Into the Weird: The Collected Stories of James Palmer

by James Palmer

  The huge gator opened its jaws wide and snapped at the spider, but it flinched out of the way at the last possible nanosecond, then sprayed a torrent of venom from its jaws, striking Electrigator in the left eye. The creature hissed and roared with pain and rage, creating earthquakes with its tail as it swatted the ground.

  “Whoa!” said Stone.

  David heard the stutter of machine gun fire. The Feds were closing in on their position. Stone ran off and barked orders. David stayed right where he was, hypnotized by the spectacle before him. A hundred points of light from the ground as well as the air shown on the two monstrous titans as they battled one another. One of the choppers got too close and received a blast of electricity arcing off Electrigator’s tail. It lost power and plummeted into the swamp with a huge splash.

  Everyone was shooting at something. Dissemblers shot at federal agents. The Feds shot back. Someone was even shooting at the spider, the bullets bouncing off its thick armor hide like BBs off of steel plate.

  The spider’s influence was strong now; even David was finding it hard to resist the urge to run and hide. He knew it was having an effect on the federal agents that circled their location like hornets, eager to sting but afraid to act.

  Behind him, Stone took up an assault rifle and fired into some brush without aiming. Guns made David nervous; twitchy people with guns even more so. Guns reminded him of his stepfather and his stupid buddies, drunkenly shooting milk jugs and beer bottles in the back yard. He hoped that when this madness was done he could escape with his spider, and they could watch the world turn to ash together. He wondered what the Earth's other monsters were doing.

  The spider and Electrigator circled each other like predators, the giant gator moving far faster than his vast bulk should allow, electricity sparking all over his body. Its ruined left eye oozed a river of pus.

  “They're closing in,” said Stone. “We need to get out of here. If we can.”

  “Is there an escape plan?” asked David.

  “Start running,” said Stone and took off, his gun barking fire.

  The sky was a glowing crimson now, and huge dark shapes were falling out of the sky, lighting up the night like fireworks as they superheated entering the Earth's atmosphere. Not meteors; they were slowing down as they fell. David wanted to know what they were; he hoped he would live long enough. He hoped his spider would be OK.

  Electrigator snapped its long jaws, catching one of the spider's legs and breaking it off. David yelled, as if the spider's pain was his. The spider shot more caustic venom, this time it entered the gator's mouth, sizzling on its tongue, and the enormous reptile thrashed and convulsed, knocking out one of the searchlights and sending Dissemblers and Feds alike flying into the swamp.

  The ground shook, and David almost fell to the ground. He probably should think about getting away; most of his fellow Dissemblers had already retreated into the swamp, or been captured or killed by the federal agents that surrounded them. He could do nothing for his spider. It would have to fend for itself now, for however long it had left.

  It continued to fight Electrigator, lashing out with its remaining legs and outmaneuvering the larger, less agile monster. Electricity flared from the strange gator's hide, hitting spotlights, people, and vehicles. Everyone tried to give the battling titans a wide berth, but it wasn't easy.

  There was shouting now, and David watched as several of the Dissemblers started to convulse and fall to the ground, white foam spewing from their mouths. He tongued his hollow tooth. Not yet.

  The spider was climbing atop Electrigator's back, ignoring the thousands of volts of electricity that began dancing around his shiny black carapace. He attempted to bite into the gator's hide, and again he was thrown off, this time landing on his back. David watched in horror as the spider tried desperately to right itself, Electrigator closing in, its mammoth snout biting down again, taking another leg. Electric fire drizzled from the creature's jaws, and the spider just lay there and wiggled.

  “No!”

  David felt something hot and fast whiz by just over his head, and he sank to the soggy ground, his eyes still on the battle going on in front of him. He tongued his hollow tooth again and wondered if he should bite. His work was done. Death was raining from the sky. The time of the monsters was over, and the Dissemblers had helped pave the way for whatever was coming next. The world was about to be cleansed, transformed. But his spider. He had to help it, if he could. Just this one last time.

  David felt the eerie feeling of terror transmitted by the spider diminish, and knew that it was dying. He crawled along the ground a few feet, until he happened upon a body holding one of the automatic weapons. David pulled the weapon from the dead man's grasp, and saw that it was Stone, his mouth flecked with foam, his dead eyes staring up at the bloody sky. David checked to make sure the assault rifle was still loaded and stood, charging off in the direction of his friend the spider.

  Electrigator opened its jaws again and swallowed the spider, pulling it past its ruined, bloody tongue into the darkness inside. The spider was still alive, working its remaining legs, a network of spider silk streaming from its rear. David watched as it bit into the fleshy interior of Electrigator’s cavernous mouth and began injecting its deadly venom. The gator thrashed and bellowed, but it couldn’t dislodge the spider. It brought its jaws down quickly, its snout closing tightly around the spider. Only a leg could be seen hanging out, bending up and down. Caustic black ichor spurted from the sides of the gator’s long snout, splashing the ground, vegetation, and anyone nearby with the spider’s venomous entrails.

  David fired on Electrigator, but his bullets bounced off uselessly. It was no matter; the spider’s deadly venom had done its work. In a few seconds, Electrigator moved no more. The electricity stopped flowing along its bulk, and its one remaining eye grew dead and still. The monsters had killed each other while the sky fell.

  *

  The time of the spider was over. The time of the monsters was over. It was the first day of a new age.

  Everything was dark. David had escaped detection and capture by the Feds. But at what cost? Everything was grotesque and strange. For the first time since encountering the spider, he was afraid. He hid from everything, everyone. He heard panicked screams everywhere he went. He touched the hollow tooth and wondered if he would ever have the courage to bite down on it.

  Indistinguishable from Magic

  John Blackthorn rode easy in his saddle, his horse moving at a lazy trot. His two companions rode beside him through the strange ruins. Steel girders jutted from the ground, twisted by time and chaos, like the bones of some prehistoric beast. The remains of strange vehicles--sleek, wheel-less teardrop shapes with cracked bubble tops--were scattered about like toys. The horses’ hooves clacked atop a crumbling stretch of road shot through with green tendrils of weird vegetation. There was an eerie pall about the place, and Blackthorn realized that this ancient town or city had been abandoned for a very long time.

  Tiring of the dreary surroundings, Blackthorn turned his attentions skyward. It wasn’t much better. An ugly, potato-shaped moon hung limply in the sky; the sun looked smaller and too far away.

  Blackthorn glanced at his companions. To his left, Princess Aria rode calmly beside him, her small mouth curved in a perpetual smirk, her close cropped dark hair waving in the breeze that wafted in from the East, billowing her green cloak behind her. Her jeweled necklace glinted brightly in the sun. On her left sat perhaps the strangest sight of all, Oglok the Mock-Man, atop his equally strange horse, a lithe, chitinous animal with a golden, fan-like mane . The Mock-Man was shirtless, and his golden pelt seemed to glow in the sunlight that washed this plain in light.

  The quiet afternoon was soon punctuated by the sound of galloping horses and a woman’s cry. Blackthorn and his companions glanced at one another before spurring their horses into a gallop. They led the animals around a pile of stone and steel and came to another ancient road, this one reduced to little
more than a dirt lane between the skeletons of buildings. There they saw the source of the noise.

  Four large, armored men on strong black horses were running down a woman and a small boy, both dressed in little more than rags.

  The four men had herded the woman and child into the middle of the lane, where they circled them menacingly. The woman gripped the child protectively while the horsemen prodded at them with long rods affixed with some sort of cylinder at the end.

  Blackthorn slowed his horse to a stop, and Princess Aria and Oglok did the same. They still hadn’t been detected by the horsemen.

  “The Master demands tribute!” said one of the horsemen. “Everyone gives their part!”

  “The crops have suffered!” the woman cried back. “We have nothing to give!”

  “Then tithe with your life!” replied the horseman, lowering his stick and unsheathing a crude yet lethal-looking sword.

  “I’ve seen enough, said Blackthorn, unhooking his Sword of Light from his belt. Touching the yellow square, he caused a pillar of light to erupt from the end of the metal cylinder with a crackling hiss. Spurring his horse, Blackthorn surged toward the group of horsemen, his friends galloping right behind him. Princess Aria’s color-changing dress turned a violent shade of crimson as they closed on the men. Oglok growled a gutteral battle cry and sent his own horse into the fray.

  The horsemen turned at the sound. Blackthorn could now see that their masked helmets were made to look like gleaming skulls. “Who dares interrupt the Skeleton Corps in the execution of their duties?” cried the lead horseman. “These rabble are criminal tax evaders and must be sorely punished!”

  Blackthorn could see the leader’s eyes darting furtively back and forth, sizing up the black-clad stranger with his Sword of Light blazing, the dark-skinned woman and Mock-Man who now threatened him.

  “They must be dangerous criminals indeed to require four strong warriors to apprehend them,” said Blackthorn as he brought his Sword of Light down in a blazing arc that severed the leader’s long prod in half.

  “Kill these strangers!” the leader ordered, and his three companions forgot all about their prey and turned instead to face this new threat. Their leader lunged at Blackthorn with his crude iron sword, but Blackthorn simply held out his light sword and let the horseman’s blade melt in half as it struck the concentrated energy beam.

  “What sorcery is this?” rumbled the horseman.

  “More than you can handle, I assure you,” quipped Blackthorn. He lashed out with his light sword, cutting across the horseman’s breastplate, causing the bottom half of it to fall off and hit the ground with a clang.

  The other horsemen had fanned out now to attack Blackthorn and his companions, while the woman and child they had hunted ran inside one of the derelict buildings and watched from the shadows.

  Oglok the Mock-Man eagerly joined the fray. He leaped from his mount and tackled the nearest armored bully, knocking him from his own black steed. Oglok sat atop him and dealt a heavy blow to the horseman’s faceplate that cracked it in two. The rider lay motionless. One of his companions charged at Oglok, holding the strange staff like a lance. The Mock-Man grabbed it and effortlessly lifted the rider from his horse and tossed him into a nearby pile of debris, then gripped the prod in both hands and bent it double before tossing it aside and starting to scavenge the first toppled horseman’s clothing and armor. The man he had pulled from his horse stood shakily and, unsheathing a crude sword with a serrated blade, marched toward the unsuspecting Oglok, who had busied himself with acquiring a new costume.

  Princess Aria pulled the dagger from the sheath behind her neck and threw it, hitting Oglok’s would-be attacker squarely in his sword hand. He screamed and dropped the blade, which alerted Oglok. The Mock-Man stood and growled an epithet at the rider before hurling a nearby hunk of metal at the horseman. He narrowly avoided the heavy piece of debris before screaming and disappearing into the ruins.

  The last rider charged at Aria, his strange pole raised like a lance. Aria held out her right hand with her thumb, index and little fingers extended while touching her necklace with her left hand. A purple orb of light formed around her hand, while a similar energy field appeared around the horseman who approached her. Suddenly he was flung violently from his mount and hurled fifty feet into a metal girder that jutted from the broken ground. He did not attempt to get up.

  Only the lead horseman remained, held at bay by Blackthorn’s light sword and unable or unwilling to attempt further assault. “The Master shall hear of this!” he said at last, his deep voice quavering.

  Blackthorn smiled. “I hope so,” he said. He slashed his sword easily and expertly through the air directly in front of the lead horseman. The remains of his black armor fell apart and thudded to the ground, leaving only his helmet and a few protective undergarments in place.

  Without another word the disrobed horseman turned his horse and sent it running deeper into the ruins.

  “We should stop him,” said the Princess.

  Blackthorn touched the yellow square again and the deadly energy beam vanished. “No, let him go and tell his master. I would like to meet the villain who would send cowards like these to victimize women and children.” He turned around and said, “You can come out now. We won’t harm you.”

  Slowly, almost reluctantly, the woman and child appeared in the darkened doorway of the ruined building. They stepped out, the woman shielding the child behind her. “Who are you?” she asked.

  “My name is John Blackthorn. These are my friends Princess Aria and Oglok.”

  The woman stared at Oglok. “A Mock-Man. I haven’t seen one of your kind in years.” Oglok growled something and nodded as he climbed atop his horse.

  “I thank you for helping me and my child. I am Marna, and this is Zak.” She patted the boy’s head, and he peered up at them from his mother’s shadow but said nothing.

  “Who were those men?” asked Blackthorn.

  “The Skeleton Corps. They are in the service of Lord Valaron, our ruler.”

  “That must be the master they referred to,” Princess Aria said to Blackthorn.

  “This Valaron of yours rules with an iron hand,” mused Blackthorn.

  “He provides us with much,” said Marna. “He uses his magic to light and heat our homes. But sometimes the tribute he demands in return is more than we can bare.” She glanced down at Zak and stroked his brown hair.

  “Your children?” asked Blackthorn, startled.

  Marna nodded. “Sometimes. They are put to work as slaves deep in his lair, or are trained to become Skeleton Corps like those blackguards who hounded me and my son.” Her voice was tinged with hurt and anger.

  She looked up at Blackthorn, smiling brightly. “Return with us to our village. I can repay your kindness with what food we have, and rest and nourishment for your horses.”

  Blackthorn and his companions graciously accepted the invite and, once Marna and Zak were riding behind Aria on her steed, the woman directed them to her village.

  *

  Marna’s village was the most advanced Blackthorn had seen since awakening in this strange new world. Crude yet usable houses had been constructed from wood harvested from the nearby forest that grew nearby to the south, and Blackthorn heard the buzz of what could only be a saw mill. “You mill lumber?” he said, amazed.

  “Yes,” replied Marna. “Water from the river powers the blade. It is very ancient magic. Lord Valaron showed us how to harness it.”

  “This Valaron of yours is very clever,” replied Princess Aria.

  “That is nothing. His true power is beyond all understanding.” She pointed a shaky finger at a large dark shape in the distance. Atop a hill on the other side of the river was a monstrous metal hulk rising from the crumpled metal of some ancient ruin. It was in the shape of a skull. “That’s the Keep of Lord Valaron.”

  Marna ran into the village, Zak following closely on her heels. The other villagers who were working or mi
lling about stopped what they were doing to eye these bizarrely-clad strangers and listen intently as Marna told them what had happened. Blackthorn kept his sharp eyes on the Keep, watching for signs of movement, wondering about the petty tyrant who dwelled there.

  The village eagerly shared what food they had, which to Blackthorn’s reckoning was quite plentiful after subsisting on meager travel rations for hundreds of miles. Small game, fruits and berries gathered from the forest, and water collected from the river were given to them freely, while someone tended to their horses. Blackthorn was surprised to learn that the people of the village even farmed and turned strange-looking wheat into a sweet-tasting bread. The younger villagers marveled at Oglok, who stood stoically in his newly acquired makeshift armor while they stared at him or touched his golden fur. The young girls of the village stared at Blackthorn, giggling and running off when he returned their gaze. The men and women of the village asked Blackthorn and Aria about their magic and where they came from.

  Blackthorn, Princess Aria and Oglok the Mock-Man were escorted into a large, open high-roofed building. Low benches hunched in neat rows along the hard-packed dirt floor. They were invited to sit and were given more refreshments. Blackthorn was handed a plate containing a leg of meat he recognized, a small animal that resembled a rabbit that looked like a failed experiment concocted by some long dead--and quite mad--geneticist. Blackthorn had encountered many such animals on his journey, but this one appeared to have been raised in a cage and fattened. He bit into it ravenously.

  “You must leave now!” came a shout from the building’s entrance.

  Blackthorn and his companions turned toward the sound. A frail, older man stood in the doorway, lean, sun-bronzed arms outstretched, gesticulating wildly. “They can’t stay here,” he said to the villagers who served them food and drink. “Lord Valaron will punish us severely for harboring these, these...” here he stammered. “Strangers.”