by Tony Lewis
It was while she was trying to locate the source of a particularly exuberant set of running appendages that she noticed, away in the distance, what looked like lights in a building. This struck her as bizarre because the only structures that she knew about out here were Jocular’s castle and the werehouse, and both of those were in the other direction.
“I wonder if anyone else knows anything about that?” she said to herself. “Somebody must do, I suppose.” She reckoned it was good few miles away, so she slowed down and put the broomstick in park and hovered expertly whilst she had a smoke break. I’m going to have a look at that, she decided, flicking the fag end to the floor below after taking a last lungful. She put the stick into drive and headed off in the direction of the strange lights.
* * *
Cowan sat behind his desk. His chair was pushed back, his legs stretched out in front of him and his hands clasped behind his head. A thick black cigar rested between his clenched teeth, its tip glowing brightly and emitting tendrils of wispy smoke that snaked lazily towards the ceiling. He was in a good mood. In fact, he was in a terrific mood after his latest update from Meredith. The diminutive doctor usually enraged the soldier on sight, but as of this moment he was actually feeling pleasantly disposed towards the man. It looked like, at last, his mission here was drawing to a long overdue but successful conclusion. Not twenty minutes ago, Meredith had come to his office with the news that not only was the werewolf gene stable, but it was looking as if the invisibility specimen was heading in the same direction. If that truly was the case, then the return trip home would be upon him very soon. He had already contacted his superiors and informed them of the glad tidings. He also told them that he would be travelling with two extra people in tow. Obviously there was no way that he could let the two subjects leave. On reflection it had seemed to him and Meredith, that to dispose of them would be risky, and more importantly, wasteful. As the doctor had explained to him, harnessing the DNA samples had been an extremely difficult process, but synthesising a steady supply of it would require decades of research and experimentation. It made more sense to keep the donors in captivity so that samples could be harvested as and when required. It also meant that they would have a virtually inexhaustible supply of product, and once back home they could begin the human trials straight away.
At first, Cowan had been annoyed at Meredith for being right and for thinking ahead before himself but, ultimately, it was he who would receive the plaudits for the success and a not inconsiderable boost to his career, whilst the doc would spend the next few years languishing in a lab in some remote location staring at test tubes.
All in all, he thought, the future and his in particular, was looking bright. He chewed heavily on the cigar and pulled the smoke deep into his lungs, relishing the smooth bitterness as it infiltrated his system. He sat forward and pressed the intercom button on his desk.
“Travis.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Start making arrangements to wrap up here. When everything is set, let me know.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And allow room for a couple of extra passengers. The meat is coming with us. Nothing too comfortable, though.”
“Understood.”
“Carry on, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir.”
He gazed through the window to the forest outside. If he never came back to this place, it would be just fine with him. He finished his smoke and stubbed it out. It was time to get organised.
* * *
For the second time in the last couple of days, the four companions found themselves wandering through the Skullenian woods, only this time they did have more of an idea of what they were supposed to be doing. Of course, that was like giving a four year old a set of crayons and asking them to carry on where Leonardo Da Vinci left off as a homework project, but at least they were trying.
If it was at all possible, the woodland that they were struggling through seemed to be getting denser every couple of minutes. It was a constant battle against whipping branches, coiled tree roots and stinging leaves that all seemed to come at you no matter which direction you were heading in.
Still, when all was said and done, they were nothing if not enthusiastic. Well, three of them were. Stitches was rapidly losing any and all interest in their nocturnal ramble, and groaned inwardly as he stared at the lunar lit forest stretching away before them.
“I don’t want to moan or anything,” he said, “but how much further are we going?”
Ollie kept on walking but turned his head so he could answer.
“I don’t know. All we do know is that something’s been going on out here, and I can’t think of a better way of trying to get to the bottom of it than this. Can you?”
“Well, I can actually.”
“Go on then.”
“Yes, Stitches,” added Obsidia who was off to their left, accompanying Flug. “Do tell.”
“Umm, we could, umm, no, actually if we, no that won’t work, let’s see what about, no, far too messy…”
“Stitches,” interrupted Ollie.
“What.”
“Be quiet. This is how it needs to be done, so you might as well get on with it.”
“Whatever,” came the reply in a rather truculent tone.
“Anyway, we’ve only been out for an hour,” Ollie pointed out encouragingly.
“An hour and a quarter actually,” said Stitches.
“My. Listen to the chairman of the pedantic society.”
“Vice chairman, actually.”
Obsidia stopped in her tracks and turned to face them both, hands planted firmly on her hips. Even in the dim light they could see the look of intense displeasure clouding her beautiful features. She did look gorgeous when she was angry, though.
“Gentlemen, if I might remind you of why we are undertaking this search. Some of my friends are missing and I’m very keen to see them again or, if the worse comes to the worst, at least discover their fate. Now, whilst I appreciate your help more than you’ll ever know, if you can’t stop bickering like a married couple then I’ll just get on by myself.”
Ollie and Stitches stared at the ground, both thoroughly ashamed of themselves for upsetting Obsidia and possibly making a mockery of the job in hand.
“Sorry,” said Ollie.
“Sorry,” said Stitches.
“Sorry,” said Flug.
“You don’t have anything to be sorry about,” said Obsidia when she saw the monsters worried face. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Oh, okay. Wot pedantic mean?”
“It means being picky over details,” she explained.
“Ah. And da top hat as well.”
Obsidia looked slightly confused at this. “Pardon.”
“Dat’s wot Stitches say when it time for da boss to go to vampire parties. He get very picky over da top hat and da tails. Stitches say wot he worried about anyway cos he look like a fat penguin dat need a built up shoe and leg brace.”
Ollie pursed his pale lips together and stared daggers at the zombie. If looks could kill, then a certified murdering machine had just come into existence.
“That was once, and it wasn’t my fault that those shoes were too tight,” he said.
Stitches was lamenting the fact that of all the snippets of conversation that Flug had heard since he had known him, he chose now to remember one. He was about to retort to the allegation when he caught sight of Obsidia staring right at him. Her eyebrows were raised and she was wagging an insistent index finger at him.
“Just a little joke. I apologise,” he said with all the sincerity of a mugger doing community service.
“Okay then,” Ollie responded with all the graciousness of the same mugger performing whatever crime had landed him with community service in the first place.
“Right,” Obsidia said, bringing the little episode to a conclusion. She grabbed Flug’s hand and headed off once more. “Shall we continue?”
A further
three quarters of an hour later saw the hardy group of investigators deep into the bowels of the forest. The going was now extremely tough, so much so that Flug, with the assurances from the three others that there was definitely nothing to be afraid of, was leading the way using his tremendous bulk to barge through any herbaceous obstacles that he encountered, thus clearing a path for the others to follow. This did make things a lot easier, but the slow pace and the lack of results had started to get to everyone, apart from Obsidia who was as cheery as ever and seemed intent on keeping the flagging spirits of the group elevated. At one point she even gave Stitches a hefty slap on the backside after he had to reattach his left foot due to getting it trapped in a gnarly tree root without realising, and ended up flat on his face when he tried to take his next step.
Flug crashed through a particularly large and overgrown bush and stopped in his tracks.
“Dere dey is,” he whispered.
“Who?” responded Ollie, straining to see over Flug’s beam like shoulder.
“Da witches dat I see de uvver night when me wiv Ronnie.”
He pointed a King Kong - like finger in the appropriate direction as the others looked on with interest.
About one hundred and fifty yards away a building stood in a clearing. It was three storeys high and about three hundred feet long and, unless you were as close as they were now, you never would have had a clue that it was there. It was painted a khaki green colour and the few windows that it had seemed to reflect the moonlight perfectly, suggesting that they were mirrored to prevent anyone outside seeing what was going on inside. A large silver tank outside suggested that the building had a self-contained power supply for the generator that could be heard faintly humming somewhere in the compound. And there, at what was no doubt the entrance to the facility, was what Flug had been pointing at. Two men dressed in fatigues and carrying weapons were stationed on guard duty at the double steel doors. They were both tall and powerfully built, the uniforms stretched taut over their bulging physiques.
“They’re bloody soldiers,” gasped Stitches quietly. “What the hell are they doing here?”
Ollie motioned for them all to crouch down and get out of sight.
“I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I’d stake my life on the fact that their being here and the disappearances are connected,” he said.
“Really?”
“Well, what else. And I’m guessing that’s the reason Ronnie’s gone as well. I bet he heard or saw something that he shouldn’t have and got picked up to keep him quiet.”
Obsidia placed a hand on Ollie’s shoulder and whispered in his ear, but loud enough to be heard by the others.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’m as keen as you to get in there and find our friends. I’ve got a suggestion.”
“Go on,” said Ollie.
“If you guys stay here, I’ll sneak around the perimeter and do a reccy. Once I’ve established the layout I’ll come back and we can formulate a plan of attack from there. Agreed?”
Ollie was a little reticent about Obsidia going off by herself, but then he remembered that out of all of them she was probably the most capable of taking care of herself. If any problems arose there was no doubt that she could handle them, whether in human form or otherwise.
“Okay, but be extra careful,” Ollie stated forcefully. “We don’t want to have to add your name to the list of the missing.”
“I’ll be fine.”
With that she scrambled away, keeping low to the ground and in ten seconds the forest had swallowed her up completely.
Stitches dropped down onto his backside and looked keenly at the building in front of them.
“I hope she knows what she’s doing,” he mused.
“She’ll be fine. It makes sense and it’s better than us crashing through the trees like a herd of bison and giving ourselves away.”
The zombie nodded in a conciliatory fashion. “I suppose so. Flug is loud enough to shatter a mountain.”
“Exactly.”
They sat in silence with their backs to the compound for another ten minutes, hidden behind the safety of the bush until the all-encompassing silence was disturbed by the barely audible rustle of the undergrowth off to the side.
“Hi, boys,” whispered Obsidia as she re-joined them at their hiding place.
“That was quick,” observed Stitches. “You must have flown round.”
“Silly boy,” she said, smiling and touching him gently on the back of the hand. “It’s easy when you know your way around.”
“So, what’s next?” asked Ollie eager to get on.
“That’s easy. The area at the rear isn’t very well guarded and there’s another door round there. There’s a gap in the fence just opposite, so if we sneak round and creep through I reckon Flug will be able to get us in.”
“Mmmm. Sounds a bit risky to me, if I’m honest.”
“No one said that this was going to be a breeze and totally without uncertainty, but I think it’s justified weighed up against what we’re trying to accomplish.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Stitches. “And anyway, who wants to live forever?”
“We don’t have any choice in the matter, we’re undead. The prospect of nursing a severe injury for eternity doesn’t appeal, thank you very much, but I take your point,” said Ollie.
Flug raised his hand into the air and looked forlornly at Ollie.
“How many times do I have to tell you,” said Ollie, “you don’t have to put your hand up every time you want to say something. We’re not at nursery school, Flug.”
“Just as well, he’d never keep up with the workload,” said Stitches.
“Shut up. Go on, Flug.”
“I miss Ronnie. Want him to come home.”
“I know.”
“He my friend. He look after me when we go out. He buy me sweeties.”
I bloody knew it, thought Ollie. I’ve told that invisible idiot a hundred times not to give him sugar. No wonder he gets hyper.
“I like Chocolate Knobs.”
“That’s…”
“And Fruit Bats.”
“Could you…”
“But Wizard’s Sleeves are my favourites.”
Ollie put a hand over Flug’s mouth in a bid to keep him quiet. “Stop naming sweets. I get the idea.”
Stitches had both hands clasped over his own mouth in an effort to contain the raucous laugh that was threatening to escape and expose them all. “Whoever heard of Wizards Sleeves? I bet they’re on the shelf next to the Clowns Pock…”
“It’s time to go, gentlemen,” said Obsidia, bringing the confectionery based conversation to a conclusion.
It was only then, as he made to follow her into the trees, that Ollie noticed that the two guards from the front of the building had vanished. He thought that maybe they were on a break, but then thought that it didn’t make sense for them both to go at the same time, leaving the entrance insecure. Maybe they didn’t have the amount of personnel stationed here that he had first feared. Ah well, onward.
At Obsidia’s insistence they stayed low to the ground, almost skirmishing their way through the undergrowth, whilst at the same time trying to maintain total silence, which wasn’t easy when every movement meant a pine needle or a splinter of wood tried burying itself into the squidgier parts of your body (this is just a fact of life. Go to the sea side, you end up with sand in your pants for a week. Visit the leisure centre, and you’ll stink of chlorine and be finding other people’s dark, curly hairs in your clothes for ages. This unnatural attraction for annoying little particles to end up on your body can not be explained, it just happens. That’s why you never see animals at the beach or the swimming pool. They’re smarter than you think. You won’t ever find a gorilla with a towel between his legs, rubbing furiously because he’s itching like mad after a paddle).
They spent fifteen minutes skirting the periphery of the compound when Obsidia raised a hand, indicating that they shoul
d stop. She pointed to her left. When they had all regrouped, she explained the next stage of the operation.
“We couldn’t see it from over the other side, but there’s a wire fence encircling the whole complex and lucky for us, there just happens to be a handy Flug sized hole in it.”
Stitches nodded in agreement. “Thank God for that. I wouldn’t fancy trying to squeeze him through. It’d be like trying to get toothpaste back into the tube.”
Ollie stared at the holey fence. For some strange reason, he was starting to feel a little uneasy. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it revolved around the fact that this all seemed a bit too simple. Not that there was anything particularly wrong with simple. He dealt with it day in and day out, but he could not shake the feeling that something just wasn’t right. Nerves maybe, he concluded.
“I’ll go through first,” said Obsidia, and with that she clambered gracefully through the fence. Stitches was next, followed by Flug, with Ollie bringing up the rear. Once inside the perimeter, Obsidia laid out what they were going to do next.
“We need to make our way round to the other side. That’s where the other entrance is. Follow me and stay low and quiet.”
They crawled along behind her in a line, in the same order that they had come through the fence. Stitches was more than happy with this arrangement as he had a lovely view of Obsidia’s shapely hindquarters as she stalked silently along like a cat hunting its prey. Ollie, on the other hand, had the pleasure of following Flug, whose rear end wasn’t quite as curvaceous as the aforementioned feline-like Obsidia. From Ollie’s point of view it was more like being on a small dinghy with a container ship coming right at you.
They had gone about fifty yards when, all of a sudden and to their great shock and surprise, Obsidia stood up and turned to face them. Instantly, the whole area was bathed in a brilliant white glow as a high powered search light was activated. Ollie was just about to ask what on earth she thought she was doing in some very colourful language, when he noticed that there were two other figures stood behind her. They were both tall and powerfully built, their uniforms stretched taut over their bulging physiques. The exact same description as…