If you have a weak stomach don't read on. I wrote this for a workshop but we were only allowed to submit 2 pages, so I'm posting the rest here. After the first 2 pages it gets quite messed up. You may need psychological help if you read this. It was written by someone very random. Most characters are based on real people, some are fictional.
‘Stop! Listen!...’
Meredith turned around.
‘I have something to tell you. Something strange. Something almost unbelievable. Please listen to me. Take what I’m about to say seriously.’
‘What is it Mr Mac?’ said Meredith.
‘Dylan’s mum is back.’
‘What,’ shouted Meredith. ‘Back? How? We killed her.'
‘I know,’ said Mr Mac. ‘Or so we thought. It turns out that Stuart revived her.’
‘He died too,’ said Meredith. ‘I saw him die of caffeine overdose. He drank a fire engine full of red bull.’
‘He didn’t actually die,’ said Mr Mac. ‘He went into a coma for a week, woke up and finished off the fire engine. Intel shows that he proceeded to revive Dylan’s mother with mother.’
‘What?’
‘He revived Dylan’s mother with mother,’ repeated Mr Mac.
‘Whose mother?’ said Meredith; frowning.
‘Stuart’s,’ said Mr Mac. ‘Apparently he got her to drink the whole bottle.’
‘Stuart keeps his mother in a bottle?’ said Meredith.
‘Yes,’ said Mr Mac. ‘The cans aren’t big enough for him.’
‘Him?’ said Meredith. ‘What do you mean him? Is Stuart’s mother a man?’
‘What are you talking about?’ said Mr Mac, screwing up his face. ‘Mother doesn’t have a gender.’
‘Mine does,’ said Meredith, ‘she’s female.’
‘I didn’t think you drank mother,’ said Mr Mac.
‘Of course not,’ replied Meredith. ‘Why on Earth would I do that? Who drinks their own mother? That’s disgusting and immoral. ’
‘Well its better than drinking someone else’s mother,’ said Mr Mac. ‘That would be stealing.’
‘You’re making no sense to me,’ said Meredith.
‘Neither are you,’ said Mr Mac, shaking his head as they walked down the corridor towards his office.
‘Anyway, where are they now?’ said Meredith.
‘Our spies have found that they are somewhere in Afghanistan,’ said Mr Mac. ‘They have zeroed in on a five square kilometre area, but that’ll need searching to find the exact location. Intel shows that they’re running a very profitable business manufacturing caffeine for Al Quada.’
‘I guess the next step’s obvious then;’ said Meredith, ‘fly over there, find this caffeine plant and shut it down.’
‘I’ll make a call on the PA for the team to get together,’ said Mr Mac.
‘Yep,’ said Meredith. ‘I’ll go and fire up a tie dye helicopter. Bring my gun and Shoshone bow and arrows.’
‘Will do,’ said Mr Mac, veering into his office.
Meredith walked down the corridor and up the staircase at the end, emerging onto the rooftop of the hippie SAS headquarters.
The tie dye eagle which was perched on the railing screeched and flew over, coming to a rest on Meredith’s shoulder. Meredith opened the helicopter door and climbed in. She took her tie dye keys out of her pocket and put them in the ignition.
The engine came to life, and the rotor blades slowly picked up speed.
Meredith heard voices over the sound of the blades. She looked out the window and saw her team fighting the wind towards the chopper. Mr Mac climbed in and handed Meredith her machinegun and Shoshone bow. Next Mr Gunn climbed in. He crawled through into the cockpit and sat in front of the controls for the missile launchers. On the missile control panel was a sticker. It said: “Guaranteed to fire missiles into foxholes ten mile away.”
Next Mr Plowman stepped up. He had a belt with test tubes and conical flasks of chemicals attached to it, and a sash over his shoulders, holding a 50 mL burette of hydrochloric acid onto his back.
Alfredo jumped into the helicopter, wearing his usual kilt and animal skin. A huge claymore was strapped to his back, and a shotgun was tucked into his belt.
‘Ya,’ shouted Sibo, leaping into the helicopter in her Judo pose. Tucked into her black belt was a pair of pistols, and around her head was a black band, holding her dark shoulder length hair off her face.
Next the helicopter pilot climbed in. He was dressed in black with a pair of shades and a nondescript clean shaven face.
Finally private Barbara climbed in, taking the last seat.
‘This one’s full,’ said Meredith, raising her voice to combat the sound of the rotors. ‘The rest of you take the other one.’
‘Okay,’ said Mr Ryan.
Meredith slammed the door shut.
‘Take off pilot,’ said Meredith as she sat back in her seat.
‘Roger Roger, what’s your vector Victor?’
‘Afghanistan,’ said Meredith. She looked out the window as the chopper lifted off. She saw the other helicopter’s rotor begin to spin as the rest of the team piled into it.
‘This is your first mission Private Barbara?’ said Meredith.
Barbara nodded his head.
‘Make sure you stay by my side,’ said Meredith. ‘Do as I say and you’ll stay alive.’
‘Well reprimand my raspberries if I don’t,’ said Barbara.
‘Put her in hyper tie dye drive,’ said Meredith, leaning into the cockpit.
The pilot pressed a button on the dashboard and the helicopter zoomed off, covering the distance between Indonesia and Afghanistan in two seconds.
The helicopter came to a sudden halt over a rocky desert. There were some ruins a few kilometres away. On the horizon was the sea, with a long stretch of sandy desert between them and the water.
Meredith opened the door and felt the hot Middle Eastern air on her face. She tossed the rope down.
‘Alfredo,’ she gestured towards the rope. It was the rule that Alfredo should go down first so they didn’t see up his kilt.
Alfredo grasped the rope as the other helicopter arrived next to them. He jumped and slid down the rope. ‘Or bollocks,’ Scottished Alfredo. ‘Or nor. Thus ent gud.’
Meredith looked down and saw Alfredo land. He let out a high pitched squeal. Meredith couldn’t see what had caused it at first. Then Alfredo fell onto the sand, revealing a rock in the shape of a stegosaurus back plate right where he’d landed.
Alfredo doubled over, holding his groin. ‘Or crois.’
‘Would you mind moving that rock Alfredo,’ Meredith shouted.
Alfredo kicked the rock over with one leg, still lying on the ground. Meredith slid down the rope.
There was a metal clanging noise above. Meredith looked up and saw the sparking ricochet of bullets on the underside of the helicopter. For a split second she saw a tracer coming from the ruins before another bullet hit the chopper. At least they knew which direction the enemy was.
She landed next to Alfredo.
‘U think yu shud a gun ferus cupen,’ Scottished Alfredo. ‘Ye doon uv bollocks.’
Meredith offered Alfredo her hand. He took it and she pulled him up. Mr Mac landed next to them, followed by Sibo, Mr Plowman, Barbara and then Mr Gunn. The helicopter began to move off when a missile from the direction of the ruins shot through the air and struck the helicopter’s tail rotor.
The helicopter spun around in the air. Meredith could hear the pilot’s screams as the helicopter went off balance and ploughed into a cliff face. It crumpled until it barely resembled itself anymore, and slid down the cliff to the sand below.
‘Poor guy,’ said Meredith.
Mother superior walked up behind them. ‘Jesus save his soul.’
‘Buddha save his soul,’ said Dylan, landing on the sand.
‘Allah save his soul,’ shouted Arabana as she leapt out of the helicopter; she freefell towards the ground, looking like she might crash. About ten metres before the ground, she gripped the rope and slowed her descent. She dropped from the rope just as a bullet hit the pilot in the head and the helicopter went out of control. It flew over a dune and they heard it plough into the sand.
‘There goes our way out,’ said Meredith, taking out her walkie talkie.
‘Come in Rasta HQ,’ she said.
‘Rasta HQ reads you, over.’
‘Both helicopters have been shot down,’ said Meredith. ‘All ground forces are okay but we have no escape vehicles.’
‘Roger that. We’re sending agent Hippie who’s in the area to pick you up. Proceed with mission and he should arrive by the time you finish, over and out.’
‘According to the mathematical calculation I just did mentally,’ began Mr Ryan, ‘The most likely amount of time agent Hippie will take to reach us is 37 minutes.’
‘No,’ said Mr Mac. ‘I did a mental calculation and he’ll take 38 minutes.’
‘Oh yeah,’ said Mr Ryan. ‘Well my calculation involved trigonometry.’
‘Well mine involved a recursive formula,’ said Mr Mac.
‘Well mine involved calculus,’ said Mr Ryan.
‘Well mine involved summation notation,’ said Mr Mac.
‘Well mine involved simultaneous matrix functions,’ said Mr Ryan.
‘Well mine involved factorising quadratic trinomials,’ said Mr Mac.
‘Well mine involved logarithmic indices,’ said Mr Ryan.
‘Well mine involved...’
‘Shut up,’ said Meredith. ‘Let’s get moving.’
They walked along the sand towards the ruins. Arabana led the way; she knew these lands. They walked up a sand hill, the wind constantly blowing sand back towards them. As they stepped, the sand beneath their feet gave way and their feet slid down again.
Finally, with aching legs, they reached the top.
‘Get down,’ shouted Arabana, leaping back over the lip of the dune as bullets flew overhead. She landed on the sand next to Meredith.
‘Al Quada terrorists,’ said Arabana.
Meredith crawled up the sand dune and peeked over. About fifty metres away were a group men dressed in sheets milling around three jeeps, firing machineguns towards Meredith and her squad.
Meredith crawled backwards so she was behind the ridge. ‘They outnumber us.’
A spray of sand hit her in the face as a bullet embedded in the dune just above her. She held her gun up over the top of the dune and fired a burst in the general direction of the terrorists.
‘We need a plan,’ said Meredith.
‘U c’d dustract um,’ Scottished Alfredo. ‘I c’d left oop me kilt.’
‘No,’ said Meredith. ‘Just suppress them.’
‘Orroi,’ Scottished Alfredo, crawling to the top of the ridge.
‘I have an idea,’ said Mr Plowman, a cartoony incandescent light bulb appearing above his head. He reached for a jar of chemicals at his belt.
‘Wait,’ said Mother Superior, a high efficiency fluorescent light appearing above her head. ‘I have a better idea.’ She reached for her holy cross.
‘Wait, I have the best idea,’ said Arabana, a super efficient LED appearing above her head. She pulled off one of her layers of Muslim clothing to reveal explosives strapped to her chest. ‘Cover me.’
She stood up and charged over the top of the dune.
‘Cover her,’ shouted Meredith. She crawled up over the lip of the dune and saw bursts of sand spraying up around Arabana.
Meredith opened fire, hitting one of the terrorists. The rest of the squad sprayed a heavy layer of bullets, with the occasional jar of acid or maths beam.
The terrorists leapt behind their vehicles for protection, and Arabana ran across the desert unhindered. Meredith’s clip ran out. She took out her Shoshone bow and arrows and drew it back.
Mr Plowman threw a jar of sulphuric acid towards the terrorists. It hit one of the jeeps and smashed. The acid burnt through the bonnet and into the engine. One of the terrorists who had been hit by a splash stood up, screaming as it burnt a hole through his body.
Meredith aimed her Shoshone bow at the terrorist who was standing up and shot. The arrow hit him with such force that he went flying, and landed in a distant pigpen.
‘Praise be to Allah,’ shouted Arabana as she hurtled across the desert.
Meredith watched in horror as Arabana’s body burst into flames, engulfing the terrorists and their vehicles. Shards of shrapnel flew into the air, landingin a wide circle.
The smoke cleared, revealing a smoking crater of blackened sand. It was surrounded by burning corpses and vehicle parts.
Mother Superior bowed her head. ‘Jesus rest her soul.’
‘Buddha rest her soul,’ said Dylan.
The lack of Arabana’s input left an empty space. ‘Allah rest her soul,’ said Meredith, attempting to fill the void. ‘That’s what she would have wanted.’
They spent a moment of silence.
‘Well blow my banana,’ said Barbara. ‘She’s dead.’
‘She gave her life for the cause,’ said Meredith. ‘We should honour her death by completing the mission.’
They picked up their feet, walking over the dune and past the charred crater. Soon the ruins were in sight. There were broken pillars and crumbling buildings, interwoven with the remnants of paved streets. In the centre was a large structure, which looked like a temple; in surprisingly good shape.
They walked up the stone steps, between two rows of pillars and into the building. The interior was bare, except for columns holding up the roof, and a few holes in the ceiling which let in streaks of sunlight. At the end of the room was a stairwell.
Meredith led the team forward. There was a door blocking off their entry to the basement. Upon the door was a sign, saying; “Beware, toxic caffeine levels beyond this point.”
‘This must be the place,’ said Meredith. ‘Alfredo, do the honours will you.’
Alfredo took out his claymore and in a single swipe; he carved out an arched hole in the door big enough for them to fit through.
Meredith and Mr Gunn rushed through the gap holding their guns at the ready. There was nobody there. The air was thick with dust.
They walked down the steps in single file. Meredith leaned around the corner, to see a room full of barrels and crates, lit by lanterns on the walls. They walked cautiously into the large room.
‘Well nibble my nectarines,’ said Barbara, as he leaned over one of the barrels. ‘It says ten mole per litre caffeine solution.’
‘That’s almost as concentrated as my hydrochloric acid solution,’ said Mr Plowman.
‘Shh,’ said Meredith. ‘I can hear something.’
They stood completely still. The faint sound of swearing echoed through the building.
‘That’ll be Stuart,’ said Meredith. ‘Watch out for his deadly mochatov cocktails.’
They walked through a door at the end of the room And turned into acorridor. Ahead was a golden maths equation sitting on a low shelf at the end of the hall.
‘It’s mine,’ said Mr Mac and Mr Ryan simultaneously. They ran down the hall.
‘Wait,’ called Meredith, trailing behind them. She tried to catch up but they were so enthusiastic about the maths equation that they wouldn’t heed her words.
Mr Ryan felt the ground disappear beneath his feet. Looking down, he saw a pit of torturous sharp things. He thought of the beach just in time, and disappeared.
Mr Mac on the other hand, was not so lucky. He landed on a tangled mesh of barbed wire. It gouged at his body, tearing off bits of skin as he tumbled through.
The clump of barbed wire ended, and his bleeding body filled with snapped barbs fell further, picking up speed. Then came the razors. They sliced open deep cuts as he fell past. Blood poured from hundreds of wounds, turning his whole body red. A blade sliced off his leg as he fell.
He tumbled down and landed on a spike sticking out of the wall. It impaled his body like a shish kebab.
‘Mr Mac,’ Meredith called from the top of the pit. ‘Are you alright?’
No reply.
‘It’s too dark to see,’ said Mr Plowman. ‘I’ll throw a magnesium flare down so we can see what’s happened.’
‘Good idea,’ said Meredith.
Mr Plowman took a piece of magnesium from his gadget belt, and lit it. He tossed the bright flame down the pit. It bounced off the walls, illuminating blood covered barbed wire and blades.
Mr Mac looked up at the light coming towards him. It came closer and closer, until it landed; right in his eye!
He let out a loud, high pitched scream.
‘Woops,’ said Mr Plowman.
‘Mr Mac,’ called Meredith, ‘we might be able to rescue you if we find a way down there, but don’t wait up.’
The spike Mr Mac was stuck on snapped, and he fell into a dense mat of barbed wire on the cold stone floor, the spike still in his stomach.
‘We’d best get going,’ said Meredith. They walked around the edge of the pit. Mr Mac’s screams echoed up to them.
‘My sound pressure level meter reads 106.3 decibels,’ said Mr Plowman. ‘Just roughly converting that in my head, I’d say it’s around 4.26 x 10-2 watts per square metre.’
‘Isn’t physics useful,’ said Meredith.
They came around a corner and the sound of Stuart’s swearing intensified, echoing up a stairway. Meredith approached it carefully, holding her gun at the ready. She edged down the stairs. At the bottom was a wooden double door. Meredith peeked through the keyhole; on the other side stood a terrorist. Behind him was a huge room with a noisy machine in the middle that poured smoke out the top. It had a conveyor belt which constantly churned out barrels, which a group of terrorist stacked on a pallet.
The room was held up by thick concrete columns. On the far side was a balcony overlooking the factory floor. Dylan’s mum and Stuart stood atop the balcony, Dylan’s mum holding a pitchfork in one hand, and Stuart skulling bottle after bottle of red bull.
‘This is it,’ said Meredith. ‘Private Barbara, stay close to me and keep your head down. Mr Gunn, Mr Plowman, you stand on either side of this doorway and cover us. Alfredo, you kick down the door on my command.’
‘oroi’,’ Scottished Alfredo, stepping up to the door.
Meredith took up position beside him. ‘Now,’ she said.
Alfredo kicked the gap between the double doors. They both flew off their hinges. He fired a spray of bullets at the terrorist who stood closest to the door.
Meredith ran past Alfredo and took cover behind one of the columns. She saw the others pile into the room, taking up positions behind other columns, barrels and crates. Bits of stone chipped off the pillars as bullets filled the air.
‘Supressing fire,’ shouted Meredith.
Mr Gunn and Mr Plowman leaned around the doorway. Mr Gunn fired his automatic machinegun through the room.
Mr Plowman tossed a jar of hydrochloric acid at the terrorists near the machine. It corroded them into nothing. He then took out his gun and shot at the enemies running from a door at the other side of the room.
Dylan leaned over the crate he was dug in behind. A terrorist suicide bomber ran towards them. He fired his double barrel shotgun at the terrorist’s bomb pack, and it exploded. Dylan ducked to avoid the fragments of shrapnel.
‘Throw a smoke bomb Mr Plowman,’ said Meredith, blind firing around the pillar.
Mr Plowman took two jars from his belt and opened them. He poured the contents of one into the other and quickly closed the lid. It made a loud rumble. He tossed the jar into the centre of the room. It smashed and the liquid sizzled and released thick grey smoke into the air.
‘Charge,’ shouted Meredith.
Seribu Rupiah jumped over his barrel and charged into the smoke, cutting down terrorists with his machete. Alongside him Dylan ran with his samurai sword drawn. Ms Liddle ran ahead with her green light sabre, deflecting the bullets fired randomly into the cloud of smoke.
Sibo emerged from the smoke and judo kicked a terrorist, whose body flew straight through the titanium steel machine, leaving a perfect outline where he had smashed through. She spun around, punching another terrorist in the face.
Meredith saw a mocha carton flying through the air towards her. She leapt to the side, rolling as she landed. The mochatov cocktail exploded, and she felt droplets of boiling mocha sear at her skin.
Mother superior raised her holy cross as a girl in fishnet stockings, fishnet shirt, fishnet shoes and fishnet underwear approached her. The slut shied away as light burst from the cross. She sloped behind the machine. Mother superior ran behind the machine to get her and was hit in the face by a used pad. The slut scampered away.
‘Well oral my oranges,’ said Barbara, as he unintentionally caught a mochatov cocktail.
‘Throw it,’ shouted Meredith.
Barbara looked at the mochatov cocktail, frowning in confusion. He shrugged his shoulders and tossed it across the room. It exploded in mid air, raining mocha onto the terrorists.
‘Well pick my plums,’ he said, ‘an explosive mocha.’
The wall at the other side of the room suddenly smashed open. Meredith ducked to avoid the flying rubble. She looked across and saw a round blob of fat rolling towards them, squashing all in its path.
‘Mr Plowman,’ she shouted, ‘sodium hydroxide.’
‘I don’t have any,’ said Mr Plowman, ‘I titrated it all against a standardised nitric acid solution yesterday because I was bored.’
‘Damn,’ said Meredith. ‘Run.’
Sibo judo kicked one last terrorist. Unfortunately, there were so many columns lined up in the terrorist’s path, that the roof began collapsing.
Meredith powered up the stairs. The obese lard sphere had so much momentum that it made it up the staircase without any significant velocity reduction.
They ran past the pit where Mr Mac had fallen, his screams still piercing the air. Meredith looked over her shoulder and saw Dylan’s mum and her team; also running from the elephantine jelly boulder. They obviously hadn’t planned for it to be released so early.
A shower of stones fell around them, crumbling off the ancient roof.
‘Well stimulate my strawberries,’ said Barbara as one landed right in front of him.
‘Keep running,’ said Meredith. They ascended another set of stairs, and came out on the ground floor.
Dylan glanced over his shoulder and saw Catherine Tate running behind them. ‘I’ll stay here and hold them back,’ he said. ‘You guys escape.’
‘Okay,’ said Meredith. ‘Your sacrifice will be remembered always.’
‘I’ll stay too,’ said Seribu Rupiah.
Meredith took one last look at Dylan and Seribu before she fled the crumbling ruin.
Dylan drew his samurai sword and hid behind a pillar. Seribu rupiah hid behind the pillar on the other side of the walkway, holding his machete at the ready. A few terrorists ran past, too preoccupied with survival to notice them lying in ambush. Dylan heard Catherine Tate’s voice; something about gooseberry and cinnamon yoghurt.
He leapt out from his hiding place, to see Catherine Tate standing in front of him.
‘How very dare you,’ she said.
Dylan sliced his sword up under Catherine Tate’s right arm. It fell onto the ground, leaking blood onto the dusty floor. He brought the blade up over her head, and down through her left shoulder. Catherine Tate screamed.
He shoved the sword through her gut, and left it hanging there as he pulled out his double barrel shotgun. It had two shots and she had two kneecaps.
‘You’re killing me,’ she screeched as bone fragments blasted from the backs of her knees.
‘Am I bovvered though?’ said Dylan, pulling the sword out of her stomach. He cut off both of her legs in one swipe, and her torso landed upright on the ground. Dylan looked down on her as he shoved the sword into her body again. He pulled out both of his pistols and fired them, shattering her ribcage and puncturing her lungs. She gasped for breath, wheezing as blood gushed out of her mouth.
‘I’m dying,’ she said, barely able to get the words out.
‘Is my face bovvered,’ said Dylan. He grasped the handle of his sword and pulled it straight up through her head, splitting it in half. Her two sides peeled down like the skin on a banana.
Dylan felt a heavy thump and splitting pain in his chest. He reeled back from the bullet, clutching his wound. He looked down and saw another spray of bullets hit him. He fell back against a column, watching the feet of terrorists run past.
Seribu Rupiah stood over three terrorists he had slain, holding his dripping machete in one hand. Across the room he saw The Fake Tan Nazi Man raising his mg42. Seribu pulled out his pistol and pointed it at The Fake Tan Nazi Man. Too late. The bullets ripped through his body, and the remaining tatters littered the floor.
Dylan looked happily at Catherine Tate’s mutilated body, content in his death that he had fulfilled his purpose. He took out his Buddha and tossed it out the opening as far as he could so it could be safe. Then he pulled his body up into the lotus position and meditated as his life slipped away.
Dylan’s Buddha landed in front of Barbara. ‘Well vandalise my vagoa,’ He said, leaning down to pick it up.
Up on the hill, Meredith saw a car. Her walkie talkie crackled, and a voice came on.
‘Meredith this is agent Hippie, I have a visual on you and am approaching your position, over.’
‘Roger that, over and out,’ said Meredith. She ran along the soft sand towards the approaching vehicle.
The car; a red ‘89 Suzuki Sierra pulled up beside them. The window was down and agent Hippie leaned out. He wore a pair of sunglasses and a Hawaiian shirt.
‘You’ll need to lock the wheel hubs,’ he said, ‘I’ll need four wheel drive to start up in this soft sand.’
Meredith knelt beside one of the front wheels and twisted the lock. She could hear other cars starting up in the ruins. She looked over and saw a convoy driving towards them. She ran around the other side of the car, past Mr Gunn who was locking the other wheel. She opened the front door and hopped into the seat.
‘Some of you will have to go on the roof rack,’ said Hippie.
Mr Gunn, Ms Liddle, Mr Plowman and Alfredo climbed onto the roof. Barbara took the middle back seat, with Sibo to his right and Mother Superior to his left.
‘Well wank my watermelons,’ said Barbara, looking out the back window. ‘It’s a hummer.’
Stuart drove the hummer, with Dylan’s mum in the front passenger seat. Beside them drove some utes with terrorists on the back, armed with machineguns.
Hippie put the car into four wheel drive high, and sent up a spray of sand as the car took off.
Mr Gunn stood on the roof and fired at the ute which followed closest behind them. The bullets created sparks where they hit the metal. A spray of blood hit the front windscreen as a bullet hit the passenger.
‘Where are we headed?’ said Hippie as he moved into second gear.
‘We have to go to the beach and rescue Mr Ryan,’ said Meredith. ‘Then get us to the nearest airport.’
‘Allrighty then,’ said Hippie.
Ms Liddle deflected a burst of bullets, nimbly waving her light sabre around atop the Sierra. Mr Plowman stood behind her; lobbing jars of acid over her head.
A bullet smashed through the back window, flying past Barabara’s ear.
‘Well masturbate my mandarins,’ he said in surprise.
Hippie leant over the steering wheel. The car went up a dune and flew through the air. It landed on the slope and sped down the other side.
Mr Gunn saw a moped fly over the dunes. Driving it was the slut in the fishnets. He aimed his gun at her, but before he could fire, Ms Liddle leapt in front of him and blocked an STD ray fired by the slut.
‘Thanks,’ said Mr Gunn.
Meredith leaned out the window to see what was behind them. There was a car coming up beside her. The passenger opened fire, and she pulled her head back inside just in time. The bullets shattered the front windscreen, and ricocheted off the metal body with loud pings. The burst stopped, and Meredith leaned back out the window and fired at the pursuing vehicle. The windscreen smashed, and the shards stabbed into the driver and front passenger. The car swerved off course. The two rear passengers leapt out onto the sand, before the car smashed into a rock.
The hummer came up beside them to take the car’s place. Stuart wound down his window and threw a mochatov cocktail.
Meredith grabbed the steering wheel and turned the car out of the mochatov cocktail’s path. It landed outside her door. She ducked just in time to avoid being hit by the shower of boiling caffeine.
‘Well deep throat my dragon fruit,’ said Barbara. ‘That was close.’
‘Thanks,’ said Hippie, ‘you saved us then.’
‘No worries,’ said Meredith, leaning out the window to fire at the hummer.
Mr Plowman stood, bracing himself as Mr Stirling came up beside them, standing on the tray of a ute. He threw a jar of sodium hydroxide at Mr Plowman.
Mr Plowman ducked, and the sodium hydroxide flew over his head and landed in front of the hummer. He grasped a jar of hydrochloric acid from his belt and hurled it towards Mr Stirling. The ute sped up and the jar landed behind it.
Ms Liddle blocked another STD ray. Mr Gunn stepped out beside her and fired a burst at the slut. One of the bullets hit the moped, and it caught fire. The slut stopped and jumped off, but she had caught fire, and was letting of green STD vapour. A car drove through the pall of smoke.
‘Oh no, now I have AIDS,’ came a cry from one of the people in the car. The driver turned the wheel and crashed the car into a rock on purpose, preferring instant death to dying of a million STDs.
Hippie flicked his eyes from the desert in front to the rear vision mirror. He saw another mochatov cocktail coming their way. He swerved to avoid it, and the mocha sprayed up on the windscreen. He turned the windscreen wipers on, and a burst of laughter came from the back.
‘Those are the stupidest looking windscreen wipers I’ve ever seen,’ said Sibo in hysterics.
Mr Plowman reached for another jar of hydrochloric acid but found none at his belt. He looked down and fumbled in his pocket for the concentrated solution so he could make some more, when he felt a jar hit him in the chest. It smashed, and he felt a something burn through his skin. He tried to move, but he slipped on the liquid and landed on the sand behind the car.
Mr Stirling jumped off the ute, drawing his red light sabre of science. Mr Plowman gritted his teeth, and staggered to his feet, pulling out his glowing blue burette.
Mr Stirling pounced at his weakened opponent, slashing the air with his blade. Mr Plowman walked backwards, holding the burette out in front for protection. He blocked a jab from Mr Stirling, still stepping backwards, not watching where he was going. He swung out at Mr Stirling, who easily blocked the predictable attack, and proceeded to take a quick stab at Mr Plowman. The light sabre went through Mr Plowman’s arm, severing it from his shoulder.
Mr Stirling jumped onto a car that zoomed past. Mr Plowman was not fast enough, and the car drove straight over him, breaking both his legs and some ribs. He lay squashed into the sand. He managed to lift his head up to see Mr Stirling laughing his way off into the distance.
Mr Plowman looked up to see vultures circling around him. He couldn’t feel anything below his neck because his spine was broken. Sand blew into his eyes and he could do nothing about it.
The vultures swooped.
He shook his head as the vultures pecked at him, but that wasn’t enough to repel them. Their claws scratched at his face, as others feasted on his paralysed body. He felt a stabbing pain in his eye socket as one of the vultures shoved its beak in to get the eye out.
Meanwhile a crew cab ute was gaining on the Sierra. As it drew near, Chris popped up from behind the cab, holding a printer. He pressed a button on it and pages zoomed out, flying past the Sierra. Mr Gunn, Ms Liddle, and Alfredo lay down on the roof as the razor sharp bits of paper instructing on how to grow marijuana flew past.
‘Or crois,’ Scottished Alfredo as one sliced across his arm, ‘dut frecken ‘erts’
Mr Gunn fired at the ute and Chris ducked to avoid the bullets that pinged against the car’s body. The car swerved slightly, and a red racing car shot past.
In the racing car was Mr Carburettor. He had a bald head and grey moustache. The car was a red formula one with a face on it.
‘That rabbit is driving me uppa da ceiling,’ he said randomly, as he pulled out a pistol. He aimed it at the SAS on the Sierra’s roof and fired a few rounds.
Ms Liddle blocked Mr Carburettor's bullets with her green light sabre of English. Mr Carburettor increased speed.
‘A come on a rory,’ he Italianed. ‘Go a faster.’
‘I’m running out of fuel Mr Carburettor,’ said Rory the racing car.
‘Al a righta then a Rory,’ said Mr Carburettor, slowing down. ‘I’ll a fill you with a my special fuel.’
Barbara looked out the back window and saw Mr Carburettor get out of Rory the racing car and walk over to the fuel cap. He unscrewed the cap and undid his belt. ‘Fondle my figs,’ said Barbara, seeing Mr Carburettor begin thrusting as the sierra flew over a sand dune.
‘What,’ said Meredith.
‘That guy had fuel valve sex with his car,’ said Barbara.
‘Odd,’ remarked Meredith. ‘How’s that going to make it go faster.’
At that moment Rory the racing car flew over a dune, landing behind the sierra. He sped along, catching up fast.
‘stroke my stonefruit,’ said Barbara, ‘that was quick.’
Mother superior leaned out the window, holding out her holy cross as the hummer came up beside them. Light burst from it, to combat the darkness emanating from Dylan’s mum’s pitchfork. The beams of light and dark clashed, and mother superior could feel the heat generated.
‘I see Mr Ryan,’ said Meredith, pointing ahead.
Hippie put his foot to the floor as they ascended the tall sand dune Mr Ryan stood atop. The car slowed and he geared down. The wheels spun and the car stopped moving. Hippie went all the way down to first gear and the car moved up slightly, before slowing. ‘Bugger,’ said Meredith, firing out the window at the hummer at the bottom of the dune. Another car caught up and Chris, Dylan’s brother and The Fake Tan Nazi Man stepped out, along with two terrorists.
Hippie pushed the transfer lever into four wheel drive low range as bullets whizzed past.
Mr Ryan fired a maths beam down at another car full of terrorists that had just arrived. The doors flung open and the terrorists fell out, rolling in agony as they tried to solve complex mathematical equations.
The car slowly began moving up the dune. Mr Gunn fired at the terrorists, hitting two of them before they ducked behind the cars. Some shots flew up from the vehicles below, and Ms Liddle leapt to block them.
A joint suddenly landed in Barabra’s mouth. ‘Pull my passionfruit,’ he said, as smoke rose up into the air. Mother superior spun around and disintegrated it with her holy cross. Then out the back window she saw Dylan’s brother throwing handfuls of joints towards them. She leaned out the broken back window with her holy cross and put up a barrier of light. Every time a joint struck the barrier it disintegrated.
Mr Ryan took out a maths grenade and threw it down the hill. It bounced a few times, before exploding, releasing 100 000 kilojoules of mathematical energy. Two of the terrorists committed suicide because the strain on their brains was too painful.
Dylan’s mum had avoided the blast but Stuart hadn’t. He didn’t seem fazed.
‘Why aren’t you in pain?’ said Dylan’s mum.
‘Because I love maths,’ said Stuart. ‘Maths is the centre point of my existence.’
‘I though caffeine was,’ said Dylan’s mum.
‘Oh yes,’ said Stuart. ‘Maths is then my second favourite thing.’
Hippie pushed his foot to the floor. The car slowed as it climbed a steep bit of dune. The revs dropped.
‘Come on,’ said Hippie, pushing down as hard as he could with his foot.
The car crested the dune.
‘Get on the roof,’ said Meredith.
Mr Ryan climbed up onto the roof and took up position next to Mr Gunn. In front of them stood Ms Liddle, still deflecting bullets.
The car began moving again.
‘After them,’ shouted Dylan’s mum.
Stuart fired up the hummer. Mr Carburettor got back in Rory the racing car and Dylan’s brother slammed his foot down in his ute.
The ute moved slowly up the hill.
‘It won’t make it over,’ said The Fake Tan Nazi Man.
‘Oh yes it will,’ said Dylan’s brother. He pressed a button on the dashboard.
‘What does that do?’ said Chris.
‘It changes the fuel source from diesel to cannabis,’ said Dylan’s brother.
A jet of smoke burst from the car’s exhaust, and the car powered over the hill.
‘Jesus save us,’ said Mother Superior, looking out the back window. ‘They made it up the hill.’
‘That’s impossible,’ said Hippie. ‘The sierra only just made it over, and it’s the best four wheel drive there is.’
Mr Ryan leaned in the window. ‘According to my calculations, based on the speed of the car in relation to the frequency of the engine, I’d say they’re using cannabis as a fuel source.’
‘Take the wheel,’ said Dyaln’s brother.
The Fake Tan Nazi Man switched seats. Dyaln’s brother climbed into the back where Chris was putting more paper in his printer. He wound down one of the windows and climbed onto the tray. He then crawled across the tray and leaned over the edge and put his head right behind the exhaust pipe, breathing in the smoke.
‘Look,’ said Sibo, pointing out the window. Across from them drove Rory the racing car with the hummer trailing closely behind.
‘Damn,’ said Hippie, ‘they must have gone around the sand dune.’
Mr Gunn fired at the ute as it came up fast behind them. His gun suddenly stopped. It was out of bullets. He put it away and crouched behind Ms Liddle.
The ute came beside them and the rear window wound down. Chris was there, holding the printer.
Before Chris could start shooting paper, Sibo judo punched him, and he flew through the other side of the car.
Alfredo leaned over the edge and shoved his sword into Dylan’s brother. Unfortunately he got him in the lungs, and super concentrated THC billowed out.
‘Hold your breath,’ shouted Meredith.
Alfredo took a deep breath in and held it. He was too close to Dylan’s brother though, and he breathed in the smoke. He stood up and pretended to be a fairy, dancing around on the roof as if nothing were happening. He staggered a few times, and then fell onto the roof.
Hippie squinted, but he couldn’t see where they were going. He drove blindly through the black smog, becoming light headed from holding his breath.
Finally the smoke began to thin and they escaped the THC ball.
The ute now idled along. The Fake Tan Nazi Man had obviously died at the wheel.
‘Alfredo can you hear me,’ said Mr Gunn. ‘Alfredo.’
Alfredo twitched.
‘He’s alive,’ said Mr Gunn. ‘I don’t know how long for though.’
‘Get him in the cab,’ said Mother Superior. ‘I’ll swap places with him.’
Mother Superior climbed out the back window and hoisted herself onto the roof. Mr Gunn lowered Alfredo into the cab. Barbara and Sibo helped pull him in.
A beam of darkness shot forth from the hummer. Mother Superior held up her cross, casting a protective barrier over the Sierra. All around them was darkness, except for a small bubble around them.
‘I can’t see,’ said Hippie.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Meredith, ‘keep driving.’
Mother Superior began to sweat. ‘Can’t hold on much longer.’
‘Come on,’ said Mr Ryan, ‘I give you the power of maths.’ Mr Ryan sent forth a maths beam into the darkness, widening the bubble of light around them.
The sierra’s wheels began to spin, and Hippie went down into first gear. They were in a pit of soft sand. The tires sank a little.
‘Come on,’ breathed Meredith.
The car found hard ground on the other side of the sandpit, and they sped off. They drove over a dune and the darkness disappeared. The hummer was out of sight.
‘I think we lost them,’ said Meredith.
‘How many did we lose?’ said Hippie.
‘Dylan, Seribu, Arabana, Mr Plowman and Mr Mac,’ said Meredith. ‘Five... Hang on, what about Alfredo.’ She turned around.
Alfredo sat with his eyes wide and his tongue out, rocking his head from side to side. ‘Duhh,’ he Scottished.
‘He’s fine,’ said Hippie.
Stuart swore, punching the steering wheel. They were bogged in the sandpit.
Dylan’s mum opened the door and hopped out. Mr Carburettor was standing a few metres away next to Rory the racing car.
‘I need a drink,’ said Stuart, ‘where’s my red bull?’
‘You drank it all,’ said Dylan’s Mum.
‘Lucky this car’s caffeine powered,’ said Stuart, unscrewing the fuel cap. He put a straw in and drank the concentrated caffeine syrup from the fuel tank.
‘Oh by the way,’ said Mr Carburettor, ‘I filled up your fuel tank for you.’
Suddenly Stuart realised that the caffeine had an odd and familiar smell. He looked up at Mr Carburettor, and died of an overdose, but it wasn’t caffeine.
Gender:
Points: 15966
Reviews: 134