by Greg Mitchell -
“Move!” Crazy hollered, his meaty fists wrapped around Trebs’ wrists. The knife in Trebs’ left hand wavered centimeters from the pilot’s gray-white beard. Dressler stood back, hardly able to comprehend the order of events. In a span of seconds, Trebs had pulled a knife and lunged for the sub pilot, just as they reached the meeting place with the angel that had Edilyn’s cure. Crazy held his own—and rightly so for he was three times the size of Trebs—but the bug hunter was nearly superhuman in power. A sweaty sheen draped over his face and his eyes were glassy and mad.
“Trebs, stop!” Dressler shouted, futilely. “What are you doing?”
Trebs didn’t answer, his beady gaze directed on Crazy. Unrelenting, he leaned on the blade.
“A gun…” Crazy grunted, struggling. “Cockpit…Under the pilot’s seat…”
Dressler thought to run across the sub to find it, but acted instead, lunging on his co-worker—his guide down here into this aquatic hell—and wrapped around his arms. Pulling with every ounce of strength hard work had given him, Dressler roared, “Let go! Get off of him!”
“The jelly roller’s…snapped!” Crazy barked, his thick arms visibly shaking, giving in.
Dressler put Trebs in a chokehold and pried him off the pilot. Trebs merely flexed his trim arms, and Dressler was thrown backwards, hurtling across the card table where they’d shared drinks moments ago. He collapsed the table, dashing the ceramic mugs to the floor where they popped. Dazed, he pushed himself to his knees, feeling warmth spreading down his temple. Blood dripped from his stubbled chin, dotting the floor.
Getting his senses together, he looked back to Crazy still bravely wrestling with the knife. The ogre was on the floor now, on top of Trebs, trying desperately to turn the blade back on his attacker. Trebs never faltered, his face blank and expressionless, his eyes distant but intelligent. Like a machine.
“Gun!” Crazy shouted once more. This time Dressler did not hesitate. He clattered out of the small cabin, bouncing against the handrails, clanking down the hall, racing for the cockpit. His heart rammed hard in his chest and he thought of Edilyn.
I’m never going to see her again.
He tripped into the cockpit, falling face-first on hard metal. From his vantage point he glimpsed the simple handgun holstered underneath the pilot’s seat. Scrambling on hands and knees, he undid the latch and drew the gun. Checked to see it was loaded. Cocked it and rushed back to his friend.
Re-entering the cabin, he saw Crazy, spread on the floor.
Unmoving.
Trebs stood over him, bloodied knife in hand, barely breathing hard.
“Dress,” he stated simply, Crazy’s life dripping off the knife’s edge.
A blossom of red spread on Crazy’s barrel chest, intermingling with his frizzy beard. The man’s eyes were cold, lifeless.
No…
“Dress,” Trebs said once more, snapping him to.
Dressler ignored the man. Bared his teeth and raised the gun, firing. Trebs ducked impossibly out of the path of the bullet and it ricocheted off the wall deeper into the room, throwing sparks. “I’ll kill you!” Dressler screamed.
He shot again, but Trebs moved fast and leapt, tackling Dressler backwards, smacking his head on corrugated flooring. He saw stars, then only black.
Showing posts with label Crazy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Crazy. Show all posts
Friday, March 9, 2012
Monday, February 20, 2012
On the Eve of the End
by Greg Mitchell -
The sub was on autopilot. Crazy had since outmaneuvered the angels at the top of the Boatic Trench, hiding within a series of underwater coral caves. It’d been tense for nearly twenty minutes as Dressler, Trebs, and Crazy nestled in the coral, no lights on, running on minimal power. The sub had been quiet as a tomb, filling Dressler with dread. At last, the angels moved on and the sub resumed its underwater quest.
Now they were lowering their way towards the meeting place, where Trebs’ angel contact was leading him. It occurred to Dressler more than once to ask why, if the angels had invited him to the ocean depths, the ones closer to the surface were so intent on keeping them away. The couple times he’d posed that same question to Trebs, his co-hunter had simply said “Trust me.”
It was a lot to go on trust, but every time Dressler thought of returning to dry land, he only had to think of Edilyn.
Crazy sipped at a mug of steaming drink, the same as Dressler and Trebs tended. The three of them sat around a small card table in the sub’s hold, taking a moment for themselves while the autopilot finished its journey. The coffee break was equal parts celebration that they’d dodged the angry angels and a time of quiet reflection. A strange sort of bond had been formed through the experience, and Crazy was feeling chatty.
The large man went on, pleasantly enough, talking about his various adventures piloting the oceans. Dressler nodded in and out of the conversation, enjoying the man’s stories when he was listening, but mostly thinking of home and how much he stood to lose if this little sojourn went south.
“So you’re a bug hunter, huh?”
Dressler blinked, realizing that Crazy had addressed him. “What? Oh. Yeah.”
He sipped at his drink. “Thought only criminals took that job.”
Dressler shrugged.
“I don’t mean to offend,” Crazy quickly added. “If that’s the case, then that’s your own business. Just saying you don’t look to me like much of a criminal.”
“No, it’s okay,” Dressler said. “I…served some time.”
Trebs blanched. “You never told me that.”
Of course he hadn’t. He didn’t tell anyone, save his employers. “It was about three years before Lyn was born. My daughter,” he added, realizing he’d not told Crazy her name. He felt as though the man had earned that much—risking all he had to escort Dressler on this fool’s errand. “It was a bar fight. I was lit up and mad about something. Guns got involved…I got a lenient sentence on account that we both were drunk and no one could tell who started shooting first. But…”
Crazy nodded, listening with a sympathetic ear. “You’re not that man now,” he said, not asked.
Dressler felt a thin smile emerge. “No. My daughter changed all of that.”
“Kids have a way of doin’ that.” Crazy buried himself in his mug again, thoughtful.
“You have any kids?” Trebs asked the pilot, suddenly, and it felt as though the man was a third wheel, butting in on a private conversation, though he’d been there the whole time.
“Used to,” Crazy answered, and left it at that.
Proximity alarms bathed the cabin in red. Crazy simply rose, slow and steady.
“What’s that?” Dressler asked, his heart starting to race.
“We’re here,” Crazy announced, like they’d reached the end of a leisure tour. “Now it’s time to see what the fuss is all about.”
“Yes,” Trebs stood, solidly. “It is.”
That’s when Trebs pulled the knife.
The sub was on autopilot. Crazy had since outmaneuvered the angels at the top of the Boatic Trench, hiding within a series of underwater coral caves. It’d been tense for nearly twenty minutes as Dressler, Trebs, and Crazy nestled in the coral, no lights on, running on minimal power. The sub had been quiet as a tomb, filling Dressler with dread. At last, the angels moved on and the sub resumed its underwater quest.
Now they were lowering their way towards the meeting place, where Trebs’ angel contact was leading him. It occurred to Dressler more than once to ask why, if the angels had invited him to the ocean depths, the ones closer to the surface were so intent on keeping them away. The couple times he’d posed that same question to Trebs, his co-hunter had simply said “Trust me.”
It was a lot to go on trust, but every time Dressler thought of returning to dry land, he only had to think of Edilyn.
Crazy sipped at a mug of steaming drink, the same as Dressler and Trebs tended. The three of them sat around a small card table in the sub’s hold, taking a moment for themselves while the autopilot finished its journey. The coffee break was equal parts celebration that they’d dodged the angry angels and a time of quiet reflection. A strange sort of bond had been formed through the experience, and Crazy was feeling chatty.
The large man went on, pleasantly enough, talking about his various adventures piloting the oceans. Dressler nodded in and out of the conversation, enjoying the man’s stories when he was listening, but mostly thinking of home and how much he stood to lose if this little sojourn went south.
“So you’re a bug hunter, huh?”
Dressler blinked, realizing that Crazy had addressed him. “What? Oh. Yeah.”
He sipped at his drink. “Thought only criminals took that job.”
Dressler shrugged.
“I don’t mean to offend,” Crazy quickly added. “If that’s the case, then that’s your own business. Just saying you don’t look to me like much of a criminal.”
“No, it’s okay,” Dressler said. “I…served some time.”
Trebs blanched. “You never told me that.”
Of course he hadn’t. He didn’t tell anyone, save his employers. “It was about three years before Lyn was born. My daughter,” he added, realizing he’d not told Crazy her name. He felt as though the man had earned that much—risking all he had to escort Dressler on this fool’s errand. “It was a bar fight. I was lit up and mad about something. Guns got involved…I got a lenient sentence on account that we both were drunk and no one could tell who started shooting first. But…”
Crazy nodded, listening with a sympathetic ear. “You’re not that man now,” he said, not asked.
Dressler felt a thin smile emerge. “No. My daughter changed all of that.”
“Kids have a way of doin’ that.” Crazy buried himself in his mug again, thoughtful.
“You have any kids?” Trebs asked the pilot, suddenly, and it felt as though the man was a third wheel, butting in on a private conversation, though he’d been there the whole time.
“Used to,” Crazy answered, and left it at that.
Proximity alarms bathed the cabin in red. Crazy simply rose, slow and steady.
“What’s that?” Dressler asked, his heart starting to race.
“We’re here,” Crazy announced, like they’d reached the end of a leisure tour. “Now it’s time to see what the fuss is all about.”
“Yes,” Trebs stood, solidly. “It is.”
That’s when Trebs pulled the knife.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Making the Run
by Greg Mitchell -
Dressler settled in the seat of the sub, his thoughts a jumble. He was really doing it—going down to the depths of Eclectia’s waters. Trebs sat beside him in the cockpit, uncharacteristically quiet. A serene smile stretched across the resurrected hunter’s face, one that Dressler didn’t understand. He didn’t share Trebs’ newfound faith or security.
At the controls of the underwater vessel was Crazy. His hands roved like wild over the console as he chewed a fat wad of tobacco. Music blared from the sub’s speakers, some long lost ancient genre called “hip hop”, Crazy said. The hairy man bebopped his head, but the rattle gave Dressler a headache.
“This is the classic stuff!” Crazy guffawed. “This was back when folks knew what music was all about. Now it’s all just noise and drek.”
“If you say so,” Dressler replied loudly to be heard over the bass.
Crazy chanted along with the music, and Dressler’s eyes wandered to the viewport to his left. His ears popped as they descended deeper into the ocean and wondered how long this would take. How long did it take to speak to some angels and get a cure for Edilyn?
“You’re nervous,” Trebs seemed to pick his thoughts. The man leaned over with a knowing nod. “Don’t be. Believers are rewarded.”
Yeah, Dressler worried. That was the problem. I’m not a believer, not as such. Would the angels find him wanting? Would his doubts and Sheba-blamed practicality steal away the love of his life? He saw his daughter’s face in his mind’s eye, left behind on the surface with her aunt. Meryl, his older sister, with four screaming, joyous, healthy children.
He only had Edilyn.
What was he saying? That’d he rather see one of his sister’s children die than his own? Was he saying Meryl had some to spare?
I’m horrible.
“Whoa!” Crazy bellowed. At first Dressler thought he was injecting some flavor into his sing-along, then he glimpsed it. Glowing, ethereal, vaguely humanoid, but wrong somehow. Fish-like. Alien. Other.
An angel.
She—he assumed it was a she—filled his port, startling him. But she was not alone. More joined her, swimming around the sub. Suddenly, he felt words worming their way through his mind. Words of warning. Turn back now, and You don’t belong here.
“Told ya!” Crazy snapped, shaking his bushy mane. He must have been hearing them too. “Told ya they wouldn’t want us poking around.”
“It’ll be fine,” Trebs said, still calm. Still smiling. “It’s a test, that’s all. Scaring off the unfaithful.”
“It’s working!” Crazy said.
“No!” Dressler snapped. “I paid you for a job. Keep going.”
“I am, I am, relax. And hold on!”
The sub lurched forward, evading the angels, swirling down into the dark abyss of the Boatic Trench.
Dressler settled in the seat of the sub, his thoughts a jumble. He was really doing it—going down to the depths of Eclectia’s waters. Trebs sat beside him in the cockpit, uncharacteristically quiet. A serene smile stretched across the resurrected hunter’s face, one that Dressler didn’t understand. He didn’t share Trebs’ newfound faith or security.
At the controls of the underwater vessel was Crazy. His hands roved like wild over the console as he chewed a fat wad of tobacco. Music blared from the sub’s speakers, some long lost ancient genre called “hip hop”, Crazy said. The hairy man bebopped his head, but the rattle gave Dressler a headache.
“This is the classic stuff!” Crazy guffawed. “This was back when folks knew what music was all about. Now it’s all just noise and drek.”
“If you say so,” Dressler replied loudly to be heard over the bass.
Crazy chanted along with the music, and Dressler’s eyes wandered to the viewport to his left. His ears popped as they descended deeper into the ocean and wondered how long this would take. How long did it take to speak to some angels and get a cure for Edilyn?
“You’re nervous,” Trebs seemed to pick his thoughts. The man leaned over with a knowing nod. “Don’t be. Believers are rewarded.”
Yeah, Dressler worried. That was the problem. I’m not a believer, not as such. Would the angels find him wanting? Would his doubts and Sheba-blamed practicality steal away the love of his life? He saw his daughter’s face in his mind’s eye, left behind on the surface with her aunt. Meryl, his older sister, with four screaming, joyous, healthy children.
He only had Edilyn.
What was he saying? That’d he rather see one of his sister’s children die than his own? Was he saying Meryl had some to spare?
I’m horrible.
“Whoa!” Crazy bellowed. At first Dressler thought he was injecting some flavor into his sing-along, then he glimpsed it. Glowing, ethereal, vaguely humanoid, but wrong somehow. Fish-like. Alien. Other.
An angel.
She—he assumed it was a she—filled his port, startling him. But she was not alone. More joined her, swimming around the sub. Suddenly, he felt words worming their way through his mind. Words of warning. Turn back now, and You don’t belong here.
“Told ya!” Crazy snapped, shaking his bushy mane. He must have been hearing them too. “Told ya they wouldn’t want us poking around.”
“It’ll be fine,” Trebs said, still calm. Still smiling. “It’s a test, that’s all. Scaring off the unfaithful.”
“It’s working!” Crazy said.
“No!” Dressler snapped. “I paid you for a job. Keep going.”
“I am, I am, relax. And hold on!”
The sub lurched forward, evading the angels, swirling down into the dark abyss of the Boatic Trench.
Friday, November 18, 2011
Gettin’ Crazy
by Greg Mitchell -
“That him?”
Trebs led the way through the clatter and chatter of Maddie’s Pub. Dressler trailed behind uncertainly, nodding a friendly “hello” to the madam of the bar. She was a mother to all the rugged workers who came here after hours and Dressler usually spent a while visiting with her, but today Maddie would have to wait.
They were here to save Edilyn.
At Dressler’s question, Trebs answered, “Yeah.”
In the corner of the pub, a bear of a man sat alone. He had an old prospector’s hat on his head, a pair of dark green goggles over his eyes, and a great bushy white beard covering his cheeks, chin, and the better part of his chest. Presently, his head was leaned back against the wall, his mouth agape. A foul odor emanated off his gargantuan bulk and flies buzzed around him.
He didn’t appear to be breathing. Dressler hesitated. “He’s . . . not moving.”
The two inched closer to the old man. Not a snore escaped his lips. His chest did not rise or fall. No, this isn’t happening. Dressler worried. We need him to save my daughter. Dressler reached one hand towards his throat, intending to check his pulse. “I think he’s dead . . . ”
“Nope,” the man barked, sitting straight up, suddenly alive. Dressler jerked his hand back, startled. “Just playin’ dead. Tryin’ ta keep the lowlifes away. You the guys got a job for me?”
Dressler shared a hesitant look with Trebs, but his partner simply nodded with a knowing grin. Trebs seemed a lot giddier since his brush with death and the angels of the seas. He had a perpetual glow about him these days that Dressler had to admit was a little creepy at times.
“I need someone to take me below,” Dressler said, still standing.
The burly man raised his goggles and eyed the bug hunter suspiciously. “Let me guess. Angels, huh?”
“Yes.”
“You one of them jelly rollers? This some kind of spiritual thing to you?” Before Dressler could answer, the man banged the table, carrying on. “Used to be a time folks stayed away from those critters. Now every Tom, Dick, and Harry wants to take a box a’candy down to them squid heads and learn about ‘em.”
“No,” Dressler corrected. “That’s not why I want to go.”
The scruffy brute swatted at one of the flies hovering by his nose. He snorted and glared. “Then what is it yer after?”
“I was . . . invited.”
“By who?”
Dressler shifted uncomfortably. “By them. The angels. They want to cure my daughter. But, I need a tub to take me down there. Trebs says you’re the best pilot.”
“Ha!” The man threw his head back, roaring. “The best. The cheapest, you mean!”
“That, too. I don’t have a lot of money, but if this saves my kid, whatever I’ve got is yours.”
The pilot snickered a bit more. “Angels don’t often take too kindly to our kind poking around in their habitat, invite or no. It’d take a crazy man to drive you down there to the deep to find ‘em.”
Dressler nodded. He knew the risks. But Edilyn was worth it.
The other man looked him up and down, but Dressler remained determined. “Will you take me?”
After a moment’s pause, the pilot stood to his full height; the hairy ogre was more monster than man. He swelled his barren chest, looking down on the two tiny mortals that sought his help on their foolish quest. At last he thrust out a hand the size of Dressler’s face, offering a shake. “Call me ‘Crazy’.”
“That him?”
Trebs led the way through the clatter and chatter of Maddie’s Pub. Dressler trailed behind uncertainly, nodding a friendly “hello” to the madam of the bar. She was a mother to all the rugged workers who came here after hours and Dressler usually spent a while visiting with her, but today Maddie would have to wait.
They were here to save Edilyn.
At Dressler’s question, Trebs answered, “Yeah.”
In the corner of the pub, a bear of a man sat alone. He had an old prospector’s hat on his head, a pair of dark green goggles over his eyes, and a great bushy white beard covering his cheeks, chin, and the better part of his chest. Presently, his head was leaned back against the wall, his mouth agape. A foul odor emanated off his gargantuan bulk and flies buzzed around him.
He didn’t appear to be breathing. Dressler hesitated. “He’s . . . not moving.”
The two inched closer to the old man. Not a snore escaped his lips. His chest did not rise or fall. No, this isn’t happening. Dressler worried. We need him to save my daughter. Dressler reached one hand towards his throat, intending to check his pulse. “I think he’s dead . . . ”
“Nope,” the man barked, sitting straight up, suddenly alive. Dressler jerked his hand back, startled. “Just playin’ dead. Tryin’ ta keep the lowlifes away. You the guys got a job for me?”
Dressler shared a hesitant look with Trebs, but his partner simply nodded with a knowing grin. Trebs seemed a lot giddier since his brush with death and the angels of the seas. He had a perpetual glow about him these days that Dressler had to admit was a little creepy at times.
“I need someone to take me below,” Dressler said, still standing.
The burly man raised his goggles and eyed the bug hunter suspiciously. “Let me guess. Angels, huh?”
“Yes.”
“You one of them jelly rollers? This some kind of spiritual thing to you?” Before Dressler could answer, the man banged the table, carrying on. “Used to be a time folks stayed away from those critters. Now every Tom, Dick, and Harry wants to take a box a’candy down to them squid heads and learn about ‘em.”
“No,” Dressler corrected. “That’s not why I want to go.”
The scruffy brute swatted at one of the flies hovering by his nose. He snorted and glared. “Then what is it yer after?”
“I was . . . invited.”
“By who?”
Dressler shifted uncomfortably. “By them. The angels. They want to cure my daughter. But, I need a tub to take me down there. Trebs says you’re the best pilot.”
“Ha!” The man threw his head back, roaring. “The best. The cheapest, you mean!”
“That, too. I don’t have a lot of money, but if this saves my kid, whatever I’ve got is yours.”
The pilot snickered a bit more. “Angels don’t often take too kindly to our kind poking around in their habitat, invite or no. It’d take a crazy man to drive you down there to the deep to find ‘em.”
Dressler nodded. He knew the risks. But Edilyn was worth it.
The other man looked him up and down, but Dressler remained determined. “Will you take me?”
After a moment’s pause, the pilot stood to his full height; the hairy ogre was more monster than man. He swelled his barren chest, looking down on the two tiny mortals that sought his help on their foolish quest. At last he thrust out a hand the size of Dressler’s face, offering a shake. “Call me ‘Crazy’.”
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