Jazz, Monster Collector in: The Lizard Wears Black (Season 1, Episodes 10 & 11)
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energy. There was more to this foot than I’d thought.
“Parry, help me, hold his leg.”
“I…I can’t,” Parry squeaked out between sobs.
“Parry,” I said lowering my tone and letting a little growl seep in.
He dragged himself to the side of Mickey’s leg and together we managed to lift it onto my outstretched legs. Still sniffling and weeping, Parry managed to hold the leg still enough for me to get the foot unscrewed from its mount. I noticed then that the skin around where the mounting plate had been attached to his leg was red and swollen. It had been attached manually, like with surgery, it hadn’t been done magically, and it must have hurt whenever he walked on it. But I’d have to feel bad about that later.
I dropped Mickey’s leg, stood, and pulled Parry to his feet. “We’ve gotta find my stuff.”
It didn’t take long. All my gear, including my battle armor and my dropped radio, had been piled to the side of the altar. I got myself dressed and geared up behind the X shaped stalagmites. Mickey’s coat lay on the floor beside me. I grabbed the stinking hunk of rag and rifled the pockets. I was surprised to find no weapons. I did find a few credit chips and a portable tele-com, a mallow-charged disc for dedicated, long distance communication. I let the chips fall and jammed the tele-com in my pocket.
“Wait there, and shield your eyes,” I ordered Parry and ran back to Mickey. I rolled the trans-dimensional snare between my hands and stared. Mickey deserved better than this, but I couldn’t take him with me, and I couldn’t let the Lizards turn him into an actual monster.
Speak of the devils. I heard a long, low, loud hiss and a great many pairs of yellow eyes appeared in the darkness. I didn’t know how long they’d been waiting there, or what they’d been waiting for, but they were moving cautiously toward me, probably unaware that their deity had flown the cave.
No more time. I pressed the set trigger on the snare and set it on Mickey’s chest. That was the last snare I had with me, and I had but one left in stock; TD snares were not just vastly illegal, they were just as rare as pumpkin pie, apple sauce, and three act storytelling, and nearly as rare as the recently resurrected dodo birds.
As I walked toward the exit, counting pairs of yellow eyes, Parry hurried to my side. A crack of thunder, a flash of light and a sucking of air told me that the ID snare had done its job.
The remnants of the Draconian battalion crept closer. Gaining confidence, they raised swords and spears, a few circled steel whips overhead. They appeared intent on not letting us out of there alive.
I drew the hammer back on my MacDaddy revolver and raised the sword in my left hand. “Parry, stay behind me.”
Parry’s eyes opened wider and his voice stammered. “Why, what are you going to do?”
I smiled and pulled the trigger, dropping two of the lizards with one bullet. “What I do best, kill monsters. Now keep up, we’re getting out of here.”