I must explain something else, I may have done so before, I may not. Anyway, this story is the first in a four part Alternate Universe series, with a second story either about Piggy or Robin (Not sure can't decide!!!) a Third involving a whole host of characters, and a fourth pulling everything together into a fabulous ending. Anyway, enough waffeling, here's some more for anyone who is a masochist...
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Gonzo had stared at death before. He would stare at it again.
The time he climbed the lamp stand, hand over hand, twisting around on top of the head and bulb, and balancing as he slid a telescope from his pocket to be nearer the stars, slid the telescope, and slipped, and fell, grabbing at the head of the lamp, catching it, the glass cracking in his fingers, and falling, hitting the curb, rolling into the road, under the truck as it flashed before his nose, the underbelly of the beast so close that he held his breath, and the bumper moving over him, and the stars blinking once more above him out of darkness. He'd faced death before.
Gonzo blinked. The arrow, shivered against the metal wire and black frame of the bow. Gonzoz's face moved, on up, staring into the unflinching face of the man in black. The man's eyes were dark, his skin pale, a black moustache snaking over full lips. “Gonzo,” the man said.
Uncle Deadly's scaled hands wrapped around the bolt of the arrow stuck through his shoulder. He closed his eyes, and tugged. The arrow broke free. “Humans,” he snarled, inhaling the smell of human being.
The man's fingers twitched against the trigger. Gonzo's eyes widened, as he saw, beyond the man-
Fozzie leapt through the air, and smashed into the man's side. The man's finger snapped back. Gonzo dropped, the arrow slicing above his head, cutting hairs. Uncle Deadly opened his fist, and his arrow clattered on the hard ground. The other arrow clanged somewhere not far away. The man hit the floor, losing his breath, dropping the bow, Fozzie on top of him. “I think that arrow was meant for me,” Fozzie said, gripping the man's chest with his knees, and pulling himself up the body, towards the man's throat.
The man's eyes narrowed, fist's clenched. He kicked, flipping over and landing on his feet, coat flapping. Fozzie tripped back. Gonzo dived for the bow on the ground, the man's boot met Gonzo's face, tossing him across the open like a dummy. He crashed against the cement mixer.
Uncle Deadly was slow, calculated. He waited till the man's foot snapped at Gonzo's face, then made his move, leaping forward at the back of the man's knees. He smacked into them, whacking the man back against the packed mud. The man crawled backwards as Uncle Deadly rolled and launched at him once more. He landed with his feet on the man's chest. “You caused me pain,” Uncle Deadly growled. His hand whipped forward, claws extended, slicing into the man's face, two long jagged cuts along the surface of the skin.
Gonzo's vision bleared and cleared. Fozzie grabbed his arm. “We must go.”
“No, we promised.” Gonzo struggled to his feet.
The man lay very still below Uncle Deadly. Dangerously still. Gonzo's eyes flickered around the construction site. There had to be some strategy.
It wasn't this. The sound of motorbikes. Ten, or twenty or more or less or some or one, roaring towards the construction site.
Deadly's ears pricked. His coat stuck to his shoulder. A drip of red twinkled up the man's tilted face, past his closed eyes. Deadly's tail flicked once, twice. Then the man made his move.
*****
His knees shot up, the soles of his shoes scrapping dust. His hands and muscled arms reached behind his head, touching the ground, and he arched his body into a bridge, tumbling Uncle Deadly. Uncle hit the floor on his shoulder, and screamed. The man sat up straight, went into the splits, rolled forward, and up into a cartwheel, snagging the bow with his boot, and kicking it into the air, landing, crouching, and catching it.
Fozzie grabbed Gonzo, protecting, or for protection. Uncle groaned, and closed his eyes, then opened them fuelled with fury.
Gonzo felt caged, locked into the open space of his home. The trailer, the cement mixer, crane and piles of tiles. He knew humans. He did. That's what he told Uncle Deadly. And he should be able to predict what was happening here. But he had no clue.
Fozzie clung onto his shoulders. “What are we gunna do?”
“I'm thinking of a plan.”
“Think faster!”
The man tilted his head to the side. The cuts on his cheek burned like fire, and then the skin moved, twisting and moulding, folding in on itself, forming up along the cut. A drip of red fell from his chin, as a smile formed on the man's face. And the cuts were gone, replaced with only two thin, white scars.
Uncle Deadly stood up, wavering. He turned and faced the man.
“This is not your fight,” the man said. His voice was low, and musical.
“Oh yes it is.” Uncle Deadly's claws flinched. “They are joining my fight. I will join theirs. Get out of our land."
The man smiled.
"Now," Uncle Deadly said. "It is time," he said. Motorbikes roared, closer and closer. "Time for us to keep what is our own." Behind him, things moved. "Our home is out own," he said. "It belongs to us. You've taken them before, our houses, our haunts, our lives. Humans. Now we are here, underground, afraid of you. But no longer." The ground trembled with the rush of motorbikes, and the footsteps of monsters.
Creatures, coming from the dark into the light. The sun flashed from behind clouds. Uncle Deadly's eyes burned. "Now, they are coming to destroy us once more. This time, we are prepared, and this time, we have help." He glanced at Gonzo, Fozzie.
They watched as more creatures moved into sight. Shaggy fur, spiked scales. Lips that drooped, and hard cased beaks,
Fozzie looked at Gonzo. Gonzo looked at Uncle Deadly, Deadly stared at the man. “They believe,” Deadly said.
The man shook his head. “I only hope,” he said, “That they believe enough.” And an arrow appeared, from no where, and he latched it into the bow. “Enough to take them through this.”
The motorbike roar grew louder, stronger. “Oh, I think they do,” Deadly said.
And the bikes smashed the metal fencing, seemed like hundreds of them, ramping into the air, and ripping through the fence, scattering dust, throttling. Roaring. The bikers were human, with no shirts, tattoos hiding their skin. Dreadlocks hung down their backs. Their voices screamed and whooped as they raided the site, exploding through the barriers.
And Gonzo knew what to do.
*****
Gravel exploded from under biker's wheels as Gonzo grabbed Fozzie's arm. “Come on,” he shouted.
“Where are we, what?” Fozzie said, dragging behind Gonzo as he ran across the open area towards the trailer, and Uncle Deadly.
“We have to...” Gonzo words were drowned in the growls of engines and monsters.
The bikes rushed around the still, strong figure of Uncle Deadly and his creatures of darkness lined behind him near the trailer. Exhaust smoke tasted gritty. Uncle Deadly was unmovable. The creatures shivered, and looked to one another for support, and the bikers laughed and cried. Finally, they ceased, gunning down their engines, and sweeping to a stop directly opposite the monsters.
A thickly muscled man who appeared to be their leader in a ripped black t-shirt, and a leather eye patch jumped down from his bike.
Gonzo and Fozzie skidded to a stop before reaching the space between Monster and Man. “Other way,” Fozzie whispered. And they backed away, without being seen.
“Well, well, well,” the lead biker said. “You know who we are, monsters, don't you?”
“Humans,” Uncle Deadly replied.
“Hah! Your powers of sight don't fail you.”
“I never fail,” Uncle Deadly said stiffly. “Leave.”
“Wrong,” the man said. “You leave. We are here to kick you out. You and all your inferior, disgusting, evil creature kind.”
“Disgusting.” Deadly repeated the word. It felt good on his tongue. “Inferior.” He spoke the word carefully, as if weighing it and finding the word itself inferior. His eyes met the one uncovered eye of the biker leader. “Evil,” he said. And smiled.
Gonzo and Fozzie ran behind the pile of tiles, and dashed to the back the trailer. “Are you sure this is going to work?” Fozzie asked.
“It's the only way. They can never do it their way. You can't fight evil with evil,” Gonzo said.
“Sometimes you can't fight evil at all.” Fozzie's voice was sad. Gonzo wondered what he was thinking of.
They reached the back of the trailer and paused. “What now?” Fozzie asked.
“We have to contact Uncle Deadly. Stop him before they begin.” Gonzo crouched, and peered under the trailer. A rusted piece of metal obscured his view, but beyond it he could see feet, fured, and clawed.
“Gonzo,” Fozzie said. “I think we are too late.”
Out past the trailer, Uncle Deadly clenched his fists. “Now we stand,” he said.
The man with he eye patch laughed and turned away from the monsters, unafraid. The motorcyclists started their engines. “Kill them,” said the man. “It's more than they deserve.” Black gloved hands, fingers with thick rings, turned ignitions. And the monsters attacked, leaping from above and behind them.
“Where...?” the man managed, as the creatures seemed to fall from nowhere over his men, great creatures flying and falling.
A lobster with a broken claw and a hookhand leapt onto a biker's jacket, slashing the hook through thick leather, fibres cracking under the iron. The biker screamed, and through himself backward, crushing the lobster under him. Polly Lobster swore, as he felt parts of him breaking.
A long haired black man roared his engine, and burst forward through monsters, throwing himself sideways off the bike. The bike scrapped the ground, wheels kicking into the legs of a shaggy haired monster with glowing eyes. The monster fell forward, and smashed through the bike. Engine fluid dampened his fur. Sweetums tried to cry. The black man hit the floor, and rolled, reaching behind his legs for two large guns, and flicking them back, one in each hand.
Uncle Deadly stood back and watched, each injury hurting him more than any other monster. He should have protected them.
Gonzo and Fozzie crawled under the trailer, and stepped out. “Deadly!”
Claws harder than diamonds scrapped metal. Bullets smashed scales. Tails whipped, humans were thrown. Gonzo grabbed Uncle Deadly's shoulder. Chain wrapped hands met fur covered chests. Uncle Deadly looked down, eyes tightening. Teeth bit into leather. Engines cut out, others started. “It has to stop!” Fozzie said. “This won't work.” Blam! A scraggle haired goat was thrown against the ground. Boots stomped on hard packed mud. Cold air screamed. “Why should we stop?” Uncle Deadly's voice cut like a knife. A knife stabbed into a bike seat, yanking back, popping stuffing. Gonzo. “If you do not stop, they will all die.” A helmet hit the floor and rolled. “My creatures will not die,” Deadly said. Eyes, fingers, hair, fur, skin. A tattoo of a female pig. “I meant the humans,” Gonzo said. The battle grew faster, fiercer. The damage may already have been done.
Uncle Deadly whirled on Gonzo. “You are on their side! Traitor!”
Fozzie flinched. “No,” he said.
Gonzo stepped closer to Uncle Deadly. “If they kill the humans, the humans will have a right to hunt every one of you down and kill you. They will send the police, the army. We have to retreat. We have to regroup. We have to plan.”
“You want us to be defeated,” Deadly snarled at Gonzo. “I don't believe you scum.”
“Don't then,” Fozzie said. “Believe me. Please. Please!”
To be continued...
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