by Steve Cole
“Nit!” Furp stuck out his tongue and shook his head.
“Wubble-wubble-wubble.”
“Or possibly not,” Plog admitted. Then he gasped. “He’s written down here, ‘Strong wind could be the answer’.”
“Strong wind?” Danjo smiled slowly. “Hey, that makes sense. A strong wind would blow all the gas away! Right?”
“Right,” called Zill. “All the way back to the Badlands where it can’t hurt anyone else.”
Plog nodded. “And maybe a sudden gale in the face will jolt the gassed-up monsters back to their senses.”
“But it’s not windy today,” Zill pointed out. “So how does that help?”
Danjo and Plog had the same thought at exactly the same time. “The fans of Choketown!” they cried together.
Zill turned a somersault in her seat. “Yes! Brilliant!”
“Step on it, Zill,” Plog told her. “Once we’re going really fast we can stick Furp’s head out of the window so he gets the breeze.”
“He said we should open the windows,” Danjo recalled. “It all makes sense!”
But as Zill increased speed, the engine began to splutter. “Oh no,” she said.
“We’re finally running out of fuel – and we’ve barely reached the outskirts of Choketown.”
“Double ‘oh no’!” Plog cringed as a familiar whistle-and-crump went off somewhere close by. Wisps of gas blew up around them as with a last rasp and splutter the Slime-mobile conked out completely. “We’re trapped here, and Klukk’s long-range gas grenades are landing again – ready to turn every tough guy in town against us!”
Chapter Eight
FAN-TASTIC
“Come on,” said Plog, putting on his gas mask and picking up the spares. “Those fans on the central tower are our last chance – we’ll just have to reach them on foot.”
“Nit,” Furp agreed, and Maynard pecked him.
“We’d better take Furp with us,” Plog added. “The mattress-mites and polystyrene people are still out to get us all, and they’ll be here soon.”
“We must take Maynard too,” said Zill. “He’s a creep but we can’t just abandon him.”
“ATTENTION CHOKETOWN!” The ground-shaking squawk of the colossal Klukk carried over the roar of exploding shells. “THE SLIME SQUAD ARE YOUR ENEMIES – DESTROY THEM!”
Zill stamped her feet crossly as she put on her mask. “It’s just nonstop danger out there!”
“True.” Plog winked at her. “And that’s where we’re going. Because when danger looms large . . .”
Danjo and Zill joined in with the war cry: “The Slime Squad shout ‘CHARRRRRRGE!’”
And the three Squaddies charged outside with the stricken Furp and Maynard – into the war zone that Choketown had become. The blast of explosions split the smoking air, and a familiar white gas was seeping into sight. Many of Choketown’s burly red workers ran about in alarm, but some were turning glassy-eyed as the gas got to them.
“DESTROY THE SLIME SQUAD!” Klukk repeated at top volume.
“Time we weren’t here.” Danjo raised his right pincer and sprayed a flat strip of slime-ice over the ground ahead of them, like a pathway. “We don’t want to be late – so let’s skate!”
He set off on his three sturdy peg-legs, and Plog and Zill skidded after him, making for Choketown’s central tower, the metal fans at its top shining in the moonlight like a beacon of hope. Faster and faster they skated, leaping over lunging workers, dodging gas grenades, ignoring Furp’s nits and Maynard’s clucks, focusing only on the tower. And as they finally approached it, Plog saw four grim-faced night watchmen in smart uniforms outside the main doors.
“Hey!” wheezed the biggest one in a voice like a sickly engine. “Isn’t that the Slime Squad?”
“Dang well looks like it!” His smaller friend had a much louder voice. “They’ll sort out this mess, you’ll see.”
“Result!” cheered Danjo. “The gas hasn’t reached here yet!”
Ker-KRUMP! White mist rose up around the night watchmen’s feet.
“You spoke too soon,” Plog groaned.
“No way am I standing for this,” Zill shouted, “and neither are they!” She spat out two slime-lines and lassoed the monsters who’d called out. With a giant jerk of her head she tugged them clear of the gas and onto the slimy ice path Danjo had provided. Suddenly the startled night watchmen found themselves lying on the slippery ground at Plog’s feet!
Plog plonked down Furp and pulled the Slime Squad’s two spare gas masks onto the guards’ faces. “Quickly,” he said. “Who are you?”
“I’m Bolli,” rasped the biggest one.
“And dang me if I’m not Frit,” his friend said loudly.
“Nit!” said Furp.
“No, Frit.”
Bolli scratched his rough, bald head. “What in Trashland is going on around here?”
“No time to explain right now,” Zill said breathlessly, “but we need to get to the fans on your central block.”
“It’s our job to protect the fans, Miss Zill,” said Frit. “If anything happened to them Choketown would be lost in smoke for ever.”
Plog felt his stomach bubble and tighten as more gas shells fell all around them. “All of Trashland will be lost in smoke for ever if we don’t get up to those fans fast!”
“Oi! Slime Squad! No!” bawled two other guards from the cloud of gas, rushing forward to attack. “You’re our worst enemies. We’ll get you . . .”
Frit’s red face filled with a frown. “What the heck’s up with them?”
“The gas isn’t good.” Plog flattened one guard with his toughest punch and Danjo decked the other with a crunch of his claw. “That’s why we need to blow it away and bring everyone back to their senses.”
“We’re with you,” said Bolli. “The fan controls are up on the roof with the fans. Follow us!”
He and Frit led the way to the heavy main doors and opened them with a big key. Once Plog, Zill and Danjo had dragged Furp and Maynard inside, Frit locked the doors again behind them.
Bolli raced up a large spiral staircase built around a huge generator that powered the phenomenal fans. The air felt charged with energy, and Plog’s fur prickled as he followed Bolli higher and higher into the building.
At last they burst out into the middle of a large square the size of a boxing ring. The fans that ringed the tower’s edges stood still and silent for now. White gas drifted about with the usual smoke and smog.
As he looked down over Choketown, Plog felt sick. His head throbbed, his stomach ached and his bottom felt ready to explode. But he held his gas in for Zill and Danjo’s sake. Things were bad enough already. Scores of the town’s red-skinned residents were marching on the central block, pouring out from the mines and factories. Behind them swarmed hundreds of mattress-mites and polystyrene people – all hypnotized into thinking that Plog and his friends were public enemies that had to be destroyed. And behind them, the massive, misshapen monster that was Lord Klukk was marching tirelessly out of the white smoke, cackling with glee.
Frit gulped. “I never saw nothing like this before, Bolli.”
Bolli was wide-eyed. “Me neither, Frit.”
“Switch on the fans,” Plog yelled at them. “Strong wind will put things right.”
“I dang well hope that something can.” Frit crossed to a large control panel built into the ground. He and Bolli turned wheels and pulled down on levers, and slowly the fans began to turn.
Holding his own grumbly tum, Danjo studied the controls. “Frit, Bolli – put the power to maximum.”
The guards nodded. Soon the thrum of the mega-strong fans was like the breath of giants, growing louder and louder. A huge gale was quickly blasting across Choketown. The smoke began to whirl away.
Dirt and dust and grit whipped through the air. The wind blew so hard that the fires in the town’s furnaces began to blow out! Plog crossed to the edge of the roof between two of the fans, staring out at the murdero
us monsters gathered below as they weathered the sudden storm.
“They’re feeling a strong wind now,” Danjo declared.
But then a shout went up. “There’s the furry Squaddie – Blog, or whatever his name is.”
“And Danjo too,” another monster shouted. “Get them! Find the others and get them all!”
The mob pushed forward, smashing at the doors as the call was taken up – “Get them all!”
“Cluck,” chuckled Maynard.
“Nit,” said Furp sadly.
“It . . . it hasn’t worked!” Plog turned to face his friends as Klukk’s evil laughter rang out over the chanting mob. “Furp was wrong about the wind. We just lost our last hope. Nothing can save Trashland now!”
Chapter Nine
THE WIND OF CHANGE
As Plog stared out over the sea of raging monsters and the mad chicken-beast who controlled them, his delicate tum could take no more. His butt let rip with a roaring raspberry that left even burly Bolli looking queasy.
“That’s not helping, Fur-boy!” Zill choked, her eyes watering. “I can smell it through my gas mask. What a niff!”
“Sorry,” said Plog, blushing. “Quick, let’s angle the fans downwards and try to blow those crowds away from the tower doors.”
Danjo and Zill started pointing the nearest propellers at the milling monsters. But then Danjo parped too. “Whoops! Pardon.”
Frit clutched his throat. “What the heck have you been eating?”
“Roast Cockroach à la Slime with all the trimmings,” said Furp. “I cooked it myself.”
“Yeah,” said Danjo. “And it’s given us all the worst gas we ever . . .” He blinked and did a double take. “Furp?”
“Furp, you spoke like you’re normal!” Zill beamed.
“Then . . .” Plog grabbed the frog-monster by the shoulders. “You’re not a nit any more?”
“Correct!” Furp grinned. “And it’s all thanks to your bottoms!”
Zill groaned. “He’s not better at all. He might not be nitty, but he’s definitely nutty!”
“No, I’m not,” Furp insisted. “I assure you that Plog’s bottom did put me right.” He smiled at Frit and Bolli and looked around at the fans, taking in the situation in seconds. “So, you found my notes, hmm? But I fear you misunderstood them.”
“Did we?” Plog was puzzled. “Strong wind could be the answer, you said.”
“Yes,” said Furp impatiently. “I meant strong bottomly wind – such as the gas we’ve got after eating my slimy roast!” He bounced about in excitement. “Get on with tilting the fans towards those monsters down below. Quickly!”
With new enthusiasm, Plog, Zill and Danjo set to work, heaving at the fans’ heavy mounts. Frit and Bolli lent their strength as Furp went on explaining.
“I was trying to work it out,” he began, shouting to be heard over the whoosh of the fans and the yelling and banging of the masses below. “Why the Dirty Nappy Dunes and the Poo-nited States should stay unaffected when Klukk’s gas was working fine everywhere else. And then it hit me . . .”
Zill gasped. “Because those are the stinkiest places in Trashland?”
“Precisely,” Furp agreed. “A strong stink stops the spell.” He pointed at Maynard, who was pecking about on the roof edge, watching the fans as they spun. “When I broke wind back in the Slime-mobile, I thought Maynard seemed affected for a moment. But then he put his head back down the lav-lab’s loo where the air was fresher, and the moment – like the fart – was lost.”
The pounding on the tower doors had grown deafening – soon the rabble would break in. Teeth gritted, Plog and Frit aimed the final fan towards ground level. “So what we need to do . . .” Plog grunted, “is send a bad smell blowing through all of Trashland.”
“That’s right,” Furp agreed. “So stick your behinds in front of those fans and GET THOSE BOTTOMS BLAZING!”
Danjo grinned. “My rear’s in gear – I’ve been holding bad smells in for ages!” He pushed his bottom towards the fan and a loud raspberry blew above the din. The foul smell was whipped away by the super-spinning fan blades and went straight to work. A dozen monsters passed out at once! Many more began to look a bit wobbly on their feet. Within moments the banging on the door grew less insistent.
“What are we doing?” one said.
“Who did we want to get again?”
Zill clapped her paws. “It’s working!” She rushed over to the other side of the roof and squeezed between the fans. “Let me have a go . . .” Zill’s bottom out-performed Danjo’s in volume and smelliness – and no sooner had she popped than the fan’s gale propelled it into the mob far below.
“Hey!” A muscle-bound Choketowner frowned. “What gives?”
“Where’s my nice damp mattress?” asked a muddled mite. “What am I doing here?”
“How should I know?” said the polystyrene person beside him. “I’m just a talking lump of packaging!”
Furp hopped right on top of a fan, adjusted his round metal pants and let rip. “Keep going,” he urged his friends.
Bolli barged up to him. “I’m not a superhero, but would an ordinary fart help?”
“The smellier it gets around here, the better,” Furp assured him.
Bolli bared his bot and got busy too, while Frit yelled encouragement.
“Get those cheeks bursting, everybody!”
“Toot away to save the day!” Danjo agreed. But then he gulped and pointed to the sinister form of Lord Klukk striding through the town. “With that whopping great chicken on the way, it won’t be hard!”
Plog raised his tail and set his furry behind against a fan on the fourth side of the building. But after hours of trying to hold his bad air in, he found now that he couldn’t let out a single pop! “Come on, butt,” he muttered, straining away. “Don’t clam up on me now!” He looked at Furp. “Shall I take off my boots and stink them out with my slimy feet?”
“I’m afraid the smell needs to be a really toilety one,” Furp told him. “On this occasion, your rotten feet can’t help us!”
Luckily the efforts of the others were winning the day alone. The more Danjo, Zill and Furp bombarded the horde below with bottom blasts, the more the gas was overwhelmed. Klukk’s hypnotic hold on his victims was weakening. The shouts of “Destroy!” were being drowned out by shouts of “Why aren’t I in bed?” and “Isn’t that the Slime Squad?” and “Ooooh! A living piece of polystyrene!”
“Noooo!” Lord Klukk’s pained, chickenish squawk broke across the sky like thunder as the mountain-sized monster bore down on Choketown. “I won’t buk-buk-be buk-buk-beaten again! You may know the secret of defeating my hypno-gas buk-buk-but you will not live to tell of it!”
“Clear the area, everyone!” Frit bellowed. “Giant killer chicken coming through!”
Zill spat out slime-lines and used them as extra-long whips to help scatter the crowds. Danjo did the same with squirts of chilly slime. At the same time, Furp and Bolli helped Plog angle the fans upward again, pointing them towards Klukk and the huge wall of encroaching white smoke at his back.
“No! Stop that!” spluttered the chicken-beast, his hefty feathers rattling in the fierce wind. The gas cloud was torn apart and soon gusted away. The maggot-men clinging onto Klukk’s bloated body tried firing their gas grenades, then wailed helplessly as they were blown clear away, crash-landing amongst the fleeing monsters.
“Those maggot critters helped mess with your minds!” Frit bawled at the crowds. “Run them out of town!”
Since the monsters in the square were already running from the gigantic looming chicken, it was little effort for them to chase the maggots away as they did so.
“Curse you, Squaddies!” His beak set in an evil grimace, Klukk forced his way towards the tower as the tornado raged around him. “I shall wreck your fans and then crush you without mercy!”
“He’s getting closer,” Zill groaned.
“Perhaps we can boost the fans’ power?” Plog
suggested, his tum still gurgling.
But even as he spoke, the racing whoosh of the fans cut suddenly dead. The wind dropped in an instant.
Frit swapped a terrified look with Bolli. “The dang power’s cut off!”
“He did it!” Bolli pointed a fat red finger – at Maynard. “Him!”
“Of course!” Furp clutched his head. “Maynard smelled our blow-offs and turned back to normal too!”
“I turned off the fans, my lord!” the maggot-man yelled, climbing onto the edge of the roof. “Now you can get the Squaddies!”
Frit punched Maynard to the ground – but Klukk was already charging forwards through the now-empty courtyard, vast wings flapping. And a second later, his breathtaking beak had swung closed with a cringe-making crunch – around Plog!
Chapter Ten
GLORIOUS DEFEAT
Zill screamed and Danjo fired hot and cold slime at Klukk, but the mega-chunky chicken-monster only laughed through a beakful of prime Plog.
“Guys, get out of here!” Plog gasped and groaned as Klukk’s beak pressed down on his tender tummy. “Run! I’ll hold him off.” He struggled and kicked with all his strength at the inside of the massive yellow mouth, but it was like striking solid steel – CLANG! CLANG! CRACK!
Eh? Plog thought. Sounds like glass breaking.
“You furry flophead!” Klukk’s voice rang out all around him, dire and deafening. “Your oversized buk-buk-boots cracked my window! I shall squash you for that!”
Plog frowned. Why would he have a window inside his beak?
“Hey! Klukk’s voice isn’t muffled,” Furp realized. “Even though he’s chomping down on Plog!”
Plog moaned in agony. Earlier, he’d had no luck trying to fire up his bot – but with this monumental beak crushing his stomach, the pressure was building and building inside his gurgling, grumbling body until –