This is Episode 6-6 of a serial urban fantasy & paranormal story.

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Part 6-6: Cargo

A neon blue snake grew in the hallway. The scientist cursed.

Then it was white, then black, then gone.

I raced toward Eden’s door, and sent the raccoons around the long way.

“What in all hell?” said the man. He stared at the floor, where it looked he’d just witnessed his cable melt into dust. The soldier was on his feet, barking into his headset. All the machines on the tables were lifeless.

My hand still ached pretty horribly from the bite. I went for the big gun carried by the guard. His attitude went from mean drill sergeant to all-too-aware-of-one’s-mortality when the weapon shivered and broke apart into way more pieces than it should have, as if it were some advanced Lego toy.

As the two men gaped at the clattering remains, trash panda calvary arrived with snapping jaws and pinching claws. One jumped and buried its teeth into the guard’s wrist as I noticed him attempting to draw his sidearm.

Scientist had had it, and went screeching down the hall with two rodents encouraging him along. The other guy had a bit more resolve, and responded to his new wristband by swinging the raccoon overhand into the wall the same way one might use a heavy hatchet.

“No!” I cried, then a tearing, rendering explosion of pain burst in my head, and the world flashed bright. I hit the floor, gasping, yelling, unbelieving that had happened. I felt an aching gap in the root of my neck, like there’d been a huge tooth where my throat was and a vengeful dentist had wrenched it out with some needle nose pliers.

A twitching bag of fur crashed in front of me, landing with all the grace of a dropped sack of potatoes. The blob slid off it and drained away into the floor like a hunk of mucus coughed into the sink.

“Yah-ha!” cried the solider, victorious.

“You fuck,” I bellowed, and snapped the rapier to life. In two lurches, one to gain my feet and the other to dive forward, I jammed it into him, channeling all my pain, all my rage.

In a smoky flash, the blue cloud he wore brightened and blew away. The guy joined the critter on the floor, in a heap.

“Oh, oh, oh oh,” I said.

The rapier shook. It bucked and drove my grip to the side, as if I’d caught a fish with it. The blade, normally bright blue, ran slick with a white paint. Rainbow arcs snapped in and out my periphery, and I started to taste ozone. A static riot of similar rainbow colour fizzed and sparked from my ring, like it had when I’d heard The Minder’s tale of his secret princess or whatever it had been.

Then, in a rush, the sensations sucked themselves away from everywhere and a heaviness settled in my chest, curling there like a foreign anxiety, a cousin to having had too many coffees.

There was more: a vibration and jostling from far away. I recognized it as my body, the one still riding backseat with Fergus and Deluxe. I escaped back there for a moment, under the guise of wanting to check in, knowing that I wasn’t quite ready to process committing my second murder in a week. Third, if you counted the raccoon who’d just died for us.

“Left! Oh shit!” cried Fergus.

I slid against the turn, straining against the seatbelt. Tires screeched, and sirens wailed. Blue and red pulses reflected off every surface, it seemed. We jumped something and a clod of grass smacked off the windshield, leaving a trail of mud and thin blades.

I snapped back to ghost-me.

“Well this has gone about perfect, yes?” I said, nice and shrill. The jittery, fizzy feeling lingered in my heart.

My surviving raccoons once again dispassionately awaited orders.

“Door. Raccoon pyramid, go,” I instructed. I had probably less than a minute before backup came thundering up the stairs. I could hear them already. Luckily, I’d done some premeditation on the issue of the office door and figured they could pile up on each other and get jaws around the knob. And indeed, that’s exactly what they did. It contested the Parade of the Book in terms of general cuteness, but at the moment I was much less concerned with how well it might do on Instagram and moreso focused on escaping with the objective and maybe a shred of sanity.

The door swung open, and the evil bookshelf loomed. The helpers had little trouble positioning and inserting the book. Down the hall, the stairwell door wrenched open with a grind. Boots thundered.

Maybe the ghouls in Fort Ticktock sensed the trouble, because a book with a white cover spat out almost right away.

“Shut it, grab it, and fuckin’ boogey pals!”

We ran along the inner wall, using the tables and machines as cover. One raccoon had the book, running on a stressful angle so it could scrape it along.

“Man down, one down at point kappa,” shouted someone.

“See them? Other end! Look!” cried another.

“Cover the shafts, all units mobilize.”

I liked the last bit the least, as they’d just sunk my plan. Should have realized they’d not fall for a second elevator caper. We reached the bend, and made the corner, and met another soldier. He’d come up from the other stairs, which conveniently left the door open. The skittering raccoons and bumping, bouncing book blew his mind long enough to freeze him for a second, so I did him the favor of disintegrating his rifle too. This added another three seconds of disbelieving confusion, which allowed the raccoons to make the stairwell.

I warped myself up to the tenth floor landing, and then went one flight further. Here I found the roof’s door. I took a moment to reflect on how fast I’d taken to what I was about to do, then inhaled, made a fist, and punched it. The pain took on the character of exercise pain: worth it, because it was effecting shit. The door flashed blue-fading-to-white before succumbing to a black mass and falling apart.

“I punch doors out of existence,” I said. “And kill folks now. New hobby, Maive. Weird story how I got into it, but you know how it goes.”

I mimed a smile out at the derelict roof, wondering if my little sister was getting pouty about me not answering her calls yet. The thought faded fast when I heard the sonorous choir of a lot of police sirens. Then the raccoons reached me, trailing the echoes of the chasing agents.

We stepped out onto the roof. I did some quick mental orienting, and then asked the book bearer to drop the damn cargo off the north edge. It fell.

“Find a drain pipe or something and raccoon the hell out of here, friends. I’m sorry about everything, too. If you can understand that. Blobs, tell them I’m sorry.”

They blinked at me, snuffled, then scampered off to their hopeful escape.

I took three deep breaths, and steeled myself—I was late for a car chase.

 

 

Continued in Part 6-7

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