Bobby & Emma's Excellent Adventure
Chapter Four: Ahoy There!
Some days, things seem to go from bad to worse. Like today, for instance.
Just a moment ago, my girlfriend broke her arm and dislocated her shoulder after our stagecoach crashed, and before I could do anything to really figure out what to do about it, we get completely surrounded by the gang of the guy I humiliated in a bar earlier today – who just happened to be Jesse James, the outlaw and general all-round nasty piece of work.
Yeah. Right now, there's nothing I'd rather do than find a nice warm bed, crawl under the covers and pretend none of this ever happened. Unfortunately, though, seems like Jesse here isn't going to give me that luxury – and I can't rely on Emma to lay him or the rest of his gang out with a telepathic sucker-punch, either, since she's too busy trying not to cry from the pain of her arm.
This sucks…
"You listenin' to me, boy?" Jesse says, unholstering his Smith & Wesson and pointing it at me. "Nobody disrespects me and gets away with it. You're gonna die for what you did, you little bastard." Then he sneers at Emma and Lisa and raises his eyebrows. "Then again, maybe I'll take your womenfolk first, just so you can watch 'em scream their little hearts out. How 'bout it, sweetheart?" He walks over to Emma and cups her sweat-soaked chin in his dirty hand, leering at her like she's a Hollywood hooker. Through the pain, Emma finds enough strength to sneer back at him, her expression going black as thunder.
"I'd rather die," she hisses back. In response, Jesse slaps her across the face, hard and shoves her down to the ground so that she sprawls in the dirt. Fortunately, Lisa's mucus-cast stays intact, so her arm isn't damaged any further, but the impact knocks the wind out of her and she has to take a few moments to get her breath back.
"Don't tempt me, princess," Jesse snarls at her, before he moves over to Lisa, her face still hidden by the purple bonnet she's wearing. "Now… what do we have here?" he says thoughtfully, pulling the bonnet off her head in one rough movement and tearing the silk tying it under her chin. Lisa flinches as her face is revealed, her long black hair falling around her half-lidded compound eyes and the sun's reflection beginning to send ripples of colour across her rainbow skin. "Jesus," Jesse exclaims, sounding genuinely shocked. "What the fuck are you?"
"Santa Claus," Lisa replies, before spitting a large wad of the thick, gooey mucus from her mouth glands directly into his eyes. That's all the distraction I need to ice up, bulking up my body by about a hundred pounds and tearing myself free of the two guys holding me. As they stumble backwards, looking just as stunned as their boss did a second ago, I aim a couple of blasts of ice at their feet so that they're pinned to the spot. Jesse is still screeching like Banshee with a stubbed toe, trying to clear his eyes of the muck that Lisa sprayed into them, so I leave him for the moment and make a mental count of how many guys we've got to get through before we can make a decent escape attempt. By my best estimate, we're facing about ten or twelve armed men, and they're looking like they were spoiling for a fight since they left New Mexico on a day return ticket. I can hear the camera Mojo sent after us still whirring around trying to get the best shot of the three of us, but I have to put that distraction out of my mind for now. Surviving is far more important at this point.
With that in mind, I punch the nearest guy in the stomach and then drop him to the ground with a kick to the side of the head. I can see a couple of others going for their six-shooters, so I quickly freeze them up so that their barrels are totally sealed and then knock them out with a couple of concentrated ice-blasts. The gang's numbers advantage is slipping away, and it gets worse for them when Emma finds the strength of will to mind-blast the two men approaching her. When the psychic energy stops crackling around their heads, they fall to the dusty ground, drooling like babies and acting as if they've suddenly regressed in age about thirty years.
Emma catches me looking at her in concern, and she simply raises her right eyebrow in a moment of contempt. "I don't need you looking out for me, Drake," she says through gritted teeth, before she nods in my direction. I hear a thump, and turn to see a guy crumpled in a boneless heap. "It seems to me like you need somebody watching out for you, wouldn't you say?"
"Don't get smart," I tell her, too busy jamming my fist into the gut of a hoodlum to really be irritated. Spraying a thick layer of ice over the guy once he's fallen, wheezing as the breath is driven from his lungs, I make sure he can't get back up again by freezing his arms and legs together. At the same time, Lisa backhands a guy with one fist, and I see him tumbling away under the force of the blow.
"What?" she says quickly, rubbing her knuckles for a second or two. "I take self-defence classes."
And it's right then that I notice that we're down to just one guy still standing – Jesse James himself. Everyone else is either knocked out cold, busy picking up their own teeth, or has headed for the hills. I pick up a dropped shotgun and wait for him to finish cleaning Lisa's goo out of his eyes. It's just then that he notices he's all alone, and I'm pointing a gun at him. The colour leaks out of his face as if someone's opened a drain in his cheeks, and at that, I have to smile.
"All right, you primitive screwhead, listen up," I begin, still keeping the gun pointed at him. This is going to be fun, I find myself thinking. "This… is my boomstick! It's a double-barrelled twelve-gauge Remington, made in Michigan. You can find this in the Sporting Goods aisle – it's got a walnut stock, cobalt blue steel, and it retails for about a hundred and nine ninety five. Shop smart – shop S-Mart! You got that!" From the expression on his face, Jesse's initial fear has vanished, and has been replaced by a real sense of total confusion (hell, I'd be confused if some guy I'd never met before started saying stuff like this after beating up almost my entire gang. The fact that I still look like Frosty the Snowman on steroids can't help much, either).
"What the fuck are you people?" Jesse rasps again, after a long pause.
I shrug. "I wouldn't worry, pal. You won't see anything like us for at least another hundred years, so it's not like you'll ever have to get your stirrups in a knot. But just so you know – we're all mutants, and we're the next step in human evolution."
"That's right," Emma agrees. "And if you do anything to upset us, we'll kill you. So I'd recommend you behave."
Lisa grins. "Yeah – we'll suck your brain out through your nose." She unrolls her long, flexible tongue from her mouth and takes a step towards Jesse, reaching out for him with her multi-jointed hands. He scrambles backwards, the fear in his eyes returning almost instantly, and he pulls out one of his pistols and holds it shakily in front of him.
"Stay back!" he says. "Don't come any closer, or I'll shoot!"
Do we have to waste our time like this? Can't I just knock him out? Emma sends to me impatiently.
Nah, let's play along for a bit longer - I'm actually enjoying this, I reply. "You wanna shoot at us, buddy?" I say aloud. "Let's think this through for a moment here – I've got my boomstick pointed right at you. You miss, and your face is going to be Swiss cheese – and for all you know, we could all be bullet-proof."
"Shoot him," Lisa says, chuckling and giving Jesse a wide, mocking smile. "Make sure you go for somewhere lower than the head, though – I want my brains kept intact. And besides, buckshot kinda ruins the flavour." She unfolds one of her long hands, reaching towards Jesse with chitin-tipped fingers. "Boo," she says, watching Jesse flinch away from her and laughing even more.
She's certainly enjoying this, isn't she? Emma remarks to me, surprise clear in her psychic voice. Perhaps a little too much.
Are you really all that surprised? I ask her, remembering to keep my shotgun poised and aimed right at Jesse's chest. She's had to spend her whole life trying to avoid being feared – at least now she can have a little fun with the idea. I mean it's not like she's really going to eat his brains, is it?
All right – but if this all goes wrong, I'll know exactly who to blame, Emma fires back at me. Fortunately, Lisa proves me right by drawing back and folding her arms.
"I changed my mind," she says, glaring at Jesse as he sweats out a lake in front of us. "I'm not hungry."
Just then, I let the shotgun slip down a little, and it's then that Jesse takes his chance. He leaps forward and slams the pistol in his hand into my jaw, knocking white stars across my eyes and making the world turn upside down. My eyes start working again after a second or two – just in time to see Jesse about to smash both of his hands right into my face. I wait for the blow to strike (I figure it won't do much more than sting me while I'm iced up – if that), but it never does. Looking to my right, I can see Emma holding out a finger to freeze him in place.
"Better think of something quickly, Drake – I can't hold him like this for long," Emma says through gritted teeth. "If I weren't in such bad condition, it'd be a different story, but –"
"I'm on it," Lisa interrupts, quickly slapping some more of her mucus secretions all over Jesse's arms and legs (and over his mouth for good measure, too). "Keep him like this for a couple of minutes while the mucus sets. Then we can get the hell out of here."
Emma nods, and strains against the pain that I can feel building in her head for as long as she can, and when he can't move, I push him off me and then point at him lying on the ground. "How long does this stuff last?"
"About eight hours – maybe ten if I use enough of it," Lisa replies. "He'll be able to get out of it just fine once it goes brittle, if that's what you're worried about." Then she gestures at the ground around us. "What about us? What are we gonna do now?"
"I think you know the answer to that, screwloose," says a voice from out of nowhere, although I'd bet dollars to doughnuts it's being projected from the camera that's still buzzing around us. Sure enough, a wormhole opens out of thin air next to Lisa, and Spiral steps through, wearing an eye patch and carrying a treasure chest with two of her arms, with a small green bird sat on her shoulder. "Time to set sail on the open seas!"
"When is this going to end, Spiral?" I say, knowing even as I speak that I won't get a straight answer out of this loon.
"It's sweeps week," Spiral chuckles, as if that explains everything. "You think this is going to end any time soon, when it's giving Lord Mojo his highest ratings for a dozen seasons? Prepare to walk the plank, landlubbers!" Then, she clicks her fingers, and the familiar sinking feeling I've been nursing in my guts takes over as the air around us shows an equally familiar static buzz…
… and then it's all over, and the three of us are stood on the wooden deck of a ship. I'm dressed in a striped jersey and short pants with white leggings and buckles shoes, and Emma and Lisa… well, let's just say that they're not leaving much to the imagination at chest level. Their ruffled dresses (white for Emma, red for Lisa) are so tight that their breasts are shoved together and show more cleavage than I'd have ever thought possible, and both of them are wearing full white make-up on their faces, each with two rosy cheeks painted onto them. And not only that, but their hair is curled and piled up onto their heads, held in place by whalebone clips.
Emma is the first to say something, as I'd expected. "Oh, this is getting beyond a joke now. Am I the only one who's sick and tired of being used as a dress-maker's mannequin?"
"Nope," Lisa replies as she's examining her dress in disgust, and rubbing cautiously at the make-up caking her face. "I look like I fell out of the Mardi Gras."
"Avast there, ye lily-livered swine!" says a voice that makes us all jerk our heads around to see who else is here, and we see a big, muscular man with a black beard reaching almost down to his waist, flaming knots of gunpowder tied into it at regular intervals. If he weren't holding out a cutlass that's almost equal to the length of his arm, I'd be tempted to laugh. "What are ye damned cowardly dogs doing on my ship?"
"Um… just passing through?" I say, hoping to avoid any trouble by using the same excuse as I did at the saloon. "We don't want to cause you nice fellas any problems, after all, so if you'll just –"
"Quiet, you little fool," the pirate says, squinting at me with both of his black, piggy eyes. "I don't remember taking any new crew on board at Southampton… and I certainly don't recall bringing two females on board, either. Women are bad luck."
"Let me guess, you're single?" Lisa spits back at him, contempt oozing out of her words. The pirate glares at her.
"I'd mind my words if I were you, miss," he begins in a low, dangerous tone. "You want to remember whose ship you're on at the moment. If you annoy me any further, I can throw you to the sharks and have Satan and his angels fight over what those grey devils leave behind."
Lisa gulps. "Yes, sir," she says, quickly realising that she's on a losing streak here, and that being eaten by a shark isn't exactly at the top of her "to do" list.
Then, the big pirate nods to some of his deck crew and says "Throw these knaves down in the bilge and let them fight the other rats for food." He sniggers, cupping Lisa's chin in his huge, callused hand. "I think you'll change your tune once you've been down there a few hours, little flower."
Three other pirates grab us and march us towards a door in the deck that, when it's opened, leads us down into the belly of the ship. Bobby, you do realise I can stun these men and have us free in no time? Emma sends to me.
Yeah, I know that, Emma, but where are we going to go? For all we know, we could be miles from anywhere, and without a crew, this ship could drift for days. Let's just see what's going on before we do anything dumb, okay? Don't want a repeat of your arm, after all.
Emma scowls at me, wincing as one of the pirates grabs a little too tightly at her cast, and then nods her head. All right, Bobby, we'll play it your way. For now.
Good girl, I say. When the time comes, I promise you can go nuts on these guys.
We're pushed down another few flights of stairs, Emma almost falling into a pile of rotted meat as her foot finds a flaw in the decking, and eventually we reach a stinking door that has flies and stench rising from it almost equally.
"Enjoy your stay," one of the pirates chuckles as he pushes me in. I land face-first into thick, fetid water that tastes like rotten apples. Standing, I spit as much of the flavour of it out of my mouth as I can, and try to see what I can see through the gloom. There's no light to speak of, except a few stray shafts of light coming through holes in the boards of the ship a way above my head (and even that's being kind). All I can hear are chittering rats splashing through the muck, and it's not the best feeling to have. The big guy said something about "fighting the other rats for food"… but there doesn't seem to be enough of that down here to sustain the number of rats I can hear crawling around.
I really don't like the look of this…
Suddenly, I hear a clattering sound down at the other end of the ship, and try to see what's making it through the murky darkness. The low light doesn't help, and for a moment I wish I had a lighter or something else to make a flame. Suddenly I have a flash of inspiration and start patting down my pockets to see what I can find (hey, if Spiral gave me six-shooters in the Wild West, maybe she's left me something else here). Sure enough, I find a small tinderbox and a flint, along with some short lengths of wood that I guess are supposed to be like matches. They're dry, and once the flint has caught, light easily as well.
"Oh God," Lisa says, after the flame starts chasing away the shadows. "Look." She points off into the retreating darkness, and just before the fire dies, I see what it was that got her so spooked.
Skeletons. Dozens of them.
And every one of them upright and walking.
Emma swallows hard, and I can feel her slipping her good hand into mine. I squeeze it hard, as much to reassure myself as to reassure her. A shiver runs down my spine as I hear thin, ghostly voices start howling things like "Food!" or "Battle!", and I instinctively ice myself up and spread a thick wall of frozen water across the inside of the ship's hull. It won't keep the boneheads out for ever, but it'll at least give us some thinking space.
"Emma, can you do anything about those guys?" I say, not feeling that confident about the possible answers.
"I can't feel anything out there," Emma says, a frown creasing across her forehead. "If I can't feel them, then there's nothing I can grab hold of. Find me a hammer and I'll still smash them into kitty litter, though."
"I could do with one of those, too," Lisa adds, balling her fists and listening to the skeletons start hammering my ice wall with their skinless hands. "Hell, I'd even settle for a staple gun right now."
The ice wall starts to crack, and even though I keep reinforcing it wherever I can see breaks forming, there are just too many of the skeletons for me to make any kind of permanent repairs, and they come crashing through, waving rusty blades and howling curses.
"Well, here we are," I breathe, before a sudden flash of inspiration hits me. "Lost in time."
"Not now, Bobby," Emma says, realising where I'm going.
"Surrounded by evil," I continue, as the skeletons pour forwards.
"Damn it, not now!" Emma screams as bony fingers start reaching for her.
"Low on gas," I say, seeing the black pits of the skeletons' eye sockets get closer and closer, before a wide grin plasters itself across my face. "Groovy…"