(INDEX)
Our unlovely delivery stuns me a little. My wallowing hippo impression is fully authenticated when poo closes over my head. Fully immersed in shit I tightly close my mouth and eyes and thrust the annoying little package above the surface. Using only one unencumbered arm to right myself is awkward and complicated by a jumble of bone and broken concrete provide uneven footing.
By the time my feet are convinced to remain in place I’m half-suffocated. Thrusting upwards I burst into the air and hold a wary, hunched crouch, armpit-deep in the warm, stinking slop until my balance is regained. Gradually I straighten and lower the child, blinking brown liquid from my eyes.
Keeping my lips tightly compressed, I squeegee muck from my face and snort filth from my lungs. As an after-thought, I wipe off the kid’s face too.
Spitting out a gob of brown-tinged saliva I dry heave, and look around for danger. We’ve been deposited into a square-pillared expanse of the mall’s underground car-park. The crap-heap has been spreading messily throughout the place for some time, engulfing an area the size of an Olympic swimming pool.
The crater we’ve made on impact fills fast from constant additions that stream over me. As if further encouragement to move me along is required a hip bone falls, bonking me on the head. I rub the bump and duck out from under the sloppy rain of excrement, eager to put that foulest of exit points behind me.
I make headway through the brown ocean by swinging my body side to side. It’s a slow journey punctuated by unprotected toes stubbing on unseen debris. The smell is not lessened by increasing distance from the source.
The outer edge of this crap-pile has crusted over. We high step into these crunchy shallows, releasing pockets of vile gasses. Mouth-breathing merely coats my throat in the thick reek but I stand at the edge of the filth for a long moment, dripping and glaring at the huge anus that has birthed us into this stinking, two-headed swamp monster we emulate.
The Mother’s waste disposal amenities are a tad undignified. Her dark-grey butt-end sags through a crude hole hacked into the underground car park’s ceiling. Another loud fart echoes around the concrete cavern, and it doesn’t come from me. A wheelbarrow load of muck and bones spurts from the pulsing sphincter. I look away in disgust and see brilliant sunlight slicing between slits in a distant outer wall. It does not reach this far; too soon dimmed to shadow by obstructing pillars and posts. Nasty thoughts that anything might be roaming around down here are hastily pushed aside before Paranoia can take hold of it.
Not far from my odious position are several dust-covered cars, occupying spaces close to an escalator. Transport! I should be investigating them without delay. However, revenge is also keenly desired, and I’m done with turning the other cheek.
Another noisy expulsion from the creature’s rectum returns my attention to the enemy and I savour this moment of vengeance. With the care of handling high-explosives, I hold the baby out in front of me, imagining her as a rocket launcher; the preferred, if unobtainable weapon. In her innocent, forced sleep, her head lolls on a weak neck. A ragged-ended umbilical cord dangles at her drawn-up knees and I briefly wonder if it’s supposed to be knotted. However, nothing seems to be leaking from it so I shrug and slots that problem into an overflowing ‘too hard basket’. Right now I have more pressing concerns.
At my request the shield warps outwards to encase the limp baby. Her startled light-blue eyes crack open and she awakes to aches and pains from the horrible treatment I have inflicted on her mind and body. I tense, waiting for the explosion.
She misfires with a weak, disappointing whimper. My shoulders slump in new defeat. But she’s hungry, sore, covered in sticky, cooling crap, and not being held correctly. The deep breath she takes in is released in a full-lunged screech.
The sound waves build, triggering my Second-sight into dropping a filter over squinted eyes. The air thickens with Parasite fog particles and I watch, gleeful and enthralled, as that dulling mist resonates strongly with her discontent. The effects of her cries spread across the thickened atmosphere in sharp edged ripples. They beat directly against the Mother’s hide and penetrate deeply to confound the parasitic Sludge.
Unfortunately I am not immune to her irritation. Blocking my ears would be useless. Eardrums are battered from the inside of my head as well as outside. The audible screams are nothing compared to the psychic storm her outraged mind generates. The ground begins to shake. No! It’s me! I shake as though freezing. Shifting my prickling, burning feet makes me groan when shooting pains streak up shaky legs and then radiate throughout a queasy stomach and tight chest.
Whatever I am feeling, the Mother feels tenfold. Its butt twitches and ejects another explosive spurt. I take a few steps back. The child’s screams are a swinging scythe that cuts into the Mother’s complex mind, and causes its unwieldy bulges of flesh to wobble and heave in concert with the refracted messages of pain. The creatures’ internal rulers are sending out a torrent of orders, demanding Creeps to come to their aid, as they fry in mental anguish for a second time.
The panicked howl of their communal deaths is rendered across the foggy transmitter in a counter-wave. Their crested wave of agony hits us, further unsettling the baby. She achieves a constant cry, barely punctuated by intakes of breath, against which the tiny grey controllers have no defence. They are dying by the millions.
Her previous awakenings had been short due to my own inability to cope with this sound. This time I intend tolerating her wretched cries until they are completely wiped out.
This intention is immediately put to the test when my vision blurs. Her combined squalling, and our enemy’s insufferable torture overlap in a hellish symphony of chalkboard scratches and a high-pitched jet engine whine.
My skin shivers and blood weeps from my eyes, ears and nose. The baby's weight triples when my muscles turn to jelly. I drop to a squatting position; eyes clenched shut in pain, elbows resting on knees. My brain squirms with worms that bite and tear. Unnatural forces pull my mind apart. Through pain-slitted eyes I watch the Mother’s butt wriggle uselessly in torment. It defecates again in another strong, irregular squirt; flushing a large amount of dark liquid from its body. The pool of crap liquefies further, spreading in a slow wave to where I crouch, breaking hotly over my crap covered feet.
I’m on the verge of passing out. My vision reddens and eyeballs turns to gritty pools of sand. My own bowels weaken, and I add bloody faeces to the mess already slopping around me. The shield tries to retract from the child to protect me from further harm but I insist it keep her isolated from the sedating fog.
Using what little strength is left in me I rest the baby in the crook of my arm. I then fall to one side, copying her foetal tucked position. Resting my throbbing temple in the filth, I treat myself to the sight of the Mother’s final gyrations. It heaves and tugs at its tightly wedged hindquarters; beyond caring when its tough skin tears. Shudders ratchet through the enormous body again, and the longest, most forceful squirt yet explodes from its butt-hole.
More than stomach contents come flooding out this time. A grey stream, intertwined with bloody gore and stringy mucus. The inner parasite’s protective bladder has ripped, letting the dead and dying Masters pour from their Parasite Queen.
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