyes that have seen too much of the heart of
every star; have been baked hard, then melted, and ultimately screwed - and he
says to me, this Dream Peddler, he says, "Aaah, there you go laddie: we're
in all of them, at the same time, for all of eternity..."
Then,
he starts to laugh, maniacally, in the manner of someone who's been given far
too much adulation for far too long, and when I look again into the bag of
jelly beans, I realise that I've been eating pellets of dung all along.
That
sort of thing.
I
like to channel a sense of dream absurdity and multi-textural reality into the
high-octane, psychedelia of the dystopian, cyberpunk sci-fi that I write. It
seems to me an adequate form for satirising the sheer, unbridled lunacy of life
on Earth as a human in the 21st century.
Because
if you forget to smile and laugh, you go mad...
Fool's
Sacrifice: A Dominion City Blues Novel
Lee
Lazarus is an ace pilot flying stolen vehicles in Dominion City. His life is
endangered from the minute he teams up with a tough girl called Spider.
Spider's smart but is wrapped in a web of secrets and bad luck. Never more so
than when they steal the wrong vehicle and their fellow gang members are blown
from the skies. Lee and Spider soon find themselves under suspicion from their
gang boss and the police who see them as terrorists hellbent on bringing
Dominion City to its knees.
As
things go from bad to worse, Lee must make a choice. Face punishment for his
crimes or accept the help of a mysterious stranger from an other-worldly group
known only as the Long Hedz Inc. But help comes at a price. The price of a
fool's sacrifice.
