Konrath, J.A. - DRACULAS (A Novel of Terror)

“Maybe we should run, Mick.”

“Yeah, maybe…wait! No! We can’t run!”

“Why can’t we run, Mick?”

“Remember that episode of The Simpsons where Homer went back in time and stepped on a butterfly and then Bart cut off his head with some hedge clippers?”

“That’s two different episodes, Mick. They’re both Treehouse of Horror episodes, but from different years.”

“Look, Willie, the point is, evolution is a really fickle bitch. If we screw up something in the past it can really mess up the future.”

“That sucks. You mean we would get back to our real time but instead of being made of skin and bones we’re made entirely out of fruit? Like some kind of juicy fruit people?”

Another growl, even closer. It sounded like a lion’s roar—if the lion had balls the size of Chryslers.

“I mean really bad stuff, Willie. I gotta read another passage and get us out of here.”

The trees parted, and a shadow began to force itself into view.

“Hey, Mick, if you were made of fruit, would you take a bite of your own arm if you were really super hungry? I think I would. I wonder what I’d taste like?”

Mick the Mick tried to concentrate on reading the page, but his gaze kept flicking up to the trees. The prehistoric landscape lapsed into deadly silence. Then, like some giant monster coming out of the jungle, a giant monster came out of the jungle.

The head appeared first, the size of a sofa—a really big sofa—with teeth the size of daggers crammed into a mouth large enough to tear a refrigerator in half.

“I think I’d take a few bites out of my leg or something, but I’d be afraid because I don’t know if I could stop. Especially if I tasted like strawberries, because I love strawberries, Mick. Why are they called strawberries when they don’t taste like straw? Hey, is that a T-Rex?”

Now Mick the Mick pee-peed more than just a little. The creature before them was a deep green color, blending seamlessly into the undergrowth. Rather than scales, it was adorned with small, prickly hairs that Mick the Mick realized were thin brown feathers. Its huge nostrils flared and it snorted, causing the book’s pages to ripple.

“I really think we should run, Mick.”

Mick the Mick agreed. The Tyrannosaur stepped into the clearing on massive legs and reared up to its full height, over forty feet tall. Mick the Mick knew he couldn’t outrun it. But he didn’t have to. He only had to outrun Willie. He felt bad, but he had no other choice. He had to trick his best friend if he wanted to survive.

“The T-Rex has really bad vision, Willie. If you stay very still, it won’t be able to—-Willie, come back!”

Willie had broken for the trees, moving so fast he was a blur. Mick the Mick tore after him, swatting dragonflies out of the way as he ran. Underfoot he trampled on a large brown roach, a three-toed lizard with big dewy eyes and a disproportionately large brain, and a small furry mammal with a face that looked a lot like Sal from Manny’s Meats on 23rd street, which gave a disturbingly human-like cry when its little neck snapped.

Behind them, the T-Rex moved with the speed of a giant two-legged cat shaped like a dinosaur, snapping teeth so close to Mick the Mick that they nipped the eighteen trailing hairs of his comb-over. He chanced a look over his shoulder and saw the mouth of the animal open so wide that Mick the Mick could set up a table for four on the creature’s tongue and play Texas Hold ’em, not that he would, because that would be fucking stupid.

Then, just as the death jaws of death were ready to close on Mick the Mick and cause terminal death, the T-Rex skidded to a halt and craned its neck skyward, peering up through the trees.

Mick the Mick continued to sprint, stepping on a family of small furry rodents who looked a lot like the Capporellis up in 5B—so much so that he swore one even said “Fronzo!” when he broke its little furry spine—and then he smacked smack into Willie, who was standing still and staring up.

“Willie! What the hell are you doing? We gotta move!”

“Why, Mick? We’re not being chased anymore.”

Mick looked back and noticed that, indeed, the thunder lizard had abandoned its pursuit, focusing instead on the sky.

“I think it’s looking at the asteroid,” Willie said.

Mick the Mick shot a look upward and stared at the very large flaming object that seemed to take up a quarter of the sky.

“I don’t think it was there a minute ago,” Willie said. “I don’t pay good attention but I think I woulda noticed it, don’t you think?”

“This ain’t good. This ain’t no good at all.”

“Look how big it’s getting, Mick! We should hide behind some trees or something.”

“We gotta get out of here, Willie.” Mick the Mick said, his voice high-pitched and uncomfortably girlish.

“Feel that wind, Mick? It’s hot. I bet that thing is going a hundred miles an hour. Do you feel it?”

“I feel it! I feel it!”

“Do you smell fish, Mick? Hey, look! Those pink flowers that look like—”

Willie screamed. Mick the Mick glanced over and saw his lifelong friend was playing tug of war with one of those toothy prehistoric plants, using a long red rope.

No. Not a red rope. Those were Willie’s intestines.

“Help me, Mick!”

Without thinking, Mick the Mick reached out a hand and grabbed Willie’s duodenum. He squeezed, tight as he could, and Willie farted.

“It hurts, Mick! Being disemboweled hurts!”

A bone-shaking roar, from behind them. The T-Rex had lost interest in the asteroid and was sniffing at the newly spilled blood, his sofa-sized head only a few meters away and getting closer. Mick the Mick could smell its breath, reeking of rotten meat and bad oral hygiene and dooky.

No, the dooky was coming from Willie. Pouring out like brown shaving cream.

Mick the Mick released his friend’s innards and wiped his hand on Willie’s shirt. The pink flower made a pbbbthh sound and did the same, without the wiping the hand part.

“I gotta put this stuff back in.” Willie began scooping up guts and twigs and rocks and shoving them into the gaping hole in his belly.

Mick the Mick figured Willie was in shock, or perhaps even stupider than he’d originally surmised. He considered warning Willie about the infection he’d get from filling himself with dirt, but there were other, more pressing, matters at hand.

The asteroid now took up most of the horizon, and the heat from it turned the sweat on Mick the Mick’s body into steam. They needed to get out of here, and fast. If only there was someplace to hide.

Something scurried over Mick the Mick’s foot and he flinched, stomping down. Crushed under his heel was something that looked like a beaver. The animal kind. Another proto-beaver beelined around its dead companion, heading through the underbrush into…

“It’s a hole, Willie! I think it’s a cave!”

Mick the Mick pushed aside a large fern branch and squatted down. The hole led to a diagonalish path, dark and rocky, deep down into the earth.

“It’s a hole, Willie! I think it’s a cave!”

“You said that, Mick!”

“That’s an echo, Willie! Hole must go down deep.”

Mick the Mick watched as two more lizards, a giant mosquito, and more beaver things poured into the cave, escaping the certain extinction the asteroid promised.

“That’s an echo, Willie! Hole must go down deep.”

“You’re repeating yourself, Mick!”

“I’m not repeating myself!” Mick yelled.

“Yes you are!”

“No I’m not!”

“I’m not repeating myself!”

“Yes you are!”

“No I’m not!”