Search our Site
Custom Search
Privacy Policy | Terms of Service

Images used under the terms of a Creative Commons license.
Jump to Overview

Bookmark and Share


Chapter Twelve: "Death Rave"

It was about midnight by now. The next quick pick-off involved Becca Bloody Roller's snappy work in an elevator. The evil furry culprit had stowed away on the short lift with two young women. Before it could wolverize the young ravers, she fried it with her white lightning. When the elevator doors opened on the ground floor, Chapel and Crimson were there waiting as Becca had instructed them to do, and they beheld a smoldering, demised monster. The two, young, near-victims immediately took off in a dead sprint without looking back. Becca stepped out, gave a wave at the deceased beast, which then vanished, leaving only the ambient odor of patchouli and some thin, light, wispy, and quickly dissipating smoke.

One by one, a leisurely, flat-footed effort by the Rollers and their escorts greased the remaining fuzzies. The last couple of them were somewhat more troublesome to dispatch, because, by that point, a few of the land-going sharks had manifested and were accompanying the furries. Suddenly thereafter, what looked like it was going to have been an easy night's work became significantly more complex, at least philosophically speaking.

The sharks had always been more mysterious than the werewolf ladies, because the sharks were less definable in their nature, origin, content, and intent. Moreover, compounding their potential dangerousness was the lack of clarity regarding their role with respect to the blackdogwomen. It seemed that they were somehow answerable to the werewolves, or perhaps it is more accurate to say that somehow their own leadership had been compromised and thus the wolves were able to control them either at their furry convenience or at some various random incidental times and locations. But on this night, their role and relationship was made evident.

Dusty and Rainy spotted the first shark-sign, and more or less the entire hunting party was gathered together, since, by that point there were but few of the wolfy targets left at the stadium. The last two furries had partnered up, having sensed somehow through their wretched doggie skulls that the others of them had been sniped.

First it looked almost like a human form, occupying the shadows and crevices in near proximity to the wolfladies; a sort of trout-faced man, which of course seems reasonable enough for the average guy on the street. But at second glance, their numbers were in flux. There were several, then only one, then a handful again. It was like they were shoaling among the local metaphysical terrain. Also betraying their alien nature was their obvious luminous blue turquoise bodies. It was not clear whether they were or were not wearing clothes, as they seemed to be cloaked in some sort of insubstantial, briny nether-garment. Basically, they were shifting, watery, shadow figures.

Anyway, after Dusty zapped and fried the second-to-last remaining target, several of the deep-blue devils then manifested immediately in a sort of zone defense perimeter around the final remaining wolfbag at Raider Stadium, and they began to make rapid-fire, darting, lunging assaults at the nonchalant group of attackers. As the first targeted wolfwoman fried in a bright, swirling, multicolored vortex of fire, Dusty redirected her attention to the other one, and soon, it, too, burst into a glorious, plasmatic fireball.

And when it did, it was as if the land-going sharkbeings seemed to somehow be released from some kind of invisible fetter as they stopped acting on behalf of or in defense of the wicked wolfwomen. And they quit hiding too. Suddenly, they were visible — and they were everywhere, with a more pleasant countenance than they had put forth in their previously encumbered disposition.

That all seemed fine, but about 5 minutes later, the werewolf hunting party, as well as the occupants of the entire stadium, were taken by surprise. First there was a subtle vibration, then it became more and more pronounced until every damn elementary particle vibrated in response; in all of the people, in all of the walls, throughout the air, and everywhere else. Then came a glow not from above, but from all around, behind, above, and below in all directions. After several minutes, the vibration throttled back to a far more subtly perceptible meter. It was beautifully and strangely silent, as people strained to hear whether the transcendent vibrations continued. Meanwhile, the ambient, holistic light shifted from a somewhat harsh, higher band frequency, to a more mellow, nearly sun-colored range.

Rainy looked up, and without breaking her gaze, she poked Dusty who was standing next to her, having just finished incinerating the last two wolf rats in the house. Then they both quietly observed the event above them. Soon, everyone in the venue were all respectfully viewing the astonishing contents of the sky above them.

It was a mothership, unavoidably impressive in scope by scale comparison with local celestial bodies. And this one was clearly a sharks' mama. The beings floated, skittered, flipped, danced, and tarried, at varying paces, in groups and singly, up in the general direction of the vessel until they all disappeared into the distance between the stadium and the skirts of the craft. All perfectly quiet. And then it was gone. As were all of its sharks. At least for now.

Next Page —>

Bookmark and Share