That was the first-glance impression of it, but the more Cal looked, the worse it got. It had no windshield. One of its legs was wonky. Rust patterned the driver’s door, chewing holes in the metal.
Years’ worth of dust could be seen through the gap where the windshield should have been, covering every surface like a layer of powdery snow. The lower of the two front seats was caked with a layer of yellow mush that had dried hard, then decayed into shades of orange and brown.
“You know what I’m thinking?” said Mech.
“That we should put this thing out of its misery?” Cal guessed.
“That we just solved our transportation problem.”
Cal looked at the truck.
He looked at Mech.
He looked at the truck again.
“You don’t mean this thing?”
“Of course I mean this thing! What else would I be talking about?”
“I don’t know, I thought maybe you’d found a map to a helicopter or something. We can’t take this!”
Mech shrugged. “Ain’t no-one gonna miss it.”
“No, I don’t mean for moral reasons,” said Cal. “I mean… look at it. Are we even sure it’s a vehicle? Couldn’t it just be a lot of other things that happen to be leaning against each other?”
“It’s an old trash barge, I think,” said Dave. He wilted once again when everyone looked at him. “For… for collecting trash.”
“Are you sure this isn’t just the contents, and the barge itself isn’t parked elsewhere?” Cal asked. “Because there is no way that thing is ever going to—”
The barge’s engine hummed into life. Splurt’s head popped up from behind the dash and he gave what Cal guessed was a thumbs-up, despite his total lack of thumbs.
“Well, it starts,” said Loren. She made a ‘cut’ gesture to Splurt, and he ducked down under the dash again.
The barge’s spotlights illuminated, blinding everyone with their brilliance. “Ow. Jesus. Turn them off,” Cal hissed.
The lights went out.
A horn blared.
“Shh. Shut up!” Loren yelped. She leaped onto the front of the barge and leaned inside. The engine cut off with a shudder and a cough.
“It has no wheels,” Cal pointed out.
“Because it hovers,” said Mech.
“And the windshield’s broken. And the back, where most of us are going to have to go, that’s completely exposed. Going out there in that thing – in the condition it’s in – it’s suicide.”
Dave shuffled on the spot, then opened his mouth. “Although…”
Cal’s eyes became saucers of surprise. “Stop right there, Dave, I know what you’re going to say,” he uttered, slightly breathlessly.
“You do?”
“Yes! And you’re right. You fonking genius!” Cal grinned and jabbed a finger towards the wreck of the garbage scow. “We are going to A-Team the shizz out of that thing!”
He turned to the others. “Guys, collect up all that scrap, grab some tools…” Cal’s face lit up, radiant with joy, like he’d been waiting for this moment for his entire life. “…and cue the montage music!”
Nobody moved. Cal sighed. “We’re going to turn it into a tank or an armored car or something. Using all this metal.”
“Oh,” said Loren, looking around them at the scrap. “Oh. Right. That’s not a bad idea, actually.”
Mech grunted, begrudgingly. “I guess I heard worse.”
Cal rocked on his heels. “Miz? What do you think?”
Miz, who had been sitting on a workbench, looked up at the sound of her name. “About what? I wasn’t listening.”
“About turning this thing into a tank.”
Miz looked past him to the trash barge. She shrugged. “Whatever.”
“That’s the spirit!” said Cal. “It was all Dave’s idea, you know?” he said to the room in general.
“Actually, I was going to suggest we try looking next door, in case there was one in better condition through there,” Dave said. “The A-Team thing was all you.”
“Ha!” Mech snorted.
Cal patted Dave on the shoulder. “I guess having you around just makes me smarter,” he said, then he picked up something he hoped was a blow torch, and held it at the most dramatic possible angle. “Space Team, let’s get to work!”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Splurt and Dave kept watch while the others worked. Having realized he didn’t know what any of the tools lying around actually did, aside from one he was reasonably sure was a hammer - although he’d been wrong about the welding torch, the saw and three different screwdrivers, so he wasn’t putting money on it – Cal had assigned himself a supervisory position, and set about guiding the others so they could bring his vision to life.
The thing they ended up with wasn’t exactly what he had pictured, but it wasn’t a million miles away. Mostly, this was because the others had completely disregarded his advice, and just applied a liberal helping of common sense to the job, instead.
The missing windshield had been replaced by sheets of corrugated space-iron (Mech had told him its actual name, but Cal preferred his own terminology) with slots cut into them to allow the driver and front passenger to see through.
Mech had bent several space-steel girders to form a battering ram at the front of the barge, while Loren had covered the skeleton of the flatbed with more space-iron sheets. Miz, meanwhile, had set about making the whole thing as harmful as possible to anyone who got too close. Rolls of razor-wire protected the sides, while dozens of rusty nails stuck upwards through the roof. Cal had urged her to add spinning blades to the wheels before she pointed out – again – that it didn’t have any.
It had taken longer than the A-Team style montage Cal had been anticipating – what he’d thought would be a fun three-minute interlude turned out, in fact, to be a noisy four-hour slog – but it was finally done, and they were ready to roll.
Or almost ready.
“How do we get in?” Dave asked.
Cal, Loren, Miz and Mech studied the armored trash barge. “What do you mean?” Cal asked.
“Well… I mean, it’s completely cocooned in razor wire and spikes,” Dave pointed out.
Cal, Loren, Miz and Mech studied the armored trash barge again. “Shizz,” said Cal. “He’s right.”
“Way to go, Miz,” said Loren.
“I told you what I was doing,” Miz retorted.
“You didn’t tell us you were wrapping it around the entire thing!” Loren bit back. “Including the doors.”
“Well I didn’t not tell you that, either!”
Cal got between them. It wasn’t a particularly wise move, but then very few of his moves ever were. “Look, it’s not a big deal. Mech, can you… you know, do something clever?”
“Something clever?” Mech regarded the tangle of razor wire for a moment, then tore it off in a single tug. “That clever enough?”
“That took me hours,” Miz protested.
“Yeah, well it was going to take us longer to get in,” Loren replied.
Miz crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “What-ever. That’s the last time I help do anything.”
“You promise?” Loren asked. “Can we get that in writing?”
Miz extended the middle fingers of both hands in Loren’s direction. As she did, her claws slowly and deliberately grew from the ends of them.
“OK, that one major design flaw aside, I think we did a pretty good job,” Cal said. Splurt appeared beside him, bobbing excitedly. “I know, not bad, is it, buddy?” He turned to Mech and Loren. “Is it ready to roll?”
“Almost,” said Mech. “I noticed the steering module is unseated. That needs to go back in, and I think we should probably reinforce the side walls. I don’t trust them not to fall in on us if anything hits them.”
Splurt jumped up and down on the spot in front of Cal, waving his stubby arms.
“Give me a sec, buddy, OK? Trying to listen to Mech here. You know, f
or once.”
“How long will that take?” Miz asked.
Mech shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe twenty minutes, if Loren gives me a hand.”
“And what? Like, ten if she doesn’t?” Miz asked.
Splurt punched Cal on the thigh. The impact made the little guy’s whole body ripple.
“Ow! Jesus! What was that for?” Cal asked, finally looking properly at Splurt. He was bouncing up and down again, gesturing wildly towards a small, grime-covered window.
Crossing to it, Cal wiped away some of the dirt with the side of his hand. At first, he saw nothing but what he thought was the blinding white light of the world outside. Then his eyes became more accustomed to it, and part of the white became a shock of green. Another part became a line of red. As Cal watched, it curved upwards, revealing two rows of dirty yellow teeth.
And then it dropped away out of sight below the window, and the street beyond was revealed. A gathering of twisted, deformed figures hobbled, crawled and skipped around out there, their grimaces and grins all stretched into freakish mockeries of themselves.
They were different shapes, sizes and colors, but they all had one thing in common. They were all looking back at Cal through the window.
“Uh, guys,” Cal whispered.
“What? What’s wrong?” asked Loren, who knew that tone of voice only too well by now. She joined Cal at the window. “Oh, shizz,” she muttered, just as the roll-up garage door rumbled like thunder, something hammering against it from the other side.
“Everyone on the truck,” Cal ordered.
“But it ain’t ready,” Mech warned.
“It’s as ready as it’s going to get. Everyone on. Now,” Cal said. “You guys get in the back. I’ll go up front with Loren.”
“What?” Miz groaned. “She’s not driving, is she?”
The garage door shook again. Something giggled, low and breathless. Thin, spindly fingers wriggled through the gap at the bottom. Shizz. Was it locked? Had anyone checked?
“Get in. Now,” Cal barked. “Take Splurt and Dave. Loren, with me.”
Loren bounded up the side of the cab, sprung from the lower door handle, and swung herself into the upper seat. Cal was midway through an undignified sprackle into the bottom cab when Loren’s voice came at him urgently.
“I think they’re coming through.”
Cal kicked, lunged, and tumbled into the cab just as the roll-up door began bending inwards under the weight of the clowns pushing against it. “Everyone aboard?” he hollered. Two thunks on the wall behind his head answered his question.
The engine fired up. The truck teetered unsteadily as it rose into the air, then immediately tilted left and slid towards a garage wall.
“Weight’s uneven,” Loren grimaced, wrestling with the wheel. “Mech, go right!” she cried.
There was a clanking of metal on metal, and the truck’s balance point shifted.
“Better?”
“Better!” Loren confirmed.
A loud, desperate screeching filled the garage as the door gave way, and a mass of thrashing, heaving bodies tumbled through. Loren slid the wheel hard right and several port thrusters ignited in a surprised-sounding whoosh.
Most of the bio-bots hadn’t yet made it back to their feet before the truck smashed into them, splitting several of them open like sacks of overripe fruit. Still the others laughed, though, their sniggers sliding in through the gaps in the corrugated space-iron and making Cal’s skin crawl.
He banged on the ceiling above his head. “Get us out of here, Loren,” he urged.
He needn’t have bothered. Before he was even midway through the sentence, the barge lurched forwards, its rear thruster setting a group of the clown-things ablaze. Cal was slammed back into his seat as Loren powered them partly through the gaping doorway, and partly through the wall, then he thudded against every available surface inside the cab as she spun them into a skid that left the barge pointing straight down the street.
“Nice driving!” Cal said.
Loren let out a breath she’d been holding in. “Thanks.”
“I mean, you almost took out an entire wall, and I’m pretty sure we’re facing the wrong way, but still.”
“What do you mean? How are we facing the wrong way?”
Cal leaned closer to the horizontal viewing slot cut in the metal sheeting. “Well, you see that building that’s on fire, and all those arrows? They should be behind us, not—”
Something screeched as it hurled itself at the shielded window. Cal caught a glimpse of colorfully painted eyes and a bulbous red nose through the slit, then he saw nothing but fingers and tongue as the monster tried to force its way through.
“Ah! Fonk off!” he yelped. He tried to slam the heel of his hands against the fingers, but the tongue flicked over and slobbered unpleasantly across his palm. He tried again with the other hand, but got another tongue-lashing for his trouble.
“Quit licking me, you weirdo,” he warned.
Loren hit the forward thrusters again and the barge screamed ahead. Cal pushed himself back in his seat as the thin black tongue waggled in the air in front of him, inching closer and closer, like a snake on the hunt.
And then Loren hit the brakes. Hard.
The bio-bot lost its grip. Or, more accurately, it lost its fingers. The sudden stop forced the sharp metal sheeting up through its hands, amputating eight of its digits, and a good fourteen inches of tongue.
All eight fingers landed on the floor. The tongue landed in Cal’s lap. He reacted like he’d been caught in the throes of a violent seizure, his body flapping limply and wildly as he attempted to remove the still-wriggling tongue without any other part of him touching it.
And then, just a moment later, the amputated bits all collapsed into a custardy yellow goo that dribbled down his inside thighs and pooled in the seat beneath him.
The barge accelerated rapidly again, then the back end swung out, spinning the whole vehicle in a full one-eighty, and bringing a chorus of thuds and oofs from the back.
“Sorry!” Loren called. “Forgot you guys were there.”
“That was totally on purpose,” Miz snapped.
Loren fought against her grin. “Well, maybe a little,” she whispered.
“You know I heard that,” Miz growled.
Mech’s voice boomed out, extinguishing the argument before it could properly begin. “More of those ugly motherfonkers coming after us. Go, go, go.”
“Going. Everyone hold on,” Loren warned, as she revved the engine and peered ahead through the narrow gap in the metal. “This might get a little bumpy.”
She launched them onwards, misjudged the first turn, and took a chunk out of the corner of the final building on the street. From the back, there came another series of thumps, even heavier than the last ones.
“Worst. Driver. Ever!” Miz barked.
Loren blushed. “Or, you know, a lot bumpy.”
“Hey, don’t listen to her,” Cal called. “You’re doing great.”
Metal screeched as the flatbed part of the barge scraped along the wall, throwing sparks out behind them.
“Ish,” Cal added, then he reached for his seatbelt, realized he didn’t have one, and prepared himself for the very real possibility of death.
* * *
After the initial onslaught of clown-bots, the truck trundled through the streets more or less unmolested for several dozen blocks. Cal experienced a brief moment of all-consuming terror when the wall behind his head was punctured and partially ripped open, before he realized it was only Mech making what the cyborg described as ‘a window’ but what Cal was reasonably sure was simply ‘a big hole’.
“See anything?” Mech asked.
Cal leaned closer to the viewing slot, but was careful to remain beyond licking distance, just in case anything was out there biding its time. He saw a widescreen-ratio view of some burned-out buildings, and wondered for a moment if Loren had taken them in circles.
He
soon spotted the wreckage of some kind of flying vehicle – a spaceship, maybe, although it would have to have been a small one – partially embedded in one of the buildings, and partly strewn all over the ground. If the trash barge had had wheels, they would have been well and truly stuck, unable to continue along the street. Fortunately, they were able to glide effortlessly above it, bumping into barely eight or nine large, easily-avoidable chunks of debris along the way.
“It’s not as simple as it looks, OK?” Loren called down, before anyone could say anything.
“I’ll bet it isn’t,” Cal shouted up to her. He lowered his voice and turned his face to the window/gaping hole in the back wall. “Although it looks pretty fonking simple.”
“What did you say?” Loren asked.
“Nothing!”
“He said it looks totally easy,” Miz chipped in. “He thinks a kid could do it. And, like, not even a smart kid. A really dumb kid. With no hands.”
“I did not say any of that,” Cal said.
“No, but you were thinking it,” said Miz, her lips pulling up into a smirk.
“Well… maybe not the no hands part.”
He turned further, so he could see deeper into the back of the barge. The walls and roof they’d added cast the whole flatbed area into rich shadow that was eased only by a thin shafts of light that came in through viewing slots cut into the metal sheeting.
Mech stood on the right-hand side of the truck, while Miz was slouching over on the left. Dave sat all the way at the rear, his back against the wall, a shell-shocked look on his face.
“You OK, Dave?” Cal asked.
Dave blinked, as if waking from a dream, and pulled together something like a smile. “Uh, yeah. Yeah. It’s just… not the vacation I expected.”
“Better, right?” said Cal, grinning.
Dave hesitated. “Different,” he said, as diplomatically as possible.
“If you don’t want to come, we can drop you off any time you like,” Mech said, not looking at him.
Cal frowned. “Jesus. What is your problem?”
“He’s jealous,” said Miz.
“You’re jealous?” Cal asked.
Mech ground his jaws together. “Are you nuts? Of course I ain’t jealous. I just…” He shook his head. “It’s nothing. It’s just been a long day, that’s all.”
Space Team: Planet of the Japes Page 16