The other guard dropped my arm. He groaned. Then he staggered to the middle of the room. He stiffened, keeled over, slamming his face on the floor. Blood oozed out under the mask. My, that melon stuff was powerful!
‘Ooh, touchy! Touchy!’ Boris said. ‘You think hands are so bad? I think it’s time you learn your lesson.’ Boris signaled for another guard to stand on the other side of me. ‘Get her out of my sight. The next time I see her I want her as a mince sauce on my Magellan maggots.’ He purred, ‘Mmmm! Magellan maggots.’Read more "Out of the Chocolate Box (65)"
‘Where shall I take her…’ the masked man asked, then lowering his voice, ‘…for your pleasure, Boris?’ He pulled me back.
‘Just a minute,’ I said, wriggling to minimize the distance between my enemy and me, ‘not so fast. I want to have the pleasure of spitting on him until he’s covered in it.’ I pulled away from my captor.
The scent of antiseptic mixed with a putrid pong stung my nostrils. ‘Ugh! What’s that wiffy…?’ I gagged. Then with hand to mouth, I looked up.
Boris lounged on a reclining armchair. He rested on his shell showing off his abdomen. His flesh was covered in gaping wounds infested with maggots.
After some time being tossed around, the vehicle came to an abrupt halt and I banged my head against the metal back of the driver’s seat. I fell. I tried to stand. I keeled over, hitting my head on the floor.
‘Urgh,’ growled some being that sounded like an ape-man. He grabbed one arm.
‘Urumph,’ another ape-man grunted. He gripped my other arm.
They pulled me out so that my toes dragged on stones. The air stank of rotting cabbage.
‘Yes, the IGSF are coming in to help with the rescue—hurry, we haven’t got much time.’ Driver grabbed my hand. ‘We have to go to meet our officers. We have to show them where the mutants and morphans are hiding.’
We hurried up the three rickety flights of stairs leading to the outside.
I had an uneasy feeling about my dream. It seemed just a little too real, like I’d lived it once. Must be a dream.
The viewer showed a mass of black-brown lumps. The stench like rotting fish stung my nostrils.
I sniffed. ‘Can you smell that?’
‘What smell?’ The Commander remained unaffected by any smell.
‘The rotting fish smell.’ I put a handkerchief up to my nose and mouth. My eyes streamed. I gagged. ‘Sure the Storm hasn’t cracked…’