Sombre

by S. B. Norton

  As if picking up a scent, Halliday’s nostrils flared - she could feel her Morphia yearning to rise to the surface.

  “Dave, that is Ether! Get me up there!”

  Halliday felt the fast, heavy breathing, her jaw distorting, pain in the eye sockets, her face burned, tearing pain shot down her legs as every ligament pulled. The Morphia threw itself around, pulling on the chains. It growled, “UP! GET ME UP!”

  S

  “Jesus! She’s a hideous looking thing isn’t she!”

  Ignoring Drew Drucker’s take on The Morphia, Recalcitrance turned to Dave. “One hook or two?”

  “One - it’ll be easier to shake her from the plane,” Dave answered as they both ran up the tarmac on opposite sides of the trailer towards The Morphia.

  “When you say shake, we haven’t actually thought that part through exactly, have we?” Recalcitrance said as she hoisted herself up lithely, like a cat.

  The bulkier, Dave, rolled onto the trailer and got to his feet in a more deliberate manner, he answered, “Attach the hook to a V strut on the wheel, and we’ll release her from the air. You’ll have to come along for the ride.”

  The speed truck started with a shake. Drew Drucker floored the accelerator and was soon racing through the gears.

  “So, me on the wing, is that what you mean?” Recalcitrance said eyeing the biplane, already knowing the answer.

  “Yes.”

  “Great.”

  “Colonel Em will have the other seat. Pretty sure she’s already in it,” Dave said and added, “No point trying to get her to move!”

  “No point at all, who’d have the heart!” Recalcitrance agreed as she and Dave unclipped the heavy hooks. Instantly, The Morphia pulled them both toward the waiting plane with all the force of a junkyard Alsatian.

  Dave planted his feet and stood firm, chain taut in his grip, he instructed the aviatrix, “You hook your side. I’ll tackle the great beast.”

  Keeping well clear of the spinning propeller, Recalcitrance squatted and hooked the clamp at the left wheel. Jumping onto the wing she grabbed a strut, squatted down and readied herself. She greeted Colonel Em Contusion. “So, how’s it all going, Hell-Flyer, you daft bugger?”

  Em made a noise through her ghastly teeth that was meant to resemble a plane motor, then moved her mouth in a way that was meant to resemble a smile and pointed to the sky. Recalcitrance just shook her head then turned to watch Dave.

  Dave approached Halliday’s monster from behind, he eyed The Morphia’s straw like hair, then her enlarged muscular back that threatened to burst and tear through Halliday’s signature dress. The creature was grotesque. He slipped the key for the manacle from his pocket.

  “Halliday, are you in there? You have to give me your wrist.” Dave yanked on the chain.

  With a sudden move that took him by surprise, The Morphia swung round and took his entire face in its hand and squeezed - hard. The pressure on his skull was unbearable, with his eyes covered, he fumbled for the lock, scratching the tip of the key across the face plate. Choking and spitting into The Morphia’s hand he fought the urge to pass out. He found the keyhole. Letting out a jubilant and pained cry, he turned it, and the manacle fell open. The Morphia let his face go as it seemed to understand. Seizing his opportunity, he stumbled aboard his Sopwith Camel.

  “You okay?” Recalcitrance queried, “that looked rather harsh.”

  “It was,” he said rubbing his face gently, feeling for damage. “Just give me a moment …”

  With a deep breath and quick study of his gauges, he pulled the yoke. The motor sputtered and the plane rose straight up in its customary way. Giving it more throttle as the craft dipped and faltered with the extra drag from Halliday’s Morphia, he made the necessary adjustments and the plane stabilized.

  “CRASH AND BURN BABY!!!!” Colonel Em yelled with unbridled joy from the back as the nose lifted.

  Recalcitrance stood steadfast on the lower right wing, holding on for dear life as the biplane pierced the air, targeting the hordes of Lowe Avion’s traffic. Halliday’s monster hung dead straight, clawing at the sky.

  “TO HELL WITH US ALL, WOEFUL DOVE!” Em shrieked punching the heavens.

  “What in all of Sombre is she on about?” Dave said peering over his shoulder at the Hell-Flyer.

  “No idea! W-What is the plan again, Dave?” Recalcitrance yelled shakily as the roar of an implausible amount of Loew Avion engines stole the senses.

  A Boeing 747 passed over like a bellowing air-whale and a gap was created in its wake. The little Sopwith’ joined the stream of air traffic, nestled between a large black blimp and a putt-putt recreational helicopter. A grey old man with an impossibly pointy chin was at the controls of the copter, grinning.

  “We’ll have to fly above and drop The Morphia down somewhere, on something! After that, it’s up to her!” Dave called out to the aviatrix. Holding his breath, he pushed the plane higher, dangerously high.

  At his back, Em Contusion once again yelled like an excited commentator about how bravely they were to ‘CRASH AND BURN’ the plane as Dave straightened the craft.

  He called out to Recalcitrance. “Signal me, when and where we let her go!”

  Recalcitrance looked at the never-ending fleet of aircraft below her, all nose to tail; jet fighter to dirigible, bomber to balloon, hovercraft to parcel plane. Really, she couldn’t have given too hoots where they dropped Halliday’s friggin monster. She wanted off Dave’s dodgy bird, and soon! She peered down at The Morphia’s chain.

  “Damn it to hell!”

  The clip was hanging on the opposite axel. She had gotten on the wrong wing!

  Holding the cabane struts, twin Vicker machine guns pushing into her gut, she climbed the hot engine bay, her leathers perilously close to the propeller. Gasping with exertion, she eased herself gently onto the other wing, took a quick glance at the big clip on the axel, and signaled to Dave, ‘down!’.

  The plane lowered. Like a daredevil, Recalcitrance crossed her ankles around the wing’s wire bracing and hung her whole upper torso over into the undercarriage. With all her weight on the left wheel’s V strut, she watched for a solid fuselage. After a dirty white balloon and a twin propellered army copter, a veritable colossus of an airliner passed beneath. With an almighty strain on her favored right bicep she lifted The Morphia up by its chain, unclipped the clasp with her left hand and let the creature drop.

  The Morphia raised both arms defiantly as it fell.

  Recalcitrance called down after it,

  “See you Halliday! Go forth and conquer, my lovely monster girl! We’ll have a drink at the Spleen’ once you’re free!”

  S

  The Morphia landed on the airliner’s great roof with a thud and clatter of heavy chainmail. With one wrist unrestricted, one manacled, poised on all fours like a primate, it sniffed the raging air and emitted a low growl. A lone form amidst a sky heaving with traffic.

  Little more than a skerrick of Halliday Knight would have to guide The Morphia. As was always the case, she was completely overwhelmed by her affliction. Her knowing that Ether was the target would have to do. Everything else would have to be left to her monster’s random thought patterns. The Morphia ran on scent and killer instinct. It saw a human body as flesh, blood and bone only. Something to bite and taste; dig its fingers into and tear apart.

  It would be a pity for anyone who might get in the way.

  Chain dragging behind, the monster took off into the rushing headwind, sprinting down the long fuselage. It sprung sideways from the airliner’s nose and caught the basket of a fast travelling air balloon. Hooking its right arm, it hung on the basket’s wall like a spider monkey and awaited another opportunity.

  The pilot payed the intrusion no mind; busying himself with one hand working a brass control, the other opening the propane valve, a shot of gas flame filled the envelope and the balloon raced forward alongside a Cessna. The Morphia pushed off and scrambled onto the small plane’s wing. Tip
ping right with the monsters weight, the Cessna’s pilot corrected, and the plane accelerated. Halliday’s monster crawled onto the roof of the cockpit.

  “HUHHHHH!!!!!”

  Suddenly overcome with the scent of outer sweat and inner flesh, The Morphia, hungry for the human inside, swung its chain down like a whip and cracked the pilot window.

  The pilot’s expression was comical; owner of a very small head and features, he wore overly large goggles and an open-faced helmet, looking for all the world like a shocked baby man. The Morphia rammed its strong jaw down, smashing the rest of the glass. It fished around for the man’s face in the cockpit. The Cessna went into a momentary dive as the petrified pilot cowered and weaved away from the snapping, gnashing teeth.

  Halliday fought to bring her monster under control. She had never engaged The Morphia Affliction for this amount of time, ever. She felt more of her own self coming to the foreground, her own intelligence seeping in. Her monster obeyed, screaming and spitting violent babble at the poor pilot as it begrudgingly pulled its head from the cabin.

  The Cessna rose again, finding a place in formation with the rest of Loew Avion’s air-throng.

  A squadron of a dozen sleek and shining, silver P-47 Thunderbolts flew up on the right side of the Cessna; each front end emblazoned with loud and proud, second world war, flyboy regalia: lipstick smiling, leggy blondes and brunettes; Yankee red, white and blue patriotism and snarling air-sharks, all flying in perfect symmetry to the other, nose to tail.

  The Morphia was suddenly overcome with the stench of Ether.

  The temporary man was close.

  Instincts taking charge, it bolted across the Cessna’s wing and leaped like a cat for one of the Thunderbolts. It landed wrapping its fists around the plane’s protruding aerial mast. Laying on its front laterally along the plane’s round body, it took the ride.

  The Thunderbolt squadron travelled fast, as if in its own slipstream of Loew Avion traffic, aircraft slipped left or right to make way for the speeding warplanes. The Morphia coughed and gasped, it’s body shaking with bloodlust, feeling the enemy as it drew closer. Her Thunderbolt transport tipped right sharply as the whole squadron moved to avoid a massive obstruction - gargantuan, in fact.

  “HHHHHEREEEEE!!!!!” It howled and got to its feet.

  Balancing with one foot on the canopy, one on the Thunderbolt’s body, The Morphia was dwarfed by the immense shadow of a Zeppelin airship.

  The airship had a large torn hole in its silver-black wall.

  “INNNNN!!!!!”

  Halliday Knight’s monster charged wildly across the wing of the Thunderbolt, spitting and snarling.

  It leapt with clawed hands, tore through, and made another hole in the wall.

  CHAPTER 33

  It All Fell Down

  The Morphia was in.

  Clutching a girder support of the massive airship’s round inner wall, it scanned the thin maintenance bridges, aerolite-beams and the perfectly segmented metal framework throughout the oblong structure. The ticking echoed throughout the ship, percussive and hollow in the vast surrounds.

  “ETHER …” it uttered.

  The monster’s nostrils flared as it focused; yellow eyes wild and alert - there was something more behind them now - Halliday Knight’s intelligence. Creature and human slowly becoming one. An ultimate weapon. An intelligent weapon. It grinned and licked its lips.

  Senses in overdrive, Halliday’s monster listened to the whir of the motors, sucked the gassy air through its crooked teeth as it searched the passenger tiers, 90 feet below. Life and movement, it felt the gentle drum of Beating Clocks. The vessel was well inhabited.

  Below, the bleeding had begun, it could smell it, taste it. A quick knife was cutting. It spoke the name again, this time very clearly,

  “ETHER …”

  It estimated the drop to the passenger tier. A long way.

  Something, or someone, was holding it back – Halliday Knight.

  An Otherself spoke to The Morphia. ‘You can make it, Halliday’s monster! If you’re to do any good at all on this bulbous balloon, you’ll have to!’

  ‘The burden of letting so much of Hope’s Halliday in, is that you will now have to listen to us. I agree with the Other, Other. You’re a strong thing you are – jump!’ said another Otherself.

  ‘Indeed, jump!’ said another Other.

  The Morphia swung a tentative leg off the girder.

  ‘Hopeless-Hope’s-Halliday is the only thing holding you back at all! Doubting doleful that she is. You would have just gone and done it any other time. Listen to us! She is an unnecessary mental roadblock. Time to go, you!’ said the original Otherself. ‘Now!’

  The Morphia leapt, dropping like a bomb, crashing through the upper tier’s roofing with heavy muscular legs. The whole of the airship shook with the impact. It landed on flat feet with folded knees, a deep dent in the floor. It peered up.

  It had encroached on a dining and entertainment area. A pianist played against a wall in the corner - a tuxedo’ d fellow with slicked black hair, his slow tango strangely falling into tempo with Ether’s metronomic tick.

  Showing complete indifference to the arrival of Halliday’s beast, the passengers, richly dressed socialites from a bygone era, continued on in haughty party mode. The Morphia prowled the room, chain dragging, body coursing with adrenalin, it switched its glare from passenger to passenger. Men in top hats and suits, manicured nails, polished shoes and mustachioed faces – all laughed away, chins lifted in overly verbose amusement. Women with skin as smooth as porcelain, wore long flowing dresses of rich crepes and satins; shawls and cardigans were draped over shoulders to fend away the airship’s draft. Champagne flutes were clinked. Cigar and cigarette smoke filled the air.

  The Morphia was soon overwhelmed; the perfumes, the sweat, the saliva, the tobacco and liquor. Before Halliday could stop it, The Morphia’s fist struck out and smashed a male’s mouth – breaking straight through to the back of the skull. It wrenched the man in close and gnawed on the face, tasting flesh and bone; sucking an eyeball straight from the socket.

  It stalled as it felt relent. It was being forced to stop.

  “NO!!!!” it growled and unwillingly eased its mouth from the man’s face. It flung the man’s skull from its hand. The body slumped to the floor, dinner jacket flapping open revealing six strokes on his Beating Clock. Now he would have seven.

  Halliday had regained control.

  Ether’s stink was below.

  As was the bleeding.

  The Morphia turned back to where it had crashed through the ceiling. It spotted a stairwell down. Charging with renewed urgency, Halliday’s monster pushed through the crowd, knocking citizens to the floor in its haste. From a savage Morphia forearm to the chest, a man slid on his backside and hit the far wall, hard.

  “Whoa!!!!” The whole room reacted with a few seconds of joint acclamation.

  The Morphia left the room. The party went on.

  At the foot of the third tier’s stairwell, it surveyed the dimly lit hallway. One solitary light flickered above, illuminating the blood-spattered walls. Four uniformed bodies littered the floor, extracted Beating Clocks sat like gore trophies on chests just under the chin, sliced lips bled on open mouths.

  Stepping over the bodies, The Morphia broke through a door off the hall into an officers mess. More of the airship’s staff had been stilled at tables; stopped in motion like wax models. Unfinished coffee and half eaten meals; fingers were still hooked in mug handles, clutching knives and forks. Each had impossibly precise extraction holes cut from the front through the back. Beating Clocks were lying under chairs, Mender configured wires and entrails dangled, staining the linoleum floor.

  Ether had struck fast.

  The Morphia snorted its acknowledgement and left.

  Upon re-entry into the hall, searing pain flashed across the beasts forehead, it stumbled sideways and slapped a hand against the wall of the narrow hall.

&nb
sp; Its sensed another target.

  It sensed two.

  Someone or something, sharing the same makeup, embodying everything that was Ether.

  The Morphia’s yellow eyes were wide open but momentarily blinded as the head pain travelled. It could only stand and listen, face pressed against the wall. It heard the tinkling of the piano. The airship’s whirring functionality, the propellered motors and hissing gas cells. It heard more blood being spilt below. Short gasps before choking noises – bodies and clocks hitting the soft air-lite floors.

  It could now hear the second target as well.

  It would have to destroy it the same way it would destroy Ether.

  Ignoring the pain, The Morphia ran the length of the hall and took the airship’s last stairwell, it jumped and landed on a narrow officers gangway, smashing through a closed door. Landing on all fours it looked up. A radio operator’s podgy body had been cut in two, from the Beating Clock down. Headphones still adorned the man’s head, wire dangling from the input in the control panel, his lower body bled out over handfuls of typed documents thrown across the linoleum.

  Daylight shone through an open door.

  S

  The light from windows to the outworld of Loew Avion momentarily stunned Halliday’s monster. Like the most hideous child freshly awoken from a nap, it stood blinking its eyes as its vision adjusted from the comparative gloom of the rest of the ship.

  The airships control car was decimated. Twisted, cut-up and gutted shipmen, from the captain and lieutenant down, lay all over. Running blood spread a spatter-canvas on the tin-plated floor.

  Back hunched in a raincoat wet with blood, Ether stood beside the rudder wheel staring through the windshield at the endless sky traffic.

  “You are here.”

  Raising his arms in the air, he turned to face The Morphia. He continued in a soft and measured tone, “I can try to outrun you, beast … but I know I will only be prolonging my inevitable execution. You will have your way in the end.”

  He smirked as he lowered both arms and pulled his hair from his ashen face. He eyed the heavy chain on its wrist, “I need to speak with your other, Halliday Knight. Bring her to the fore.”