Sunday, January 24, 2010
64. The Baby Vector (Scott Bradley - Soundtracks to Tex Avery Cartoons)
(impossible without Brunner)
the babies came at dawn, on their quiet padded feet. i woke up and looked out the bay window, weak coffee in hand. i saw them. they saw me. the coffee cup fell to the foor, in slow motion, shattering, over and over again. john williams.
what is it, cremins.
no shit, 'babies.'
i don't know if i can shoot a baby, sir.
well, i think you just point the gun and pull the trigger but i'm no expert, cremins, i've only been in the fucking army for seventeen years.
cremins, when they come up on you you better shoot.
they're babies, sir.
babies... yeah, they're babies. they are babies, cremins.
the ride was worse than he imagined. he never thought he would run over a baby, and not a dozen every block. not in the minivan, which he and carol (carol... i hope...) had bought when they were expecting.
expecting. he never expected this.
parson looked up from the floor with one eye, the other one a bloody rose of gore. the babies didn't notice. they were oddly quiet, sucking on their pacifiers. like a fucking anne geddes picture... one gurgled contendedly and rolled on his back. slowly, he removed the pacifier.
it wasn't a pacifier. it was a finger.
parson screamed and then he felt little bodies start to land on him, flump flump flump flump...
moscowicz wiped sweat from his eyes. it was hotter than hell here in the mainframe room, but it was hotter out there, where the babies were. if he could just download the RAM into the mainframe, he could...
oh god, he whispered.
what is it? said sasha.
fucking... jesus, he said.
the mainframe screen lit up with the face of a jolly baby. "ah ah ah! ga ga ga! ah ah ah! gah gah gah!" it said. moscowicz heard a rising whine.
get out, sasha!
the room exploded.
sweating in the janitorial closet. my heart bursting through my ears. try to breathe quietly. but i'm safe. i know i am. cause they can't open the door. they can't open the door. they can't...
i looked at the handle. it was jiggling.
i stood up and looked through the small window. a pyramid of babies. roly poly. deadly. and on top, a baby teetering, reaching for the handle. only the fact that his hands were slick with blood kept him from getting a grip.
the baby hit the ground the same time i did, but got up just a little faster, motherfucker bounced, looks like. next i know the motherfucker has a knee to my throat and he's riding me like a bronco. stephanie, i thought. stephanie. i tried, honey.