1~
The Thorn Soldier stalked in a steady shamble from the sidelines towards Daisy, Red, Jason, and Stone, who stayed close to each other on the forty-five yard line, studying it.
The creature moved hesitantly, as if deciding who it should go after, first, but then, the decision was made for him, as Daisy and Jason began waving hands, jumping, and calling it insulting epithets, to get its attention.
The Soldier's primitive pseudo-brain processed the motion and noise as provocation, raised its thorn-sword and tendrils for the attack, and charged at the two, who yelped and ran in the direction of the far end zone.
With the plant creature fully preoccupied, Stone ran across the field towards the Emperor's Box.
Warily, Greenman saw his approach. The ploy for them to use the weakest of their number as bait to lure the Soldier away way a good one, but he couldn't say that he approved of what followed to capitalize on that, and wondered if this was some desperate, suicidal play of the man.
In the shadowy interior of the box, his right hand hardened into a wooden, dangerous-looking, thorn-clawed parody of itself, fairly capable of gutting such fools.
The sheriff reached the bottom of the box, but rather than attempting to climb up the clean, linen drapes to get to Greenman, he leaped up and snatched down a handful of gold sash and attached wreath, instead.
To the Questoids in the stands, their programming couldn't allow them to care less about what sides to take, only what orders to carry out. But, this was a rare study on human behavior and combat in a stressful environment, in real time, and if Greenman wanted them to taunt the visitors and cheer the monsters, to keep up this charade, then they would do so.
At one point, they responded with simulated gasps, a programmed reaction to being unsure of what the human was doing, being so near their emperor, but with Bronson, quickly, running back across the field, he was soon rewarded with the return of their jeers.
Marcie and Velma relied on the constant booing of the audience to cover them, as they crept quietly towards the two beasts.
Somehow, the Hounds still sensed them, while they guarded their lifeless prey, their heads turning in the girls' direction, so they could see the deputy's red ruin painted on the creatures' faces.
The reaction was understandable and immediate. Both girls stopped cold upon the horrible aftermath of the attack, daring to go no further.
"They must've been bred from carnivorous plants. Are you sure that this will distract them, Marcie?" Velma asked, shakily.
"Well, the solution will harden in contact with air," Marcie demurred. "But, we're totally improvising, here. There's just enough solution in each bulb for one good squeeze, so if we aim for their mouths, we should be safe."
Both Hounds stood and faced them, fern-manes flattening and red mouths growling in defense of the kill.
With calming breaths and trembling hands, the girls slowly raised their bulbs and carefully aimed at those mouths, both knowing that once they squeezed, there was no going back.
"Okay, on three," Marcie whispered. "One, two, three."
Two thick streams of white liquid jetted from the tips of the bulb syringes. They arced through space and massed on the top of the confused beasts' muzzles.
The moment contact was made, however, the creatures didn't run from the goop. Who or whatever created them, had given them the same instincts as dogs, and similar behavioral traits, as the two began angrily snapping at the solution, allowing more and more of it to flow into their maws.
The bulbs were now spent in Marcie and Velma's hands, but they had to stay and see their fruits of their handiwork, and hope for success.
The Hounds tried to chomp and expel the mass from their mouths, but enough seconds had passed that the sticky, expanding gel had already began to grow spongy, then rubbery, and finally, solid.
As plant life, they were spare from suffocation, however, their jaws were now held fast, and their mouths were completely blocked up with Quick Key solution. All they could do was roll on the ground, shaking their heads in frustration, and use their long, thorny claws to, vainly, try to dig out the obstruction.
Thoroughly surprised and flushed with their sudden success, both girls gave each other a high-five. The distraction had worked.
"We're the girls of science!" Velma crowed. "How do we solve problems?"
"With science!" Marcie answered, cockily.
While the two were cheering, against the booing crowd, the wheels in the Herb Hounds' heads, primitive as they were, were turning.
They had just fed, but their bloodlust, their need to hunt, had not abated. They were still capable of movement, and just as importantly, as they stood before the surprised girls, drawing deep furrows in the turf with those massive thorn-claws, they were still armed.
As the audience's cheers rose in volume, the two beasts split up, each stalking a target apiece and hoping to flank them, as the girls backed off.
They hoped that they weren't dog-like enough to have the instinct to chase down prey, if they turned and ran, but the remains of Deputy Carlton proved otherwise.
"Marcie, you said safe!" Velma fretted, the wheels in her own head turning for an escape plan.
"I, also, said improvising!" her friend countered, looking around the arena for something to use, since it wouldn't take the beasts long to outrun them.
If Velma had a rejoinder, it was canceled by the sight of the two Herb Hounds shaking their manes and scratching at the ground, fiercely, as if riling themselves up for another hunt.
She interpreted that body language to mean one thing.
"Run!" she cried, tearing off down the field, Marcie and the plant-creatures close behind in the wake of new cheering.
"Keep up, Jason!" Daisy called out to him, while she heard the ponderous, rooted-foot falls, as the plant monster stayed on them and focused its anger on the taunting duo.
With the creature bearing down on them, Jason huffed as hard as he could, trying to stay ahead of the Soldier. He didn't want to scare himself by looking back to see how close it might have been, but his mind nagged at him about situational awareness and that he should check, at least, once.
He gave a glance over his shoulder, and noticed, to his horror, that it ignored Daisy, and was bearing down on him.
His fear kept his vision locked on the sight of the creature, and he promptly lost his footing on the field's turf, falling in a tumble.
He righted himself from the fall, sitting up in time to see the monster jog towards him, planning to use the momentum of its charge, and its lifted weapon, to strike true.
Even with Daisy turning around to wave and yell, desperately, to get the creature to chase after her, Jason knew that couldn't move his bulk away in time. He whimpered loudly and covered his eyes to spare himself the sight of his killer.
The sound of a rising bellow from the distance ended in a running Red clipping the creature low from the hip in a perfectly executed tackle that put all of his momentum and strength into the hit. The Thorn Soldier, confused, was lifted from his feet and crashed, up-ended, into the ground.
Both figures rolled in the turf, with Red recovering first, and barking to a stunned Jason, "Get up, rookie! You can rest when you're benched! Now, c'mon, we got a game to win!"
Jason nodded with a quiet grunt, rolled himself back to his feet, and ran over to where a grateful Daisy waited.
Red stood up, soon after, and noticed that the Soldier was getting up, as well.
Not waiting for it to come up with a tactic, Herring stepped up to the monster and gave it a serious gut punch, slamming his fist into solid, animated wood.
With a loud yell, he favored his sore knuckles, and backed away, but not fast or far enough for the Soldier to reach out with its three tendrils and snatch Red off his feet, by the neck.
Digging his nails into the skin of the vines, for purchase, he found them near impossible to loosen, as the plant creature suddenly raised and reared its sword to run him through.
A wreath tied to a length of gilded sash fell over the thorn-sword, and with a strong pull, stopped the weapon in the midst of its killing motion.
Over the raucous displeasure of the crowd, Stone whipped the sash high and loose, so that it neatly looped around the arms of the Soldier.
In its confusion, the creature turned its attention to Stone, and released Red, while Stone, being faster, began running around it, wrapping it in tighter and tighter bonds of cloth with each pass, until the Thorn Soldier, now thoroughly bound, struggled mightily, failed, and then, fell over.
Stone jogged over to the incapacitated being, grabbed a fistful of rooted feet, and proceeded to hog-tied the creature, ending with him, triumphantly, standing in its back, and letting loose a cowboy whoop that echoed across the arena.
"That's how Dead Justice would've done it!" he crowed, as the rest ran over to him.
"No doubt, sir, but you may want to get off of it, now, Sheriff," Daisy warned, opening the loaned flask of acid. "It's going to get a little messy."
"No," said the sheriff, holding out his hand to accept the bottle without debate. "I owe them for Carlton."
The flask was passed to Stone, who walked over and emptied it all over the back of the Soldier's head, liquefying the bulb into a puddle of destroyed plant matter, as it struggled under Stone's grim satisfaction. Finally, the creature ceased its fight, and lay still.
The robotic crowd rose to its feet in a thunderous roar of disapproval, and the match wasn't even done, yet...
"V, we've got to split up!" Marcie called out. "We're leading them back to the guys!"
"Go for the sidelines!"
Both girls broke away and ran for the camera-lined periphery of either side of the field. The Hounds split up, as well, however, due to the awkwardness of the hardened mass in their heads, both running and steering was more difficult, forcing them to stop, occasionally, to scratch and try to loosen it, again, to no avail.
This bought the girls time to enter the sidelines and look for momentary shelter, or a weapon.
Marcie frantically scanned each mounted video camera she passed for a solution. Could she electrocute her pursuer? The cables that gathered around the cameras' bases were too thick to break, and there was no time to tell if they were even powered. All she could, uselessly, deduce was that their lenses were cleaned often, as she saw bottles of glass cleaner on a nearby bench.
Velma slowed her run to a cautious jog among the cameras on her side, the path between them and the benches made uneven by the haphazard piles of power and video cables running from the cameras.
In the distance, she could see the rest of the gang and Sheriff Stone dealing the Thorn Soldier, and the debate between playing bait and self-preservation flashed in her mind.
She shook it away and risked a glance behind her for signs of her hunter. The loping Herb Hound was already closing and was just seconds from overtaking her. She cursed herself for her lack of focus, as she accelerated into a sprint, with a yelp.
Something held her foot, and her world spun, as she snagged on a pile of cables and fell forward, crashing into another tangle of lines.
Velma twisted hard in her entanglement to see the Hound rocket in on her, but then, loops of cable snared its flashing legs and pulled taught, as it ran forward, bringing it down in a hard, clumsy crash, mere feet from a struggling Velma.
The Hound still worked with enough slack to edge closer to Velma and slash at her with its claws, while she felt her cables tighten around her calves and ankles, particularly, when she pulled against them, in a panic, to free herself.
Cause and effect, the rational side of her mind thought.
Realizing that she still had inches of space to spare, and fighting against her rising fear, Velma relaxed her kicks and movements, allowing her to sit up, reach out to the lines, and unravel them from her lower extremities.
"Opposable thumbs for the win," she muttered.
The curved tip of a questing thorn-claw hooked against the strap of one of her Mary Janes. With a vigorous shake, she loosed the claw, as the cables relinquished their clutch on her legs.
Finally, Velma stood up, and then, gathered the cables that almost doomed her. Holding them loosely in her hands, she tossed the tangle over the beast's head, where it looped and ensnared. Along with its constant thrashing, the whole mess soon weighed the creature down and restrained it, like a mass of black constrictors.
For good measure, she gave one end of the chaotic coils a strong tug, tightening and securing it to its trap, before a force, from behind, rammed the breath from her, knocking her to the ground.
Velma twisted around to see her attacker, her back sore, and saw the other Herb Hound stalking her, confident that she could do nothing while she was prone.
The patient Hound focused its killer instinct upon Velma, spreading and flexing the claws on its fore-paws, eager to rend the flesh from this troublesome prey. It dug its rear paws into the turf, preparing to launch into a fatal pounce, when it suddenly jumped in pain, its leafy flank, smoking.
A sprinting Marcie stopped between Velma and the Hound, armed with a spray bottle at the ready. She gave a spritz of whatever was in the container at the monster's head, making it back away from her friend, with another jump, its head and mane of ferns starting to brown and chemically burn.
"Sorry, V!" Marcie apologized. "Rover got away from me, for a second!"
"What is that, Marcie?" Velma asked, wondering how on Earth she had the time to whip something up, while on the run.
Marcie spun the bottle by its trigger on her thin finger. "Good ol' glass cleaner."
Incredulous, Velma echoed, "Glass cleaner?"
"Glass cleaner, with fifty percent more NH3(aq), otherwise known as aqueous ammonia!"
"Of course!" Velma exclaimed, as she was helped back to her feet. "Aqueous ammonia is toxic to plants! Genius!"
"Thanks," Marcie said, handing her the bottle. "Cover me, while I give Rex, there, a bath."
She walked over to the side of the trapped, squirming Herb Hound, took out her acid flask, and poured a generous amount on its head. It ran down past intervening cables, bubbling their insulation, and then, made contact with the monster's head, rendering it into a puddle of liquefaction that stilled the beast for good.
When Marcie returned to Velma, Velma eyed the cowed, remaining Hound, tending to its wounds, with predacious eyes of her own, and said, evenly, "Let's switch places."
"Yes, ma'am," said Marcie, tossing the closed flask to her, and receiving the spray bottle, in turn.
"Wicked tackle, Red," Daisy complimented him, surprised that he could move that well under pressure.
"Best blocker in Crystal Cove High's football team, the Crush-taceans. Go Crabs!" Red reminisced. "I couldn't play long, though, because I was sidelined with an injury."
"What was it?"
"Ingrown toenail."
Daisy rolled her eyes, seeing Marcie and Velma jogging towards them and the others, while Red defended his position.
"Hey, those kinds of things really hurt, y'know?" he pouted.
In the air, almost unheard over the audience's grumbles and low-spirits, a buzzer rang, overhead, and a distant scoreboard displayed in glowing numbers: HOME-3/VISITORS-0.
"Yeah! All right!" Red whooped, flexing his muscles and posing amid the incoming boos and hisses.
"Are you entertained?" Velma asked the audience, mocking the unhappy crowds, swayed by her own emotions of the kill, and not really caring if the spectators were simple programmed to respond to the affair. "Are you entertained?"
Marcie gave her a surprised smirk. "Not as much as you are."
Velma took a mental look outside of herself, and noticed that her scholarly composure and self-control was thrown out the window.
"Oh, I didn't-I didn't mean..." she tried to explain, as she reddened. "It was just, uh, I was...caught up in the...You know, I'm just going to be quiet, now."
Greenman stood in his box overlooking the battlefield and applauded. "Well fought! Well fought! Just wonderful! Marcie, I thought you and your ridiculous band were just lucky buffoons, but this tells me that you're much more than the sum of your parts! After I show the world where I stand, I must have you on for the grand finale, to finish you off under the knowledge that you failed those you came here to save."
With a gesture, the Questoids guarding the exits walked to the center of the field, corralling the group.
"Take them to the clubhouse, while I prepare to show my followers the depths of my unyielding dedication," he ordered them. Then, he glanced at the corpse of the deputy, below. "And, someone, throw that thing on the compose heap."
The armed guards herded the fighters, and marched them towards an entrance that led underground, the mocking calls of their triumph fading, the deeper they went.