Path:
usenet.ins.cwru.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!spool.mu.edu!olivea!charnel.ecst.cs
uchico.edu!news.xmission.com!xmission.xmission.com!not-for-mail
From: kralk@big-top.com
Newsgroups: alt.devilbunnies
Subject: Re: [STORY] Calliope Music
Followup-To: alt.devilbunnies
Date: 16 Mar 1995 22:47:02 -0700
Organization: DevilBunnies News<->Mail Gateway
Lines: 141
Sender: snowhare@xmission.xmission.com
Message-ID: <3kb7om$jik@xmission.xmission.com>
Reply-To: kralk@big-top.com
NNTP-Posting-Host: xmission.xmission.com


>        Kralk hopped up onto the counter.  When he came back down, he had
> the carving knife clenched in his jaws.
> 
>        "Every had a lobotomy?"  he continued.  Steel blurred through the
> air.  "The brain doesn't feel any pain.  No pain sensors.  Unfortunately
> for you, all the stuff you have to cut through to get to the brain can
> feel pain.
> 
>         "You're about to find out how much."

[to continue on a *slightly* lighter note...]

      Kralk wiped off the carving knife on Clarence's shirt.  He had to
untuck the shirtail to find a spot free of gore and stray bits of
cerebellum.  A fine tool, he thought.  The blade kept its edge, even after
sawing through a human skull.  It would do for one last service.

      He hopped over Beryl's corpse.  He reverently unbound Robin's hands,
folding them across her chest.  Nuzzling her shattered cheek, he laid the
knife edge-up across her neck.  A quick slash across the throat, and
he would join her in whatever world she now walked.  Their two souls would
finally be at peace.  The haft of the knife trembled in his paws; metal
dulled as his breath condensed on its surface.

        Hold on.  That was too high up for his--  Suspicions bloomed.  He
held the flat of the blade to her nostrils.  There it was.  Almost
imperceptible, easily missed.  Yet undeniably there.

        "Good girl.  Good girl," Kralk whispered with each shallow,
precious breath.

********

         "Here boy."  Kralk placed the slice of ripe banana just out of
Bonga's reach.  The sad-eyed orangutang cautiously stepped out of its
cage.

         "Oook."  Soggy chewing, as Bonga ate the fruit with lip-smacking
abandon.  Kralk hopped within range of the primate's gangly arms.  This
time he held the banana in his paws.  It was a great risk--grown
orangtangs can turn feral without warning, and Bonga had been badly abused
by his former owners.  Kralk only had his lack of resemblance to a human,
a gentle tone, and a hoard of tasty bribes to count on.  These would have
to suffice.

         Robin lived.  But without medical attention, not for long.

         Two hands like leather gloves descended to Kralk's head.  One
lingered on his head, patting with suprising delicacy.  The other
transported its reward to a waiting mouth.

         "Bonga, follow."  Kralk was gratified to see Bonga complacently
following its new benefactor.  During his rehearsals, Kralk had had ample
opportunity to learn the commands Clarence employed to handle the beast.
They included the basics of obedience, as well as directives to execute a
myriad of tricks.

          One of which formed the basis of Kralk's plan.

******

          EMT Brandon Deschenau killed the siren.   The farmer up the road
had described a car going off the woods on Route #107.  An overgrown copse
grew there; the wail of the siren would just make it harder to track down
the wreck in that thick brush.

          His partner on the county Emergency Response Team, Harry
Beachem, hefted the collapsible stretcher.  Together they crashed through
the underbrush.  Hell, Brandon cursed as a branch whipped back.  That 'un
nearly blinded me.  Goddamn drunken kids.  Ever time they crack up, we're
the ones who hafta haul their sorry asses out've the devil's pastures.
And they've certainly done it now.  Must've plowed straight through the
damn woods, way its takin' us ta--

         "Jesus and Mary!"  Harry Beachem whispered into Brandon's ear.
Overhead, the branches rustled in the wind.

         "Gettin' spooked, friend?"  Deschenau's sardonic grin belied the
goosepimples running along his forearms.

         "Kiss my ass, Brand.  Didja hear that?  Sounded like Bigfoot
himself."

         "Issums Harry all scared a' the boogey man, is he?"

         "You bet your Papist soul I do."  Harry looked near ready to
march right back to the ambulance.  Fun was fun, but there were people in
trouble here.  Time to cut this cold.

         "Harry, I promise you, there isn't anyone out but us and a buncha
dumb kids.  Or a tourist from Boston, same difference."  Brandon wiped his
palms on his jeans.  "Hey, why don't we talk with over with Shag Rug
hisself?  Hey, big guy..."

         "Oook."

         Brandon and Harry screamed in unison.  For several minutes two
trained medics fought for the privilege of cowering under a rotten log.
When they finally did emerge, all that remained of the ambulance was the
imprint of its tires in the mud.

         They had a tough time explaining it to the dispatcher.  The huge
footprints helped, though.

*******

      "Oook!  Eeeek!  Wuh-wuh-wuh."  Kralk dug his claws deeper into the
the vinyl dashboard.  The ambulance sped its merry way over the fields of
Ohio.  Below, Bonga steered the vehicle with deep satisfaction.  Part of
its regular act was to drive an ape-sized car about the ring, dressed in a
clown outfit.  This big-person vehicle was much more fun to play with, and
there was no icky makeup to muss up its fur.

       Kralk, for his part, merely had to direct Bonga with the
occaisional "left", "right", and "dear God don't hit the boulder!".  His
single worry was the rough trip would break the ambulance's contents.
Sneaking into the farmhouse, faking the emergency call, stealing the
vehicle...it would all be for nought if too many vials of antibiotics
shattered.

       It might still be futile.  Robin's condition mandated surgery, he
knew, and a long stay in intensive care.  The ambulance's contents did not
nearly match her needs.  But by warning the authorities, Kralk knew he
would never see her again.  At best, she would be under such scrutiny an
approach would be impossible.  At worst, he could be captured by the
devilbunny militia.

        After all this, he could not say good-bye again.

        There was a solution.  The theft of the ambulance was simply a
means of supporting it.  In the back of the animal trailer was a box of
veterinary supplies the late owners had used for emergencies.  A package
of syringes was included.  The needle had stung as he withdrew fifteen
cc's of his blood.

        I'll save you, Kralk promised.  By my blood and marrow, I shall
save you.  And you shall never be alone again.


TBC