The Trouble With Delaney
The police officers hovered over the remains of Boris. His severed body lay each side of a boulder. The male officer spoke into his walkie-talkie while the female galloped behind, chasing us, gaining on us.
Günter slowed the vehicle—as if we were travelling that fast anyway; the dry river-bed with all those rocks and soft sand made us go no faster than walking.
I glanced back at the pair in uniform striding up to us. ‘What are you doing?’
‘They must come with us.’
‘Leave them behind! You know Boris will pull himself together and then we’ll be mince-meat.’
‘But we cannot leave the police officers behind, or they will be meat mince and the flies and cockroaches will cover them.’ Günter stopped the car and then opened his door. He gestured to the man and woman in blue. ‘Get in! Achtung! Mr. Roach, he is danger!’
‘He’s dead,’ said the male police officer.
‘He is not! He is alien and he is dangerous.’ Günter jumped out of the police vehicle. ‘Get in!’ He caught the policeman’s hand and guided him to the driver’s seat. He yanked open the rear door, drew his laser gun and then peered around the window.
I fumbled in my bag for the melons—anything to delay Boris. I glanced around.
‘Get in the back!’ the policewoman yelled.
Melons spilt all over the floor and under the front seat. ‘Sorry!’ I scrambled to gather up the toxic balls. If I could just get the juice of some onto Boris, it might make all the difference.
She hauled open my door and pointed at me. ‘In the back! Now! You’re under—’
‘No, they’re not, Delaney,’ the male officer said. He patted me on the arm. ‘It’s okay, miss, Sergeant Delaney, gets a bit enthusiastic.’
‘But, Hooper, they just killed—’
‘We never saw anything, Delaney,’ the policeman said.
Hooper? Sergeant Hooper? I looked at the man by my side. Still muscular. Still tanned. The same strong features. Just balding. Dan Hooper? Maybe.
‘Why are you waiting?’ Günter barked, ‘We must go!’
I turned to the policewoman. She narrowed her blue eyes. ‘I’ll get in the back,’ I said, then sensed her eyes tracking me as I negotiated my way around her and then hopped in the back seat.
I tugged on the seat belt. Günter screamed.
My heart leapt to my throat. ‘What?’‘You dumkopf! What are you with those melons doing?’
One melon rolled near my foot. He picked it up and hurled it out the window. ‘Do you want to poison us all?’
‘No, just Boris.’
As Hooper began the laborious drive down the creek bed, more melons emerged from under the front seat. I picked one up and rolled it in my palm. ‘I just thought, if Boris comes after us, we could throw the melons at him and—’
‘What a stupid idea!’ Günter scoffed. ‘Pop! Pop! Pop! Dead Boris you think?’
‘Hey.’ Delaney held up a finger. ‘If they’re the poison melons from the Pilgrim Planet, they just might work.’
‘You know about the Pilgrim Planet? That we came from there?’ I asked.
‘Yeh, it’s my job to know,’ Delaney replied. ‘You in the back seat, grab the disposable gloves.’
‘I see no gloves,’ Günter said.
‘Pocket—back of front seat,’ Delaney said. ‘Use your eyes!’
Günter pulled out a squashed-up box of disposable gloves and then handed them to Delaney.
Ding! A whistle and another ding.
I glanced around and caught a glimpse of black ball speeding towards us. Ding! Whirr! Dong! I hunched over. ‘Boris, he’s regrouping.’
Delaney chewed her gum faster while glancing back. ‘I hate how he does that.’
‘You know Boris?’
Hooper sniggered. ‘Intimately.’
‘Fair suck of the sauce-bottle, what d’ya expect?’
‘She’s a bit obsessed, if you ask me.’ Hooper accelerated causing the whole cabin to shake as the vehicle juddered over the stony trail.
‘What point would there be if I wasn’t—I’m IGSF special tactical officer,’ Delaney snapped. ‘Or has that little bit of information passed you by, Hooper?’
‘So you keep reminding me, Delaney. So you keep reminding me.’
I stared at the policewoman. Those steely blue eyes. That pixie face; plain but pushing to be pretty. A troubling thought drifted into my consciousness. She looked familiar. Where had I seen this woman before?
© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2019
Feature Photo: Palm Valley © C.D. Trudinger 1981
Itching for some more Sci-fi fantasy and adventure to break the monotony? Some Boris and his cockroaches to amuse you?
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