Slime Squad vs the Conquering Conks

by Steve Cole

  Plog smiled at Countess Kiss. “Good.”

  “But the test was still a success,” the first one went on. “Of the two hundred monsters we splatted in the valley, only twelve were able to free themselves. Of the twenty cars we attacked, not one escaped. From the sixty-eight houses we sealed with our snot, only one family made it out through a loose chimney pot.”

  “Excellent,” El Conko declared. “Now we know the true effectiveness of our nose-cement, we shall attack Trashland in force. We will drive the monsters out, or stick them where they stand, or seal them inside their cars or buildings until they starve to death. Then we shall bulldoze their world, until not a single home is left standing.” He stood up on his throne, nostrils quivering. “Finally, we will force Furp the clever chemist to mix up a super-deadly concoction that will poison the entire rubbish dump. Never again will Trashland be able to support life!”

  “Even by my standards, that’s pretty low,” said Countess Kiss. “I mean, what happens to you?”

  “We shall die too, of course,” said El Conko proudly. “Our work will be done.”

  Plog turned to the countess. “I think it’s time we put our pongy plan into action,” he growled. “Frankly, El Conko and his schnozz brigade are getting right up my nose!”

  Defying the tissue that held him, Plog kicked out his legs like a can-can dancer. His wet metal boots flew off across the throne room and El Conko stared as, almost immediately, thick, putrid slime began to pour from Plog’s toes. A shocking reek of yucky feet filled the air.

  “There!” Plog smiled wickedly. “How d’you nose-hopers like that?”

  “And now it’s my turn.” Before the stunned Conks could react, Countess Kiss used her sharp claws to tear through her own tissue and grabbed hold of El Conko. “Come here, handsome – and let me plant a killer kiss on you!”

  “That’s the way, you two!” cried Furp excitedly, watching Plog flick yellow toe-jam all around the throne room. “Noses that size must be super-sensitive. When they’re forced to sniff such a powerful pong they’ll—”

  “LOVE IT!” bellowed El Conko, pushing Countess Kiss away as the last Attack Tissue in his personal box floated out to grab her. “Mmmm! I knew capturing you was a good idea.” He got down on his knees and happily sniffed the foot-slime on the floor. “And you too, Plog. What a delicious niff! What a heaven-sent scent!”

  “I . . . I don’t get it,” Plog gasped as his tissue forced him back into his boots and propelled him forward to join Countess Kiss, leaving the other Conks to swoon at the slime-stains he’d left on the floor. “We thought you wanted to catch us because you were scared of our smells.”

  “Fool!” El Conko hissed as he rose to his hairy feet. “We wanted your smells. We prize them above all others – because a horrible pong makes our snot twice as STRONG! And with such powers, our Great Quest cannot fail.”

  A sudden sniffing noise started up in the passage behind Furp. It sounded like one of the conk-creatures, only ten times as loud. And whatever was making it was coming closer.

  “Uh-oh,” Furp murmured, and even his tissue guard trembled. “What’s that?”

  El Conko smiled. “It would take far too long to splat every monster in Trashland on our own – the population might work together to defeat us. Luckily, a few of Doctor Gunk’s nose-scrapings fell near some very toxic waste indeed . . . and created a mutant masterpiece of sinister super-nature!”

  Plog gulped, Countess Kiss boggled and Furp jumped into the air as a gigantic, pinkish-green Conk-monster came waddling in on ten pairs of short, fat, hairy legs. Its nostrils were huge black holes, trailing thick black hairs. It had only one eye, big and bloodshot, perched on the broad bridge of its bumpy, lumpy body.

  “Behold, the Special Weapons Nose!” cried El Conko. “Soon to be the ultimate destroyer of all Trashland!”

  Chapter Eight

  NOT TO BE SNIFFED AT

  Plog stared in dismay at the Special Weapons Nose. Even the other Conks looked afraid as it lurched ever closer. “That thing is reeeeeee-volting!”

  “And completely deadly,” El Conko gloated. “It can fire bogeys as big as a bungalow, and make enough snot to smother skyscrapers.” He leered at Plog and Countess Kiss. “Once it has fully absorbed the horrific stinks you two can make, its nose-goo will be twenty times as strong. Trashland will be slimed to a standstill, and then levelled to the ground – and the Conks will stand triumphant!”

  “Furp,” cried Plog, “we’ve got to do something . . .” He trailed off. “Furp?”

  The Special Weapons Nose was lurching closer, but of the frog-monster there was no sign. The tissue-guard who’d held him was now quaking on the floor, apparently overcome with terror.

  “Curse these disposable Attack Tissues!” El Conko raged. “They wear out too quickly on victims with superpowers. Now I’ll have to open a fresh box . . .”

  “Plog, look!” Countess Kiss pointed to the large square door last used by the Test Zone Conks: it stood ajar. “Your friend has run off and left us.”

  “Furp wouldn’t do that,” Plog insisted.

  “Whatever he’s up to, he won’t get far.” El Conko signalled to the Test Zone Conks. “Pursue Furp LeBurp. Bring him back at once.”

  As the Conks saluted and scuttled off to obey, El Conko stomped over to the tissue who’d been Furp’s former captor and kicked it. “You gutless rag! You know the punishment for failure . . .” He whistled to the Special Weapons Nose.

  The monstrous beast sent out a long hair from its nostril, grabbed the tissue, and then sucked it inside.

  Nasty chewing noises soon followed, and Plog cringed.

  “Is that what will happen to us?” asked Countess Kiss shakily.

  “Nothing so quick,” hissed El Conko. “You will be sniffed inside and stuck in the Special Weapons Nose’s nostrils until he has sucked all the stink out of you. Only then will you be chewed and swallowed.”

  “Furp had the right idea,” said the Countess gloomily, “escaping like that.”

  But suddenly the square door opened a crack, and Furp hopped merrily through. “Hello again! Sorry for popping out. Have I missed anything?”

  The Special Weapons Nose rumbled ominously, and El Conko’s horrid features twisted in fury. “I sent my Conks to catch you. How did you avoid them?”

  “Oh, quite easily.” Furp hopped onto a pillar and climbed to the top with his slimy hands and feet. “To be honest, I think your Conks are feeling a bit run down – or should I say, run over!”

  All at once Plog heard the muffled roar of a powerful engine – and then a barely-visible blur smashed down the door and burst into the throne room.

  “The Slime-mobile!” he cheered. “Here to save us in the nick of time!”

  “The radar dish on my helmet detected that the Slime-mobile was close by,” Furp yelled. “I knew Zill and Danjo must be out looking for us – so I thought I’d better hop outside and show them the hidden way into the Conk base!”

  “Brilliant! I knew you hadn’t run away.” With sudden hope lending him fresh strength, Plog pushed out his chest and tore his tissue captor in two. “Countess, get ready to jump aboard!”

  “I can’t,” Countess Kiss groaned, struggling against the white sheet that held her. “This fresh tissue may be soft, but by golly, it’s strong!”

  “You cannot escape!” bellowed El Conko. He fired green globs at Plog, who dived for cover behind the throne. Meanwhile, pillars and Conks were smashed aside as the Slime-mobile sped about, turning tightly this way and that.

  The Special Weapons Nose sniffed and snorted as if tracking the truck by scent alone, and raised its enormous bulk, ready to fire. SPLAMM! SPLUTT! Titanic twin explosions of super-sticky sludge erupted from its mighty nostrils. There was a squeal of brakes as the Slime-mobile changed course and bashed into El Conko! The bogey blast struck the wall instead, almost knocking it down.

  “Careful where you fire!” El Conko bawled groggily. “Do you want to bring th
e Broken Glass Beach down on our heads?”

  Plog sighed with relief as the Slime-mobile pulled up beside him and Danjo threw open the door. “Did someone order a taxi?”

  “Get us out of here!” cried Furp, then jumped down onto the Slime-mobile’s invisible roof and swung himself inside. “Come on, Plog!”

  Plog threw the still-struggling countess over his shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he told her, “we’ll get you free of this snotty straitjacket.”

  But then a nostril-hair snaked out from the Special Weapons Nose and quickly wound itself around Countess Kiss’s bare feet. With a hungry bellow, it yanked her right out of Plog’s grasp! Kicking and screaming, the countess was dragged across the throne-room floor towards the humungous nose.

  “Countess!” Plog gasped. He was about to chase after her when a second nose-hair came shooting out towards him.

  Danjo quickly grabbed Plog and hauled him inside the Slime-mobile. Immediately Zill floored the accelerator and the monster-truck shot off through the square exit, heading for the surface.

  “Glad to have you back!” called Zill.

  “But what about Countess Kiss?” Plog shook his head sadly. “She’ll be stuck inside the Special Weapons Nose. I know she’s been bad in the past, but we can’t just leave her there, all alone!”

  “We’ve got troubles of our own!” Furp pointed through the windscreen. “Those Test Zone Conks Zill knocked down on the way here – they’re back on their feet.”

  “And they can hear us coming!” Danjo realized.

  Plog saw a gang of twelve Conks blocking the passage ahead. High-powered splats shot from their nostrils, smothering their path in bubbling gunk.

  “That stuff will stop us in our tracks,” Furp cried.

  “Hey, Danjo,” Zill yelled as the Slime-mobile zoomed closer to the sticky puddle. “What happens if I turn turbo-mode to full power?”

  “Dunno.” Danjo grinned. “But I can’t wait to find out!”

  “Here goes . . .” Zill twisted the button, and with a WHOOSH of rocket jets the Slime-mobile shot forward, so fast it left the ground!

  “Whoaaa!” Plog, Furp and Danjo were thrown around like wasps in a whirlwind as their vehicle went soaring over the snot-puddle and the Conks in its path, before landing with a clattering, shattering ker-CRASH!

  “Awesome!” Danjo clapped his pincers together. “What a ride!”

  “And here’s Broken Glass Beach, dead ahead.” Zill steered the Slime-mobile out of the tunnel into the sunlit, sharp-edged landscape. “Let’s just hope we don’t get a puncture.”

  “Zill, Danjo, that was a fine rescue.” Furp sank down against his lab bench. “But what are we going to do now? We may have escaped the Conks, but we can’t stop them. Their assault on Trashland could start at any moment.”

  “What’s more, Countess Kiss’s bog-awful breath is making that jumbo schnozzle stronger all the time,” said Plog. “We need to get her out of there for our own sake as much as hers. But how?”

  “The Nosepick Ocean unsticks their nose-goo,” Furp mused. “That’s why they’ve locked all its waters away in that giant underground tank. If we could only get hold of some, we’d be able to free their victims.”

  “But we can’t get hold of any, can we?” Zill muttered. “There’s nothing left on the surface.”

  Suddenly a loud, gurgly rumble sounded from Danjo’s tum. “Sorry” – he shrugged – “Furp’s mucking about with those silly human spices meant we skipped breakfast this morning, remember?”

  “I’d forgotten that,” breathed Plog. “Breakfast . . .” He clapped his hands together. “Yes, of course, that’s the answer!”

  “Huh?” Zill was puzzled. “You want to invite El Conko round for cockroach legs on toast?”

  “Not exactly.” Plog grinned round at his friends. “I want you and Danjo to hand me and Furp back to the Conks as quickly as possible – ideally before El Conko cracks open a new box of attack tissues.”

  “Surrender, you mean?” spluttered Furp. “My dear Plog, are you feeling all right in the head?”

  “It’s the feeling in my snout I’m thinking of,” said Plog.

  “Well, I hope you nose what you’re doing, Fur-boy,” Zill sighed. “Because this could be the last thing you’ll ever do!”

  Chapter Nine

  SURRENDER!

  Back in the throne room, El Conko was gathering his Conk strike-force around him. There were twenty of the mutant hooters in all, sniffing, snorting and snuffling.

  They did not make a pretty sight.

  The Special Weapons Nose sat in a corner, slurping on Countess Kiss like a baby with a dummy – only her feet could be seen sticking out of his right nostril. The tough Test Zone Conks looked a bit bruised after their smash-up with the Slime-mobile, but were otherwise unharmed. The rest of the nose-monsters stood there, pink and oily, gazing at their leader with adoring eyes.

  “The Slime Squad have escaped,” El Conko growled at the assembled Conks. “They will warn Trashland’s monsters of our coming attack – so we must strike at once!”

  The assembled Conks honked their approval.

  “But, El Conko,” said the burly schnozz who’d led the attack on Plog and Countess Kiss in Spare Part Canyon, “don’t we need Plog’s foot-slime to boost the Special Weapons Nose’s powers to the maximum – and Furp’s powers of chemistry to ensure that no life will ever return to Trashland?”

  “We will recapture them soon enough,” said El Conko. “The Slime Squad are bound to try to stop our attack – and we shall CRUSH them!”

  Just then, the sound of someone clearing his throat carried from the square doorway. The Conks turned as one . . . and found Zill and Danjo peeping into the room!

  “Er, sorry to interrupt,” called Zill. She held a trailing slime-line in her front paws. “We’d like to talk to you.”

  “You dare to return to the Palace of Conks?” El Conko snorted, and his band of Conk-brothers sniffed in outrage. “You are more foolish than I thought.”

  “We were foolish, trying to fight you,” Danjo said quickly. “But Plog believes that if we help you, you’ll let us live.”

  El Conko glared at the Squaddies. “Does he, now?”

  Danjo reached back through the doorway and picked up Furp by the scruff of the neck. The frog-monster seemed asleep, dangling limply from his friend’s crimson pincer. At the same time, Zill tugged on her slime-strand and Plog shuffled out from round the corner. The sticky rope was wrapped round and round his middle, and a blob of Danjo’s slime-ice sat on the end of his nose.

  At the sight of their former captives, the Conks started to snarl.

  “So!” hissed El Conko. “The Slime Squad surrenders to the power of the Conks.”

  “Furp and I will do whatever you want,” said Plog, sounding bunged up with the ice on his nose. “As long as you promise to let Danjo and Zill get away with the All-Seeing PIE before the destruction starts.”

  “You want me to promise, Plog?” El Conko sniggered. “Well then, I promise to punish you and Furp for trying to escape. I promise to destroy Zill and Danjo for the trouble they have caused. And I promise to smash PIE to smithereens just as our Creator thought he had done – sensor by sensor.” He flared his roomy nostrils. “Get them, my Conks! Ruin and death to those who defy us!”

  The enraged killer Conks swarmed and snuffled across the throne room. Even the Special Weapons Nose took an interest, rising from the ground, its one free nostril twitching.

  Zill quickly stuck a peg on her nose. “You were right, Fur-boy. Here come the Conks to get us, just as you predicted.”

  Still gripped in Danjo’s pincer, Furp opened one eye and stuffed cotton wool up his nostrils. “Well, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “And so am I,” said Danjo, before holding his breath.

  “Good luck, you lot,” said Plog, checking his snout was still frozen as the Conks charged ever closer. “Operation ‘Bless You’ is GO!”

  And sudde
nly Danjo hurled Furp through the air, over the heads of the charging noses. At the same split-second, Zill yanked hard on her slime-line; it unwound from around Plog’s middle and sent him spinning into the ranks of the charging Conks at super-fast speed.

  And as he spun and scattered his nosy foes, a fine dark dust flew out of his fur in all directions. The same fine dark dust that was already sprinkling through strategic holes drilled into Furp’s metal pants . . .

  The effect of this powder on the Conks was astounding. They stopped in their tracks. Their eyes flickered shut. They took uncertain breaths, sniffing and choking and reeling in all directions. Even the Special Weapons Nose began to twitch as Furp sailed overhead, and the soggy countess up his nostril began to kick her legs.

  “What’s wrong with you all?” boomed El Conko as Furp landed on a nearby pillar and shook his pants over the throne. “Attack! Attack! A . . . Ahh . . . AAA-TISH-OOOO!”

  The regal Conk sneezed so hard he sprayed green gloop all over his own feet – gluing himself to the floor. “No!” he shouted, struggling to lift his hairy legs from the unpleasant puddle. “Release me, one of you . . . Ahhh-CHOOO!”

  But his sneeze, like his cry for help, went unheeded. Because, all around him, his Conks were sneezing uncontrollably too! Huge, juddering, shuddering sneezes that sent bogeys bursting from their nostrils at a billion miles an hour. The Special Weapons Nose’s single eye was gummed shut by slimy drizzle from the neighbouring noses.

  “What’s happening?” El Conko groaned, his eyes running, his lumpy pink body turning puce as he sneezed yet again. “What?”

  “You wanted Plog and Furp,” Zill yelled, grinning with delight in the doorway, “so we gave them to you. We just happened to roll them in a big bowl of pepper first!”