To cheer up a friend đ
L xxxxxx
To cheer up a friend đ
L xxxxxx
The Prodigy/Pendulum vs. Limp Bizkit – Voodoo People/Rollin’ mash-up…
Almost immediately, we are inspired to run. The sound of stampeding feet seems to come from all directions in the maze of alleyways, accompanied by the angry shouting of the Seven a.m. Lounge denizens – which sounds exactly as though it comes complete with cleavers, butcherâs knives, pitchforks and flaming torches attached.
âRuddy Six a.m. Loungers!â I hear a cry, too close for comfort. âSneaking up on us – with your fancy flying hearth-rugs, and hocus-pocus!â
âI donât suppose you want to try out your Lady Glandula impression on them, do you, Sarah?â Carvery asks me as we pause for breath in the shadow of a doorway, with a nasty grin. âSeeing as youâve still got her dress on. Thatâd put the heebie-jeebies up them all right.â
âYou may not have noticed, but Iâm lacking a certain limb to complete the job description of Quim of the Damned,â I retort. âIâm a bit short in the alien tentacle department.â
âIâm sure thereâs a piece of gizzard left over from that woman you just skewered that we could stick up your nightdress,â he suggests. âI bet no-one here has seen the real thing. You could get away with it.â
But Iâm distracted from answering by another immediate fact.
âWhere has Crispin gone?â I demand, looking around.
But as I look back again – Carvery has also vanished. Into the smog, the shadows, thin air – I have no ideaâŠ
Oh, God. Do I stay put? Do I run??
âThereâs one of âem!â a voice cries, and I see torchlight at the end of the alleyway.
I take my chances, and run. Blindly. Anywhere.
Hoping that any turn I take doesnât lead to aâŠ
âŠDead endâŠ
I feel as though the endless brick-wall alleys are turning into those dreaded tunnels, back in the Three a.m. Lounge – or was that the Four a.m. Lounge? What bloodthirsty maneaters could turn up here? Monitor lizards? Crocodiles? More of Crispin and Homerâs eccentric zombie ancestors?
The winding routes make me dizzy, and the crossways bring tears to my eyes. Which way? Which way? I run onwards, hoping to find my way at least to the river, where maybe I could reach the safety of the rickshaw and flying carpetâŠ
Trying to stay one step ahead of the noise of angry residents, I double-back after one left turn and hurry back the way I came, only to realise – too late – that I can hear running feet also approaching the same junction.
I try to double my speed, hoping to bisect the crossway before anyone else reaches itâŠ
âŠAnd collide with a mass of tanned muscle, smelling of Sea Breeze fabric softener, and Lotus Blossom massage oilâŠ
âItâs me,â says Ace, taking his hand off my mouth. He obviously knows my scream reflex too well by now. âWhere is everyone else?â
âI donât know, Ace,â I sob. âWe got separatedâŠâ
I try to fling myself into his arms, tragic-heroine style – but he steps aside too quickly, so that I merely deflect clumsily off the wall.
âTheyâll be around somewhere,â he shrugs. âCome on.â
So Iâm resigned to stumbling along hurriedly in his path, hiking up my skirts gracelessly. God⊠Why is it never like the movies? Why hasnât he swept me off my feet and carried me to safety?
How much more obvious do I have to be??!
A sound like a gunshot startles me from my thoughts of romantically fickle injustice, and the rickshaw pulls up abruptly at the next junction, the flying rug rearing up like a stallion, pawing the air.
âQuickly, Sarah Bellummm,â Crispin calls out from the driving-seat. âWe will have to meet the others at the waterâs edge. The turning tide means that our transport to the Eight a.m. Lounge will not delay much longer.â
âCanât we take the flying rickshaw to get there?â I ask, as Ace and I scramble in on either side.
âThe rickshaw will not leave its driver behind in such a state as Mr. Time currently is,â Crispin explains. âI am afraid Mr. Time has already found his bed to sober up in at one of the Seven a.m. Loungeâs delightful constabularies. So we will take the optional transportation route – which hopefully will put us back on the path of Mr. Lukan, and the stolen clockwork hand. Now – hold on tight, pleaseâŠâ
And the rug strikes out again at the crack of the whip, jerking us into forward motion once more, as two legions of Seven a.m. Lounge residents converge on our spot from both directions.
Looking behind, I see them charging in pursuit, throwing half-bricks and other missiles. And from above – Iâm fairly certain that they are on the rooftops tooâŠ
âWhat about the other two?â Ace asks. âI think Homer stopped to try and buy a hat.â
Crispin mutters something that is probably a curse against cross-dressing.
ââŠFather would never forgive me if I left the little painted trollop behind,â he grumbles at last. âHe knows his own way about⊠probably the safest of us on his own here, he is so popular amongst the seamstresses⊠Hang on. I know where he will most likely be found.â
And we turn hard right, out of the labyrinth of alleyways into wider roads, dodging horse-drawn cabs, and startling pedestrians.
Oh no – this looks like the way back to the marketplaceâŠ
âItâs all right, so long as they think weâre still back there around the houses,â Ace points out. âWhoa, watch out for the flower-seller⊠never mind. She looked old anywayâŠâ
âThereâs Carvery!â I cry. âOver there – fighting with that Geisha-girlâŠâ
âTHAT is no girl,â Crispin remarks, grimly.
I look again.
Ohhhh⊠And it doesnât look like theyâre fighting, on second glance. To be honest, it looks as though the Geisha-girl is refusing to leave a shop by hanging onto the doorway for dear life, in spite of Carvery tugging on the other armâŠ
âHomer!â I hear Carvery yelling. âItâs not even your colour! Let go of the stupid hat and letâs go!â
Homer, who has evidently just had âthe full worksâ at Madam Dingdongâs, is indeed painted, primped and preened beyond recognition. The white face powder. The rose-red cupidâs bow of a mouth. The black hairpiece, complete with ornaments. The fabulously decorated kimonoâŠ
âGoooodâŠâ Homer protests.
He scrabbles at the doorway of the hat-shop, as Carvery makes a heroic effort, and hoists the skinny transvestite zombie over his shoulder – in exactly the way I so wished Ace had done with me – before running towards us in the rickshaw.
âGo!â Carvery yells, dumping Homer on the floor at our feet, and jumping in.
âWell done, Mr. Slaughter,â Crispin says, and I sense his relief –Â at having the difficult job of corralling Homer done for him, so efficiently.
The rug twitches into life again, and this time we soar over the market-stalls, taking a different route towards the river.
âAce, buddy,â Carvery greets him. âYou smell like a cheerleaderâs gym locker.â
âDude,â Ace frowns at him. âYou just gave a firemanâs lift to a zombie drag queen.â
âMeaning?â Carvery raises an eyebrow.
âMeaning, you smell like a cheerleaderâs armpit.â Ace dodges as Carvery aims an elbow at his head, meaning I get it in the ear instead.
âOw!â I yell indignantly.
âPlease, do not fight amongst yourselves,â Crispin urges, trying to concentrate on steering the flying rug. âWe are nearly thereâŠâ
And not a moment too soon. Already we can hear the angry mob closing in, and deliberately-aimed roof-tiles bounce off the canopy of the rickshaw.
âCanât we go higher?â I ask.
âOur transport is rather more low-profile this time, Sarah Bellummm,â says Crispin, and I spot a glint of streetlamp reflected off the river in the distance, as we near the waterâs edge. âAnd like I said – it will not wait around, due to the tide.â
A great creaking and groaning sound reaches our ears, and the end of the road where it stops at the riverbank suddenly darkens, eclipsed by the rising of a strange monolith from the river itself. Water cascades from its sides, and for one terrible moment I believe that the river-god Atum has arrived, to decimate the city with its omnipotent eye of doomâŠ
But instead of scales, the shape is covered in riveted metal plates. As we approach, a drawbridge lowers from it, onto the pier alongside.
âThat is our transport to the Eight a.m. Lounge,â Crispin announces. âThe Colossal U-Boat – The Great Nematode.â
Street-chase scene from The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen – Enjoy đ
More mindless mayhem:Â The Zombie Adventures of Sarah Bellum
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