by Ian Woodhead
His weird friend dove to the side and rolled over to the roundabout. He didn’t see the man shoot as the thing heading for Callum scaled up the slide ladders. Callum staggered back, keeping his horrified gaze fixed on the liquid, brown shape directly above him. It squawked like some huge mutant featherless parrot before throwing its shapeless body off the top of the slide. Callum jumped back and brought the blade down on what looked like a head as soon as it landed on the gravel.
A sickly sweet stench of rotten peaches erupted from the wide gash that he’d cut into the creature’s thick skin. Callum stabbed it again and again, while groaning and crying. He just couldn’t stop slashing at the horrible, foul, inhuman stain of creation.
Callum heard somebody’s voice shouting, but it sounded so distant. Was it aimed at him? It didn’t matter. All that concerned him was stopping this dirty abomination from getting back up. A pair of arms encircled his body and savagely pulled Callum off it. Before he had time to return to his job, the other man aimed and fired his odd weapon, reducing the mutilated creature into boiling, stinking soup.
The man dragged Callum over to the see-saw, pulled the knife out of his slimy hands, and threw it into the grass. He then sat on his thighs. “Enough!” The man slapped Callum hard across the cheek then pushed his other hand under the tramp’s chin. “Look at me. It has gone. There is nothing left. The night has claimed its companions and the moon will show us the way to the bunkers. Listen to the silent screams of the fallen Goliath and take your joy from the knowledge that in the end, they all will suffer the same fate as the vile spawn you destroyed.”
Callum heard the man’s words; they made no sense at all but that didn’t matter much. He took a deep breath, while listening to the comforting sound of the distant traffic, as well as the faint beat music noise drifting from the town’s only night-club. It’ll be kicking out time soon, meaning that his old mate, Nick Bannon, one of the town’s originals, will be crawling out from under his newspaper collection and making his way across town, heading towards the one remaining takeaway. Callum looked into scary man’s eyes. “It’s been a fair few years since I zoned out like that, man.”
Scary-eyes climbed off Callum then helped him back up onto his feet. “I am sorry. I should have taken their last human thoughts into consideration.”
“Again, you’re making no sense. Look, all I want to know right now is are we still going to end up dead within the next half-hour or so?”
He shook his head. “No, not if we move away from this location.”
“Fine, that suits me down to the ground. I think it’s time you met a couple of pals of mine. With luck, I might be able to snag a drink from one of them. When we get all cosy, perhaps you could then explain exactly what the hell is happening in my fair town?”
He nodded. “I’ll try.”
“Oh, I almost forgot. What’s your name?”
The man smiled. Judging from the effort he was putting into the motion, Callum guessed that he wasn’t used to showing joy, or anything else for that matter, apart from his standard dead face.
“I’m called Harry,” he replied. The man held out his hand, “and I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Callum nodded and reluctantly shook the man’s hand. “Yeah, ain’t I the luckiest chap in the whole of Brandale.”
CHAPTER FIVE
The first fingers of the dawn sun crept up the captain’s arm. The weak rays weren’t strong enough to dry out the thin coat of birthing fluid covering his naked body. He would need to stay here, in this position, for another few hours before that happened and although the feeling of that new sun upon his skin was most enjoyable, the tasks he had to complete before his God’s arrival stopped him from enjoying that pleasure.
He lifted his arm up above the table in front of him and twisted the new flesh around. Tiny wet balls of pseudo-muscle, unused from the process, adhered to his palm. He wasn’t the only individual to notice the prize. Liquid grunts from his two associates hovering behind his body reminded him that they still needed finishing off. The two women desired more food.
“Go back to bed,” he commanded. “We will hunt when I say.”
They slinked away, each one taking different routes back to the same nest. The captain sensed that perhaps the original meat probes had not digested enough of their former host’s memories when they took over the two females. It was a trivial matter if that indeed was the case. The captain would simply command one of the females to eat the other one. Their God ordered two prime foot-soldiers, but if their original minds would not cooperate, then one would have to suffice.
He paused and then grinned. His host disapproved of such wanton facial expression, but the captain did not particularly care for what the few strands of the original mind desired. He performed a mental re-wire and pushed the previous iteration of conservation of meat into a nice dark corner.
This was a new world, full of life and opportunity. Why scrimp on good building material when all the captain had to do was find another body, cut out one of the meat probes, and transfer it across.
Unlike the previous world, where their Gods had almost exhausted the supply of meat and material, the captain believed that they would not run out in this bountiful paradise for at least another three generations. The stuff was simply everywhere!
The captain pulled back the curtains even further to allow more of that glorious light shine through. He noticed the excess meat had now transferred to the curtain material. Indeed, the stuff really was everywhere. The captain carefully picked off the meat, placed equal amounts in his hands, then approached the two women, each one having taken up position on either side of the bed without actually climbing up. As he neared, their soft growling reached his ears. The truth of the matter was that he did not want to sacrifice either woman, as both showed promise to become fine prime foot-soldiers. Even now, in their foetal stage, the two women already had the strength to beat any of the other God’s prime foot-soldiers, but he suspected that the balance of power would not be in their favour for long. As already, he sensed the others; his adversaries had started to build their own armies.
“Here you go, my children,” he said, holding out his hands. Their rough tongues tickled his skin. It was surprisingly pleasant. As they fed, he listened, with great delight, at his host’s frustrated howling; it transpired that the original owner detested cats and their tongues brought that memory back.
Usual procedure advised on performing a total purge, removing all trace of the previous host as soon as the memory transfer was complete. The captain had never been a great follower of procedure, as his vast experience taught him that more often than not, an empty vessel only followed the line dictated by their God. Unswerving worship, devotion, and obedience were fine for the lesser creatures, but the right hand of God should, at least, possess a tiny amount of intractability.
He firmly believed that his decision not to purge this mind was the sole reason as to why his God had become the most powerful entity in all the multiverse. Also, keeping a few strands of the original mind gave him something to play with and torment whenever he became bored.
They whined quietly once all traces of the pseudo-flesh had gone, reminding him that perhaps getting these two finished should take priority. Sensing his acceptance to proceed with a hunt, both women scrambled off the bed, each one taking their place beside his legs. They were just a hairsbreadth from each other and yet neither woman had bristled up. The captain took this as a good sign that it might work out for the best. Granted, their excitement over the anticipation of their first feed had probably taken their focus away from their mutual hatred, but the captain decided to overlook that tiny omission.
“Okay, enough with the fawning. You win. We will hunt. Go wait at the door while I clean myself and dress.”
The captain could only marvel at the speed in which they both traversed through the rooms of this large house. Their flexible shapes and well as the extra adaptations built into the code ensured tha
t they reached the outside door less than a second after he had finished talking and not once did the pair’s feet or hands touch the floor. They truly were a product of superb design which stretched back many thousands of years and back through hundreds of defeated worlds. His God, as well as his own predecessors, had moulded the perfect prime foot-soldier.
He turned around and walked towards the wardrobe to select some appropriate clothing for his first venture out in this glorious new world. Thanks to his host’s extensive knowledge of the local inhabitants, he knew exactly where to find his companion’s perfect prey. In fact, his host had furnished him with a great many weird and wonderful memories. Everything from this world’s technological achievements, of which he was justifiably proud, to his prediction to how the population would react once the Gods emerged through the thousands of trans-portals, built by subjects just like the captain. He chose a rather fetching pale green summer dress, a pair of bright red tights, and his old army boots. The captain so enjoyed the memory strands screaming at his clothing while he dressed. “I am so going to enjoy being you,” he shouted whilst laughing. On his way to meet his eager hunters, he stopped by the study and pulled a compact pistol off the wall. After some mumbling and weeping, the memory strands told him where the ammunition was kept.
Now ready and willing to explore this next world, the captain took his two meowing hunters out into the bright sunlight. In just the hour or so that he had awoken, the temperature had already increased by five degrees. Only small patches of birthing fluid were left on his skin, most of them under the dress. In retrospect, it might have been a better idea to dry himself before donning any type of false covering. Still, it would not be for too long. By the time his God had emerged, his own bio-armour should have pushed through this tender surface and solidified. Right now though, it was essential to maintain this human appearance while he mingled with the natives.
The captain took them up to the main gate, input the key-code, and stood back while the gate swung inwards. It took a lot of mental effort to stop the two hunters from racing across that field on the other side of the road, although he did understand why they were close to breaking their conditioning. He felt exactly the same. In the field next to this one were thirty-one cows. It had been decades since he had been so close to that amount of live meat, and although the temptation to release his mental lock and join the two hunters in the inevitable gorging, the captain just couldn’t. The hunters needed to understand the first rule of the importance of self-control, of taking just enough to sustain their bodies. Of all the familiars, the role of prime foot-soldier had to be the most revered position. After his role, obviously.
He guided them away from the field, ensuring that he too avoided staring at those moving mounds of delicious, firm, meat, not the easiest of tasks when they would not stop mooing. “Behave yourselves!” he snarled. “Remember, your meat probes are not yet fully implanted. If you continue to defy me, it is I who will feed on your flesh and I will give those cows your meat probes.”
With one last defiant look, the hunter once called Jenny gave the other hunter a sneaky bite on the rear limb before galloping a few metres along the road. The remaining hunter emitted a low growl but did not pursue. Instead, she waited until the captain had reached her before pushing her body against his legs. Her intention was clear enough.
He gritted his teeth in annoyance at the power play shown between the two rivals. The hunter formerly known as Maggie obviously wanted him to go through with his threat with just one adjustment. The captain shook his head and booted her in the place where the other hunter had bitten her. “Enough!” he growled. “Either you both learn to cooperate or you lose your right to exist.”
She took the hint and ran over to her companion, where the hunter kept at a respectful distance from the creature who once begged Thomas Copperfield to poison the old cow. He allowed the memory strands his first view at what the meat probes had done to the two loves of his life and chuckled as screaming started up again.
“Just wait and see what these perfect examples of controlled evolution can do to a normal human.”
That would come sooner rather than later as even now. The captain could hear the tuneless whistling coming from the young voice of David Hampshire, the boy who delivered the morning paper to the house. According to the memory strands, this rather pleasant fourteen-year-old boy had taken quite a shine to the captain’s wife, so it seemed rather fitting that it should be her to take him down.
He signalled to the hunters to get out of sight while he took up position in the middle of the road. The captain stood motionless, his hands placed on his hips, and waited. The whistling stopped as soon as the boy saw him. So did he, in fact. A brief expression of utter terror exploded across David’s face and before Copperfield knew what was happening, the kid had already turned his bike around and had started to pedal as first as his legs could go. To make matters even worse, he had the advantage of being on top of a hill.
“Get him!” he screamed. Gone were the thoughts of allowing the older hunter to eat most of the boy while the other one watched. Now it would be simply a matter of which one reached the boy first. He raced along the road until he reached the incline, interested to see which of his hunters caught the kid first.
They ran on all fours due to the meat probe shortening their legs and lengthening their arms. The simian method of locomotion wasn’t exactly advantageous in this flat terrain, but the altered state came into its own in wooded or urban areas. In another couple of seconds, that kid was about to discover exactly why he took the liberty of ensuring the meat probes carry the adjusted genes within their transfer pipes before entering the trans-portal.
The weeping child vanished from his sight when he passed under the tree cover and just as he expected, his two hunters left the ground by scaling the closest trunks. The only evidence the captain saw from that point was of the branches shedding their leaves.
A short scream followed by the sound of the bike smashing against the road signalled the end of the hunt. It would be a good few minutes before he was within sight of his hunters and by that time, there would be very little left. In their foetal stage, the hunters would devour everything organic, including the bones; especially the bones, as the creatures needed the material for their own armoured shells.
Perhaps their first taste of food would contribute in calming down their mutual dislike of each other. That, and the threats he had already issued. The captain continued his journey along the road, while pondering on the immediate future of the two hunters. Right now, he did know that neither of them would be in any shape, mentally or psychically, to continue this annoying grudge, as their bodies would be preparing for their first transformation. Within the space of a few hours, the first blossoming of what they would become would be showing through their flesh. Meaning that it was now his time to feed.
He reached the spot where the hunters had taken the boy. All that remained was an off-coloured stain on the road. They had even licked the blood of the tarmac. The captain ran over to the wall and leaned over. There they were, sleeping in each other’s arms. Already, tiny lumps were forming under their skins. He picked up a short stick and poked both of them. When they opened their eyes and stopped growling at him and then at each other, he ordered them to return to the house and stay inside until he got back. As they scampered past him, he realised that he still did not know which of the hunters made the kill.
He removed the gun from his dress and turned it around in his hands. This world had a bountiful supply of weapons just like this one. The memory strands had shown him the extent of progression the species had made in terms of weaponry. It took him a lot to impress him, but when he found out just how far they had come compared with the other world, that rare emotion did indeed rise to the surface.
The captain paused before he replaced the weapon. The memory strands were chuckling. They were actually displaying mirth. At first, he thought it was because of the human weaponry, that s
omehow their jet fighter aircraft, their tanks, and their nuclear weapons could defeat their Gods. The gigantic beasts they worshipped might not have encountered weapons as potent as what this version of the human species possessed, but it wouldn’t matter. This world, like all the others, would soon fall. This event was inevitable.
Even after explaining this to the memory strands, as well as showing just what his Gods had done to the other worlds they had conquered, the chuckling continued. “Okay, you have either gone insane, which is a possibility, or something else has happened. I could unravel them and find out for myself or you could just tell me. Which option do I choose?”
After another few seconds of giggling, the memory strands calmly informed the captain that the only reason why that boy scarpered was simply because he saw him in the dress. It seemed to please him that the captain had made such a grievous error even before he left the house, that although the monsters did catch the boy, it could have quite easily gone the other way. The memory strands then informed the captain that this world would kill them all. God or no Gods. The humans here knew how to fight and each and every one of his disgusting creatures would meet their end here. The memory strands then showed him an image of exactly what these nuclear bombs were capable of.
He stood in the middle of that empty road, listening to the birds flying from one branch to the next and hearing the distant noise of an oncoming vehicle and found, for the first time since he became sentient, almost twelve thousand years ago, that perhaps his Gods really had arrived at a world which they might never leave.
CHAPTER SIX
Not once had this disparate collection of individuals interrupted his monologue, which, by their way of thinking, must have sounded fantastic, bordering on the verge of insanity. Harry had to stop talking now as his throat hurt. He looked at the four men, one by one, almost daring them to call him a liar. Yet, he sensed nothing but sympathy from them. Did they really believe his account?