Junkyard Speedball - Chapter ten

Junkyard Speedball - Chapter ten

This is the tenth part of an updated version of the novella, Junkyard Speedball — a symbiot story, which was first written a couple of years ago and introduces a couple of characters that subsequently play major roles in Van Hallam’s Hellsborough Chronicles, as well as providing some insight into the region of The Dark Peak known as the netherlands.

The End, Part I

Lomas had made good speed on his return to his encampment, his mania and paranoia growing with every footstep. There were many vagrants hanging around the old streets of Southey, but he passed them by, comfortable that his mental state was far more powerful than anything they would want to handle, even in packs. They knew who he was in any case, he was the pest controller, he had the knowledge, however sick his mind had become, and the tools and so they gave him wide berth.

Anger emanated from him, he was livid, spitting venom. When he reached Parkwood and saw that the museum had been entirely eradicated he gave a great scream of twisted anguish and tore into the rotting gruizers with his bare hands, ripping away body panels and fuselage like paper. His mind writhed like a thousand venomtooths and the mist of destruction descended until the yard was twisted and broken, his hands bloodied and his face tattered with scratches and scars, his eyeballs black and fixated, the whites of his eyes red with poisonous blood. He would return now and rebuild his museum, recapture his specimens and re-cognitise them as he had done before, restore his balance and he would finally reduce the synth cop to ashes, as he had done, should have done before.

His eyes still burning with hate, Lomas approached Firthwood from the West; he could hear their partying from afar and decided that the young and the weak, who would be asleep by now would be his easiest targets. The first shack on the edge of the township was silent as he crossed the threshold, but he could hear the unmistakable sound of sleep coming from the next room.

My friend, said Lomas in thought, it is I, the Lord of the Forest, the lover of all of the animals and birds, the insects and reptiles, the trees and flowers and shrubs. I have come for you, come to take you back to the wondrous nature that you love so much. We will be together, forever united in a fusion of nature.

Lomas heard snuffles as thoughts passed into his mind, but no mental message was returned, he continued into the room and spoke again in his soothing tones. In the corner, he could see the sleeping form of the elderly woman, his first new acquisition. He approached closer and put out his hand, resting it on the woman's shoulder and shaking her slightly, until she broke free from the sleep that held her immobile. Eyes opening with the warmth of recognition as she saw that it was indeed The Lord of the Forest, the great lover of nature, who had appeared in her dreams.

She made to sit up in the bed, but Lomas pressed down or her to keep her immobile as he removed his pest controller kit from his belt and with further soothing words, sent messages of his good intent. Still he could not read her thoughts, but it was no matter, soon she would be his first victim, just a little scratch and she would be completely under his control. He would stash her pacified self beyond the village boundary and return for the next and the next until his museum was restored. He reached toward her with an ether drenched swab, whispering kindness and looking directly into her eyes with a warmth quite impossible for a mind so diseased -- a look that could only be carried off by a person in the deepest throws on insanity.

Mold waited until the last moment, as the ether swab was almost upon him, to remove himself from closure, doing so with such speed and force that the mental bolt physically jolted Lomas back and the swing of his legs as he brought them forward from the bed, tumbled Lomas into a confused heap on the ground. Spitting and fiery, Lomas recoiled and tried to right himself, but Kibble was well aimed, and flung with a force so severe, that upon impact with the bridge of Lomas's nose, it caved in, piercing his frontal lobe. Lomas howled and writhed, unable to see, blinded by the impact of the gutterball. Kibble, carried by a wave of potential energy, rose to the ceiling and then dropped, letting gravity take his full weight and landing upon Lomas's windpipe, crushing it into his spine and severing the spinal cord, paralysing him from the neck down.

Body immobile, Lomas's brain went haywire, spewing telepathic diarrhoea at high volume, crazed, depraved bolts of mental energy.

He's dying, and quickly, thought Kibble, but I think I have a way to save the girl.

Then how? Said Mold, pulling back the bed covers to reveal the pregnant revenant girl beside him in the bed.

You and I must part company, said Kibble, if I become her symbiot, you can channel his, her, dying thoughts from Lomas via me.

But how do we part, how can we unlink the mental connection? I know of no way that it can be done without either of us dying.

No, me neither, confided Kibble, I was hoping you'd make a suggestion.

If you know anyone else that you think might find this interesting, then please forward this email to them :)

I have launched a new series of diary entries that I call “Pip Rippon — Stranger in a Strange Land”, in which I describe my struggle to survive as an immigrant in Hellsborough and The Dark Peak, and how I make ¢hits, and how you can use my knowledge to make money in the off-world. I think you’ll enjoy it, check it out here: Stranger in a Strange Land.

In other news, Hellsborough Chronicles book one “Dark Peak” is now available on Kindle and paperback.

If you can leave a review of Dark Peak on Amazon, I'd be more than grateful.

Hellsborough Chronicles book two “Darker Peak” is now being worked on — look out for early releases.

Cheers, until next time,

Pip :)