Breakout
11 May 2016Terra Sheer
Psychology, they say, is the art of pulling habits out of rats. The bigger the rat, the more ingrained the habit, and Lizard strikes me as such a dedicated sadist that the route to his hind-brain should be obvious. Especially with that "gloves off" directive. He's been itching to have a go at me. The only gamble is whether he's really as dumb as he looks.So I rattle his cage, more or less literally. As the ventilation ducts pick up the sound and carry it through the ship, I hear him holler from somewhere -- the incoherent bellow of a man at the end of his wits. And, sure enough, here he comes with his shock stick again, a big, leering grin plastered over his face, because this time there's nothing between him and me but a cage door.
Which I'm not dumb enough to get close to again. He looks at me, then looks at Tiny, curled up on the cot with one arm over his eyes. By all outwards appearances asleep.
Lizard holds his arms out. "What? What is it now?"
I shake the vent grate.
"Dammit! What's wrong with you?"
Rattle-rattle-rattle.
He eyes the door latch. He seems to measure the reach of his arm-plus-stick through the bars. But the thing about a makeshift cage is that its layout is rarely thought-through, and I'm small enough that I can wedge myself between the shelves in the back with easily a foot and a half of clearance between us.
Rattle-rattle-rattle.
Lizard twitches. "You little bitch! I fekkin' hate that noise! Can't you just stop making that noise?"
"Nope." Rattle-rattle-rattle. "You're gonna have to make me."
If I've overestimated his ego, he'll go get Meatbrick to help him. To his credit, he seems to think about it, hesitating, one finger in his ear as he shakes his shock stick, weighing his options. Then he grabs his keys and comes to the door. He fumbles with the latch, yanks it open. I rattle the grate one more time as he comes into the cell with the shock stick raised.
He gets a little closer than I'd have liked. For a split second, I wonder if I've gotten everything wrong. It'd fit the trend. I've been screwing everything up, of late. It's got to be the Lavian brandy. That shit kills brain cells, and maybe I don't have any more to spare--
But Tiny does his part. He moves like a loaded spring. One arm out -- he catches Lizard's face in his open palm and smashes his head into the wall. Lizard screeches. The sound is mostly muffled by the heel of Tiny's hand, but the ventilation ducts pick it up and carry it through the ship. By the time I think to flinch, it's over. Lizard hangs limp in the air with blood trickling out of his ears. One eye bulges from its socket. His tongue twitches through the gap in his teeth.
I grab the shock stick from him and shove past him, out of the cell. There's no time to be self-congratulatory. I got lucky, and I know it. From here, it's going to take guile. I plaster myself against the far wall, trying to disappear into the rut between the door frame and a set of lockers. I clutch the shock stick to my chest and try my best to stop breathing. There's no way they didn't hear that cry. They're going to come investigating any minute.
Tiny, meanwhile, tugs Lizard down out of the air, wraps him in the blanket and pins him to the cot. He pulls the door closed and then settles down to look innocuous. It might work. At least for a few seconds.
Meatbrick comes in, yawning and smacking his lips. He goes right past me. "Yo, Jack," he starts, and I jam the shock stick up against the base of his skull.
You'd think a guy his size could take a few thousand volts, but he evidently can't. He just sort of rag-dolls, half-turning toward me before he flops out and goes spinning off into the middle of the room. I get one more jab in before Tiny comes out to put him in a headlock. Poor Meat comes to just long enough to grab at Tiny's arm, huffing and wheezing, before he chokes back out again.
I struggle to catch my breath. "Okay.... Let's get them in the cell before they wake up."
Meat probably will in a minute or so, but I'm not sure Lizard ever will again. He's turning gray now, with little blood-drop moonlets encircling his head. I go over them both for tools, keys, weapons, anything; but aside from Lizard's cell key and the shock stick, I come away empty-handed. Apparently Scar doesn't believe in arming his henchmen. I can't say I really blame him, given their performance.
We leave them in a floating tangle inside the locked cell, then we take up positions alongside the door and wait for Scar. He's overdue already, and I don't think he's really dumb enough to come alone, anyhow. But we wait for him all the same. One minute. Two.
"What now?" Tiny asks.
God. I wish I knew!
<< Previous | Next >>
Or start at the beginning....