Targ

Targ

Having secured the biggest job of his monster hunting career Daranth Jacobs strode buoyantly from the Yakhamo Province Council Chambers in lower downtown Angath City. The job was simplicity itself, find monster, kill monster.

Even the most inexperienced hunter couldn’t help but fall over a fifteen-foot tall, supposedly green, possibly blue hideous beast. Some reports said the beast possessed four arms, two heads, four eyes and large nasty teeth. Other witnesses reported the beast as having no hair, long shaggy hair, big bulging eyes, no eyes and a unicorns horn. All eyewitnesses agree on one thing. The monster definitely had big, sharp, nasty teeth.

With all the latest gadgets Daranth had recently purchased the second phase of the operation would be a cinch. The Ectoplas 2000, an ectoplasmic ionized blaster with built in stabiliser and anti-shuddervanes would easily neutralise the behemoth. To capture and eliminate the now hapless monster the latest model Grabya-beast GBMkII Monster Snuffer complete with a button that goes ping would do the job nicely.

Jubilantly he strode towards the automatic sliding glass doors clearly marked “Out Of Order” and walked face first into them. For a fraction of a second his face was squashed against the glass making him look like some deformed gorilla from, “The Planet of the Apes” movie set. An old lady in a walking frame saw this horrifying sight and raced off like a one hundred metre sprinter screaming incoherently about a monster before collapsing in the street.

A dazed and stunned Daranth bounced back towards the stairs he had so recently bounded up. Unbalanced and seeing stars he teetered on the brink of the top step for what seemed like an aeon. Then ever so slowly he toppled over like a felled sequoia. His unorthodox descent of the stairs lasted all of ten seconds which left him bloodied, bruised, and with a badly twisted wrist and severe concussion. His last remembrance before oblivion gladly took him was of an elderly man bending over him and a set of dentures careening towards his face. A thin string of spittle leading from the dentures to a gummy mouth lent testament to their former abode. He lost consciousness to the sound of drug hazed cackling issuing forth from a dopehead at the top of the stairway.

The days that followed the accident passed by in a blur for the hapless monster hunter. After receiving word of the appointment of some young up’n comer monster slayer, he took to depression like a duck to water. Weeks passed by while his injuries healed. When he realised that trying to drown his embarrassment with diet non-alcoholic pinacoladas just wasn’t working Daranth called his agent.

“Where the hell have you been?” Wilt Sumoor fairly screamed down the line at Daranth. “Never mind. Remember the Yakhamo Province Council, yeh, well they’re in exile now and trying to get in contact with you. Some brain dead twit gave them a wrong number, any idea who that could have been.”

“What do they want from me now?” he whined.

“What do you think, you dolt?” Wilt gasped in exasperation. “They want you to hunt down the monster rampaging through their deserted city. While you were recuperating the wee beastie devastated it and so they had to evacuate. The replacement they sent in couldn’t cut it and hasn’t been seen since. There was some gibberish on the hunter shortwave frequency but no one could make sense of it. You should look at it before you go in.”

“Yeh, yeh! I can’t believe they still want me to hunt the thing down, I’ll get right on it, Wilt.” he blurted out as he bolted for the door, leaving Wilt talking to thin air.

“Don’t forget to take your equipment with you …Daranth…..Daranth .. Aww, you blithering idiot,” he said hanging up in exasperation, shaking his head and wondering why he ever became involved with Daranth.

On his way to the front door Daranth picked up his kit where it had lain since his accident. Nearly skittling old Mrs. Wilkins, he ran for the elevator forgetting, in his haste, to close the door. When the ground floor finally arrived he took off like a rocket. Two metres from his latest model Toyota Vampsta turbo boosted sportster he tossed his bag through the window, forgetting that it was wound up. The bag hit the reinforced glass bounced back smashing into his stomache. With the wind knocked out of him, he crumbled to the ground in a heap. A familiar drug hazed cackle echoed through the carpark, mocking him as he fought for air. Picking himself up, he rummaged through his pocket for the key and unlocked the door.

He threw his bag into the back, jumped into the driver’s seat and punched in the coordinates of his destination. The Vampsta took off the only way a red sports car should, like a bat out of hell late for a neck sucking convention. The little red car accelerated rapidly until it was almost a blur. The two-hour drive to Angath City took only forty five minutes. As he approached the city limits he could see, blocking the road, a hastily erected blockade of trees and rubble. With no sign of the little red sports car slowing down and the barricade fast approaching Daranth began to worry-just a little. Ten metres from colliding with the blockade the Autocu computer decided that the proximity alert indicator, which had been flashing for what seemed an hour, was worth worrying about and stopped the car with only a centimetre to spare.

He fumbled hectically for the door handle, when finally his brain and fingers were on the same wavelength he opened it. He fell unceremoniously in a heap beside the vehicle, a little pale and a lot shaken. He quickly regained his feet and backed away from the auto with an ashen look on his face.

“Bahh! God damn devil car. You almost killed me, idiot.” he screamed shrilly.

Retrieving his pack from the car he slung it over his back and with one last glare at the auto from hell he confidently strode past the barricade and entered the city. Two hours into his trek to the heart of the city his enthusiasm and confidence began to wane. The unnatural quiet of the once bustling city began to play on his nerves. Since entering the city he had seen neither hide nor hair of any living soul. There were plenty of signs of a hasty exit from the stricken city, house doors left open, newspaper stands left untended and lights left glaring in the fading light of dusk.

With the eerie quiet settling solemnly on his soul he continued his journey. The hairs on his nape prickled as he sensed rather than heard the drunken approach of a figure. In the gathering dusk Daranth could scarcely make out the figure stumbling towards him. The silhouette finally stumbled, fell heavily to the ground and lay there unmoving. Realising the mysterious silhouette wasn’t the elusive creature he sort, Daranth trotted over to him.

Kneeling beside the exhausted man he realised that the fellow was far beyond exhaustion, in fact he was nearly dead. The stranger opened his mouth to say something but all he could manage was a hoarse croak. Noticing how dry he was Daranth fumbled for his canteen and in his haste dropped it fair in the face of the stricken man.

Repressing the urge to seek and throttle the junkhead cackling uncontrollably somewhere nearby, Daranth quickly grabbed the fallen canteen and began to quench the dying man’s thirst. After nearly drowning the poor fellow, he put away the bottle and questioned him. He managed to learn that the man was Thornly Burndike III. The young monster hunter, who had been given Daranth’s job after his unfortunate accident, confirmed that the monster was still wandering the streets. Still gasping for breath, his heart near to bursting as it tried painfully to pump air into his lungs, Thornly spasmed suddenly and expired uttering one final word.

“Tag?” Daranth stood up scratching his head pondering Thornly’s last word. As he stood over the body of the hapless monster hunter a vast shadow crept over him. A dawning realisation of dread spread slowly through his body as a sickly sweet, musty odour assaulted his nose. Nearly paralysed with fear he turned slowly around to confront a blue-green maw full of big sharp nasty teeth.

Backing away from the hideous form before him, Daranth groped for his ectoplasmic blaster. Once securely in his grasp and with his confidence back in control he aimed the gun at the crouching monstrosity before him. The blue-green beast sat on its haunches, looking as much like a gorilla as….. well a gorilla, contemplating him with its beady yellow eyes. Even as Daranth aimed his blaster at the creature it snarled menacingly at him

With only twenty metres between him and his quarry, Daranth was extremely confident of his aim and slowly flicked the safety off. Ever so slightly he began to squeeze the trigger, the nozzle squarely aimed at the chest of the monster. A wicked smile played on his lips as the creature screeched and sprang forward. A little unnerved by the earsplitting roar Daranth panicked momentarily and squeezed the trigger. The phhwwrechkt sound that was supposed to issue forth, as the ectoplasmic forces were released from the blaster, never eventuated. Silence, stone cold silence greeted Daranth’s ears as the monstrosity, oblivious to his plight, charged towards him. Bug-eyed and slack-jawed he glared quizzically at the gun almost pleading with it to work, as he pulled the trigger once more.

A high pitched crazed laughter echoed through the deserted city. The monster stopped mid stride and gazed questioningly at the surrounding area in search of the owner of the laughter.

“Shut up!” Daranth screeched back frantically searching for the drug-induced hippy dogging his every move. “Shut the HELL UP.”

“Targ?” boomed the creature quizzically, giving Daranth a sideways glance.

“Indeed! Targ is it?’ he replied as his bravado momentarily returned. “Well be off with you foul creature.”

Targ smiled a grimace at him and continued his charge. With hope failing at every bound of Targ’s charge he tentatively squeezed the trigger once again with the same result as before. Screaming his dismay and disgust to the skies he threw the gun at Targ and bolted down the street.

Never in all the years since Daranth had become a monster hunter, had he known such fear or ran so fast. With a whoop of joy Targ bounded after him, loping along like a gorilla.

Fear driving him on, the once plucky monster slayer rapidly outdistanced the behemoth that lumbered joyfully after him. He looked back to see the distance had lengthened between he and his pursuer, and slowed to a trot. He rounded the corner of a deserted apartment block and spotted a hideout to hole up in for the night. He burst through the basement door and slammed it shut behind him, then leaned heavily against it to catch his breath. Only when his chest had stopped heaving erratically did he regard his refuge. As his wits slowly returned, he noticed an all pervasive stench that assaulted his nostrils. A familiar stench, a horrendous, all too familiar aroma. A rising panic choked him, as he fumbled in terror for the light switch.
The light flared to life. Daranth nearly jumped out of his skin as an enormous, slavering maw materialised in front of his face. Terror-stricken he stood paralysed, and screamed his lungs out for ten seconds before he scrambled frantically for the doorknob.

He grasped it in a trembling hand and opened the door nearly ripping it off its hinges. He took off like a rabbit and didn’t slow down for four blocks. Targ simply roared his delight and bounded after his prey like a hound chasing a fox.

Daranth stopped running only when his breath gave out. He spied an industrial bin, staggered over to it and prepared to climb in and hide, until he could continue on. He scrambled up the side and was about to lift the lid when a voice from within bellowed up to him.

“Piss off! This is my bin.”

Scared witless Daranth flung himself away from the foul smelling bin, he landed with a thud. What little breath remained to him was expelled gustily as he impacted with the bitumen road.

“Rack off! Go find your own hiding place, this is mine,” said the wild eyed and dishevelled bin man. The now familiar chortler cackled away in the distance.

Still out of breath Daranth scrambled to his feet, dusted himself off and trudged disconsolately down the street. His breath returned to him slowly. He paused momentarily to catch his breath, as a commotion arose from the alley. Suddenly the industrial bin hurtled end over end from the dimly lit alley, a terrified scream echoed from within. Daranth took flight away from the disturbance, as fast as his weary legs would go. His footsteps pounded in his ears as they reverberated through the deserted buildings.

A dark side street beckoned with the illusion of sanctuary in the shadows. As he stepped into the alley he was swallowed by the darkness and slunk away from the revealing light. He froze midstride as he detected a presence behind him, and turned slowly around to see a hulking silhouette, framed in the mouth of the alley. He held his breath for fear of alerting the beast to his presence, and backed further into the shadows of the dark lane. He wondered whether the blood that thundered through his ears would give away his presence and send the monster speeding down the alley to rend him to pieces. He continued to back away from the light.

The dreadful creature stood calmly at the opening of the laneway sniffed the air twice and with a grunt began to move on. Daranth slowly exhaled as he continued his retreat into the security of the shadows. To his eternal horror a sensor light detected him and flickered to life catching Targ’s attention. Like a hare caught in a car’s light beam Daranth was rooted to the spot, a look of absolute terror and resignation on his stricken face.

A smile split Targ’s fanged mouth. Knowing his prey was finally cornered Targ confidently strode toward the small, quivering creature that cowered in the shadows. Ten feet away from his intended victim he let loose with a victorious roar.
Daranth slowly retreated from the oncoming monstrosity in a vain attempt to escape the inevitable. He looked round desperately for an escape route. His retreat up the alley was halted as he backed into a wall and could go no further. Targ advanced slowly toward his victim to prolong the agony.

With no possibility of escape Daranth resigned himself to the finality of his impending doom. The gap closed between the assailants, as he readied himself to meet his maker. He closed his eyes as the behemoth before him raised a powerfully muscled arm.

Targ brought his massive, taloned hand down onto Daranth’s head. Through the terror and the chattering of his teeth he could clearly hear the drug abuser.

“Oh-oh,” as he began his inane cackle.

Daranth’s heart almost gave out as Targ began what he thought was a growl. He quickly realised that the creature, with his life literally in his hand, was actually laughing.

“Yer it fer targ,” he boomed then bounded away as happy as Larry.

Daranth slid down the wall, to the joyous laughter of the drug-hazed hippy, as he began to blackout. He uttered one final familiar word before losing consciousness.

“Tag.”

END
Word count: 2629