The Lonestar Adventure Association
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Part 1 appears in this issue. |
| conclusion |
“’S okay.”
“Right, and I’ll take coffee in my slumbering abode afore a-breakfastin’. An’ get L’il Fudge t’git the medical-laboratory shack a-readied as well,” Todd looked at the empty tin he still held in his hand, “and Corndog if y’all could run down to Straub’s an’ a-pick me up a case o’ tins o’ Mister More Than Man Whisker Fixturitic.”
“’S okay.”
“Right, and Corndog?”
“Yes?”
“Corndog, you and L’il Fudge once y’all are done with all that and all, y’all go and get yourselves off and outta town fer the rest o’ the week. Go and see yer family down south. I’ll leave yer last weeks wages and performance bonuses on the kitchen table for y’all. Okay?”
“’S okay.”
“Okay. Git to it then.”
“’S okay.”
Todd took a couple of strides from the comm-tube centre before stopping with a sudden snap of his fingers. He strode back to the speaking tubes. “Hello Corndog?”
“Here.”
“Oh Corndog, please have L’il Fudge have Mister Keyshawn’s aluminium chaps a-pressed and polished, if y’all be able to?”
“’S okay.”
“Sweet.”
He, and Corndog, and L’il Fudge went about their business.
Todd stood atop the summit of the world’s grandest mountain, Silk Lightning flowing like God’s whiskers as the crisp alpine wind blew all around them in triumphant gusts. He could hear the voices of a million children lifted in song, regaling him, their champion, and he and Silk Lightning were happy. He felt he could/should/would fly. He wanted to soar into the sky, lifted by the beautiful melodies of the innocent.
Out of nowhere, a blaring siren interrupted the children’s song. He looked about to find its source. It was getting louder, he couldn’t hold on. The beautiful vision faded. He opened his eyes. The siren continued blasting away.
“Alright!” He shouted, “I’m up! I’m up!” He pulled angrily at the cord hanging above his bed, and in doing so stopped the wailing racket. He leant over to the comm-tube which jutted from the wall beside him, “What’s all this harangle-dangle?”
“Sorry there, Toddy, but we’s gots a heck-in-hay alert situ-i-ation,” came Wayne’s voice echoing through the tube, “get yerself motervated and get a shake on.”
“What’s the deal, Wayner?” He replied.
“The Perfessor’s extera worldly thing-a-ma-jig is a-right on-a th’ outskirts o’ town.”
“Sweet Jim and Janet! Y’all wake Keyshawn?” He asked, pulling on his breeches.
“’Course, he’s already down chompin’ his chow.”
Todd buckled his utility/gun belt and daubed a great gob of Mister More Than Man Whisker Fixturitic into the grand forest of hairs that was Silk Lightning. “Have a short stack and bacon and a mug o’ thick an’ black at th’ ready. I’m a-comin’ down.”
He leapt, grasping onto the brass pole that projected through the hole in the floor of the corner of his room. He rocketed down and slid smoothly to a stop in the kitchen.
Already, Wayne was shoveling the last, great bite of his breakfast into his mouth. Keyshawn was checking his rifle. Several dirty, empty plates sat on the table before him. He belched contentedly.
Todd looked to his place at the table where a large stack of flapjacks and a massive mug of steaming coffee waited. He licked his chops. “How far’s it out?” he asked as he seated himself, tucking a napkin under his collar.
“It tripped th’ early warnin’ markers, made on through to th’ inner outskirts, an’ then apparently exploded a bunch o’ ol’ man Burnbone’s hogs,” said Keyshawn, “he a-went an’ pulled his emergency cord further alertin’ us to the danger, and here we be.”
Todd nodded. “Well, we’s gots a bit o’ time.” He picked up his fork and knife.
BOOM! The explosion, while distant, rocked the house.
“The feed mill!” Exclaimed Wayne, “tha’s inside th’ outer inskirts.”
Keyshawn stood up, “we’s gotta move.” Todd looked longingly at the pancakes. Standing, he grabbed the stack in his great maw and hefted it like a golden, buttery sandwich. He took a humungous bite, devouring half of the halfstack flapjackwich.
Putting the steaming mug to his mouth he drained its dark, powerful contents in two mighty gulps. He put down the mug. He wiped the few remaining drops of coffee and crumbs of pancake from the tips of Silk Lightning, and looked at his partners.
“Let’s ride,” he said.
They came up on the smoldering remains of the feed mill and dismounted their steeds. The smoke was thick and the early morning air was hot with the fire.
“Scan ‘er,” said Todd. The three cowboys donned complicated masks of leather, wood, and steel with parabolic receptors attached to them that covered their faces. All three of them peered about intently, looking like some kind of leather vested, two-legged ultra-weird satellites.
“What we got, boys?” asked Todd.
“Negatory on my line,” said Wayne.
“Same here,” said Keyshawn.
“Not a gosh darn thang,” said Todd, “where’s this creep at?”
BOOM! The explosion came from behind them, deeper in the centre of the town.
“Sweet freak, tha’s the saloon!” Keyshawn cried, ripping the scan-mask from his face. The others followed suit, and they jumped onto their horses. Spurring them hard they raced into the town. Smoke poured from the saloon as they approached. They stopped in their tracks.
Through the acrid haze, it appeared. “Well, tha’s a weirdee, indeed,” said Wayne as they dismounted.
It was a large, silver cylinder with two large, imposing barrels sticking out from its front; it sat on two thick black wheels; two long, silver arms, or more tentacles with vicious looking claws at the ends swung menacingly at its sides; a silver dome rested atop the cylinder like a head with two large glowing ‘eyes’ bugging out from it; above them some sort of collecting dish rotated continuously.
Without hesitating, Keyshawn put his rifle to his shoulder and fired three rapid shots at it. They impacted with loud clangs and bounced off harmlessly. It turned in their direction.
“Bullets are no good,” cried Todd, “use yer action-pellets, boys!” He quickly exchanged the cylinders in his pistols with alternate ones taken from his utility/gun belt. The others followed suit.
As they were doing so the metallic oddity let out what sounded like a loud, yelping beep, and the barrels in its chest opened fire. The cowboys hit the dirt as -Zwing! Zwing! Zwing!- powerful sounding projectiles roared over their heads.
“Whoo mama, do they’s sound a-deadly-like,” exclaimed Keyshawn.
“Careful boys, this feller seems a-doozey,” said Todd and he let off a shot of his own from his pistol. It struck with a resounding boom and a massive flash enveloped the weird menace. The air cleared and the thing looked slightly shaken. It fired two more shots at the trio and backed itself into the saloon.
“Tha’ shook ‘im, Toddy,” said Keyshawn.
“Right-e-ous, Wayne, y’all and Keyshawn head in the backdoor. I’m a-goin’ on in the front,” commanded Todd.
“As a-usual,” said Wayne sarcastically.
“Git goin’, ya’ sourmouth, or I’ll gitcha goin’ my ownself,” said Todd and headed cautiously towards the front of the saloon. Wayne and Keyshawn made their way around to the rear of the building.
Todd crept up to the side of the swinging doors of the bar. “Dog’s wood an’ cherry blossoms, here I’s a-come!” he cried and dove through the door. He landed hard, rolling with the impact.
Zing! Thwap! Zap! he heard as he ducked behind a table lying on its side. Zing! Thwap! Zap! Thwap! Zap! The table disintegrated in a storm of sparks and fire.
Todd felt his skin tingle and hair stand on end. Sweet crud, he thought, this sucker’s electrified. An electro-menace! Wow! He had no more time for thought as the last remaining bits of his shield exploded in a fury of electric fire.
He scurried madly away and was able to get behind the bar. Zing! Thwap! Zap! Zing! Thwap! Zap! The bar shook with the impacts of the electric bullets. Parts of it started to smolder and flame. Looking up at the large mirror above him he could see the silver terror shielding itself near the stairs that led up to hotel.
Todd checked his projecto-pellet arsenal: various gases of differing degrees of knockoutedness; explosives ranging from simple fireballers to avalanchers; flash-bangers; storm-burners; a couple of fandanglers — dangit, he wished he’d thought to bring a super-freeze charge or a hard-water pellet. How handy they would have been. Well, he thought, these’ll have t’do.
Suddenly, he noticed Keyshawn creeping in from the kitchen. That was going to bring him right out into the electro-menace’s sights, but Keyshawn wouldn’t be able to see it, and he was wearing his aluminium chaps.
Oh, sweet ghoulash, Todd thought, he’ll be electrifried fer sure.
Keyshawn leapt out. The menace turned and took aim.
Todd moved fast, and as the silver monster fired he dove over the bar and out across the field of fire. There was a flash and he smelt what seemed like a tasty barbecue. Then it all went black.
Keyshawn saw Todd take the shot and go down. He cried out and opened up with everything he had at the metallic beast. At the same moment Wayne came tearing through from the other side of the bar, directly to the menace’s side. He unloaded his arsenal on it. There was a most mighty of mighty chaotic calamities as all hell and a few other things (and the saloon itself) broke loose.
Then just as suddenly as it had all happened it was very still and very quiet. Once the smoke cleared all that stood of the electro-menace was a molten pile of smashed, destroyed silver goo.
Todd lay facedown and unmoving in the centre of the debris strewn room. Wayne and Keyshawn rushed to his side, fearing the worst. They turned him over... and gasped. Todd stirred, he opened his eyes.
“Wha’s so serious?” He croaked.
“Y’all saved my life,” said Keyshawn.
“Yeah well, tha’s no big thang,” he said.
“Yeah, well, I just as never had no one ever die fer me afore, y’know,” Todd answered.
“Say wha’? I ain’t dead, y’stupid fool.”
Keyshawn shook his head and motioned to Wayne.
Wayne handed Keyshawn a large shard of the shattered bar mirror lying on the floor, who handed it to Todd. “See fer yerself.”
Todd took the mirror and looked into it. He blinked and looked again. A great sadness leapt up from his guts into his throat. He choked back a sob and blinked back tears. He put his hand to his face.
There, entangled in the charred burned, destroyed mass of his moustache was the electro-menace’s bullet, the one that was meant for Keyshawn. He had saved his friends life, but at what cost. Silk Lightning was dead.
Copyright © 2006 by Patrick D. Downing
