The Merman and the Moon Forgotten - By Kevin McGill Page 0,24
grung, grung, grung, grung, grung.
Grand stood full length. “Gahh!” His fist hammered the slits.
It screamed.
Everyone stopped. They’d never heard an animal scream like that before. Not the holovids, not the VR zoos, not even the history records. It sounded . . . other-worldly.
“What was that?” Daniel’s eyes grew.
“I told you. A scucca,” Xanthus whispered, while slowly tucking his bestiary away. “The forces of darkness have descended upon us all. Are we ready?”
“Reihhhhh!”
“To the truck, already!” Grand reached for the bodies and flung them over his shoulder.
Nick and company exploded through the doors. Daniel leaned on Xanthus while Brandy kicked her platforms down the steps, choosing survival over Louboutins.
“Reihhhhh!”
Men and women poured out of windows, doors, and any other escape route. The boys scrambled onto the truck bed, and the girls squeezed inside the cabin.
“Here!” Grand rolled the mimes over the lip of the truck.
The Erik-mime landed on Xanthus. “There’sadeadbodyheadonmylap!There’sadeadbodyheadonmylap!There’sadeadbodyheadonmylap!” He tried to squirm away, but the bed gave no place for retreat.
“Where’s Brandy?” Haley jumped out of the cab.
“Aiih!” Brandy was sprinting across the lawn, clutching her shoes.
“Brandy. Forget the shoes!” Haley barked. “Are you insane?”
Brandy had changed her mind. Louboutins were more important than life itself.
Glass showered over the lawn. A blur of lizard skin and dog teeth rolled over. Nick saw them for the first time.
It is a strange feeling to look upon a predator. All chaos quiets itself. Your blood doesn’t know whether to boil or freeze. Without turning your gaze, you ask yourself, “Should I move? Can it see me?” Inevitably, the predator answers “Yes.” And it delivers its answer the same way: the eyes.
“Reeiihh!!” Membranous fans whipped from behind the creatures’ ears.
Brandy scrambled into the cabin. Grand hit the close and lock button. The hovertruck’s thrusters kicked from the ground, whining upward and above the tree line. The tracker covered in chains turned to a red sports car and stuck its head into the window. Nick looked back to Daniel, whose fingers were curled over anything that would keep him from tumbling out.
Nick laughed, “Crazy, isn’t—?”
A red blur flew past.
“Woah! Woah!” Nick covered his head.
Metal crashed a beat later.
Nick pounded on the glass. “They’re throwing cars at us, Grand!”
Grand glanced back. “Get your heads down, now!”
The boys wiggled into any position that would keep them below the wall of the bed. The truck pitched right, and then left. Black and green flashed over. Nick shoved his fingers into the small lip of the truck bed. All he could do was stare up at the wind whipping around the bed, and wonder what—
A police’s hovercycle rolled over. The truck spun.Everyone screamed.
Nick pushed himself up. White smoke fanned over the grill. Grand’s forearms crowbarred against the steering wheel, but he couldn’t keep the hovertruck from losing altitude.
The truck slammed. Pavement shot it back into the air. Bodies lifted from the bed. It slammed again. Nine hundred pounds of fiberglass and metal skipped across Parsons Ave and 1125 Farmers Market. Once the hovertruck found road, ground wheels took over.
Grand didn’t even consider brakes.
Everyone sat up this time. Nick saw the chained tracker standing in the distance. It lifted onto its hind legs, waiting. . . .
Crack!
The truck spun. Nick’s head smacked against the tailgate. Barely coherent, he looked around with fogged vision. Having just rammed the passenger side door, two trackers rolled over a street meter. They found their legs and sprung to their feet, but didn’t pursue.
Still, Grand found little use for brakes.
Ten • The Truth
Having just been downgraded from hover, the truck tore through the first floor of a newly constructed highrise, two gated communities, and the Colorado City summer parade. The drum major grabbed her skittling baton and yelled after them, “Antique cars will just get someone killed!”
Nick didn’t care. He was just happy to put some distance between them and what Grand called trackers.
Eventually, they took the I-45 highway. Since the transportation industry could not afford hover technology, the old highway had been reserved for transport vehicles. Grand was able to zip quickly past the compact trains and eighteen wheelers.
Once they passed Dickinson Bridge, everyone’s leashes began to spark. They shook their wrists, trying to stop the electrical jolts, but it didn’t seem to help. BioFarm’s properties were moving outside of the assigned fifteen mile perimeter.
Grand followed the signs to Sion Park. Once there he smashed through the guard arm, ignoring the attendrone’s request of payment. With little visibility and a waning Moon to guide the way, they crept along an old service road