To round out the week, here's more of the Evil Possum. Also, here's links for the first and second part. This is as good a time to mention, this is very much a tribute to the movie The Black Scorpion and effects master Willis O'Brien, which is reflected in the tags I've added. Incidentally, I did have more on a character featured here, but decided it would have made things even more random. More to come!
By the time they were
ready to sleep, Daisy and Wes were on a mat that unfolded from a storage alcove
by the window. It was designed for physical therapy, and what they had done was
close enough that they covered themselves with a sheet rather than using the
energy to return to their bed. They had been drifting for the better part of an
hour when Daisy stirred. “Did you just hear something?” she said. She looked
toward the main air vent.
Wes’s eyes snapped open. “I think it’s chemical-energy small arms fire,” he said. “Very small. Probably 4 mm or less. I thought I heard a 9mm earlier.”
“Huh… Is it dangerous?”
“Probably not to anything
over 10 kg.”
“Too bad.”
“I, uh, saw something in the ducts earlier. It… he… talked to me, actually.
Daisy raised her head.
“Did it have one eye, talk with a weird accent?”
“Yeah… Do you know
something about it?”
“Percy told me about him,
once. Don’t worry about it.” She closed her eyes and went back to sleep.
* * *
The marsupial landed on the roof of the elevator with a thud, hard enough to dent one of the lightweight panels. His one boot smoked from the sole. A moment later, his slug gun landed beside him, sheered in half at the hinge. He slapped another magazine in a miniature Sten gun, perfectly reproduced but strangely proportioned, particularly the distinctly oversized feed. He saw an unused slug roll out of the gun, and snatched it up as he pondered his options. He was in the middle shaft of a three-elevator bank. On his right, another shaft dropped into darkness, with no sign of a car above or below. On the left, a three-decked elevator had stopped six stories above. Two stories below that, there was a clacking of pincers and mouthparts, the female that had forced him to retreat without his main weapon. Then, from somewhere in the darkness, there was a clicking of smaller feet. Beneath him, the middle elevator resumed moving, up.
At a touch, the side of the boot split, revealing a chamber big enough for the recovered slug. He slid it in, and the breach shut with a sound like a clinking coin. The elevator had ascended two stories when it stopped again. The car on the left continued its descent, until it stopped just above the airshaft where his foe waited. He quickly calculated his options: Face the female creature; hang from the bottom of the next elevator; jump or climb on top of it; or try to squeeze into the space between them until they passed each other. There was a ding from the cabin and a slight jolt as a passenger blocked the closing doors long enough for one more to board.
The elevator had
descended 20 stories before the marsupial hauled himself onto the roof. He
flopped down, and the Sten gun clattered beside him. His mane ruffled in tiny
waves as he rested in a sitting position, his single eye shut. Meanwhile,
slowly, silently, the silhouette of a pincer emerged from the opposite side of
the elevator. He reached over his shoulder, as if feeling for injuries. Then,
just as the mouthparts and walking legs emerged into the view of anyone
watching, he unsheathed a stockless double barrel, pivoted, and fired.
* * *
At the police station, Percy continued to play videos for the rookies who remained. By then, he was down to legal but sensitive Therapeutics videos. Beside him, Hector made a whistling sound equivalent to snoring, his long tongue flicking in and out. The tongue snared a piece of popcorn, which the echidna deftly crunched with his vestigial teeth. “The first step in effective lovemaking is to test your partner’s desires and sensitivities,” the narrator said. “Be as slow and patient as they need you to be, but don’t feel guilty if you experience a lapse in self control. Failure is as important to learning as success…” The screen showed a visibly woman scrambling to straddle her partner. Earlier, it would have brought cheers, but now, it only brought a little bemused murmuring.
A pink, snouted creature
started to reach for Percy’s liquor bottle. “I wouldn’t recommend that,” he
said. “It’s not so much drink as fuel.” The rookie withdrew. Percy began
tapping his own visor. “Damn, I know I’ve heard that voice somewhere… Eh, I’ll
think of it some time.” He belched, and the resulting jet of flame briefly lit
up the room.
* * *
A sound like a very angry
woodpecker rang through the ducts. There were additional pops, bangs and a
minor explosion as a volley of 3 mm automatic fire tore through a circuit
board. In the midst of the smoke and
sparks, the marsupial advanced after the retreating quarry. He glimpsed the creature,
and confirmed that he had severed one of its surprisingly stubby pincers,
probably the main reason it had not already turned at bay. He tracked with his Sten
gun and drew a spray of ichor from its tail. The marsupial leaped back as
ominous smoke and steam erupted from the already damaged circuit board. He
still was sent flying by a blue-white bolt that arced murderously upward into a
steel-capped fang. A spray of chemical foam added to the haze, but a quick
glance told him all he needed to know. “Eight,” he said. He looked down at what
was left of his fortunately empty submachine gun and snarled.
* * *
Percy was almost ready to call an end to the night, when the door opened. He turned to see the blue-haired female rookie scowling as she looked in. “Special Inspector Percy,” the blue-haired woman said, “what the Hell are you doing?”
“Okay, this isn’t what it
looks like,” Percy said as he got to his feet. He glanced at the screen, which
currently showed the adventures or Eveready Harton. He amended, “Okay, this is
exactly what it looks like.”
* * *
The female retreated at the marsupial’s approach, and that was remarkable enough. Its kind hunted by smell as much as sight or sound, and it could already equate the scent of the hunter as literal death: The sulphurous powder of weapons that thundered as they pummeled; the residual tang of fire, sparks and strange chemicals; and the pheromones and spilled ichor of its kind wounded and killed. It still might not know fear, but it had learned a measure of respect. So, it sought out a better place and angle for ambush, still unable to envision a chance that it might not prevail. In that, as it happened, its thoughts and those of the marsupial were the same.
The marsupial made his way back to the male eurypterid that the female had slain and partly consumed. The carcass was still there, looking no more or less intact than it had when he left it. His mane bristled. He holstered the 3 mm broomhandle automatic and drew his 4 mm revolver, just as the female came out of the darkness, almost directly behind him.
He emptied all but one
chamber of the revolver in the time it took the creature to cross the shaft,
but it was only slowed by its slain and partially consumed mate underfoot. It
swung with its tail, but struck the metal ceiling. He ducked under a slashing claw
and fired his last shot into the underside of the cracked carapace. The tail
spine struck blindly from the side, tearing through his jacket. He dropped onto
his back from the blow, then thrust his booted right leg upward. A blast
erupted from his prosthesis, while the recoil sent him sliding down the
airshaft.
At four in the morning, Wes woke up screaming. He cried out that a vampire-demon had tried to steal his soul. She told him she would take his soul into herself and guard it. He told her she was the demon, and she answered that if she was a demon, his soul was hers to keep. After that, he held her and cried. When he told her he loved her, she told him to go back to sleep.
It was about 4:30 when they heard a series of whipcracks, followed by a screech from the ducts like tiny metal claws, then a metallic clang. Something dropped down. Daisy scooped it up; it was a tiny bullet and casing. A moment later, there was a rustle and a rush of clattering, clicking feet, accompanied by a more ominous chatter of chitinous pincers and mouthparts. A rapid volley of whipcracks rang out, accompanied by flashes. Finally, when it seemed the combatants were so close they might burst into the room, there was a sound like the clink of a coin, and a blast loud enough that Daisy screeched and covered her ears. There was a final thud and clatter. A milky fluid dribbled from the vent. A muffled, nasal voice called out, "Seven!"
“What the…” Wes approached the vent, while Daisy huddled under a sheet. Suddenly, a heavy blow knocked the cover loose, and they beheld the marsupial, wobbling on his feet.
“I say… Diellza Mladic?”
the marsupial said, gazing at Daisy. “I hear you are a friend of Percy’s….”
With that, he pitched forward and landed in the couch cushions.
“Oh my god,” Daisy said. “He pronounced my real name right.”
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