Endworlds - Nicholas Read [42]
Returning to the scene of battle, Lion gathered himself preparatory to making the effort he had envisioned. Tucker and Hummer looked on uncertainly, having taken cover inside the kitchen behind a thick refrigerator. The fact that no lights had come on upstairs suggested the occupants were either the world’s deepest sleepers or the townhouse was unoccupied; not uncommon in this neighborhood.
“You sure this is gonna work?” Tucker asked him doubtfully.
“No I’m not.”
“What happen if doesn’t?” Hummer added.
Lion thought for a second. “If this doesn’t work, you’ll have to find a way to pocket it and hope it doesn’t burn its way out.”
Eastwood glanced rapidly at the faces of the two youths as Castle continued to lay down cover fire that the teeleoth summarily ignored.
Holding onto the piece of van, Lion took a deep breath and stepped bravely out into the open.
Accurately pinpointing this latest threat, the teeleoth adjusted its projecting antennae. Yet again the devastating duo of beams lanced outward, generated by complex organic structures within.
The lasers struck the formerly side-mounted van mirror and bounced straight back at their source. Lion’s instinct had proven correct: the Longcoats could not nullify the teeleoth. But it was quite capable of annihilating itself.
Reflected by the mirror, the amplified light hit the creature somewhere between neck and torso. It let out a high-pitched whistle at the uppermost limits of human perception. Squinting tightly while holding the mirror out in front of him, Lion had a brief glimpse of what looked like a four-legged ball of plasma as the creature exploded into nuggets of carbonized meat.
There was a flash of red-tinged light, and for an instant a small portion of inner London was bathed in tropical heat. Then it was gone, it was over, and the intruder was no more.
Emerging from cover, the rest of the Longcoats filled the rear garden and regrouped, their hot leather steaming as the pre-dawn air lowered the ambient temperature again.
Raising his gaze, Lion scrutinized the yard where the sun-grazer had formerly roamed: burnt grass, scorched paving stones, and a half demolished ground floor facade. So much for keeping it covert.
Hummer wiped his thick neck, cast an approving glance at the creature’s remains. “Hey Lion, where is cape and boots? I see Superman do same trick in movie.” He mimicked Lion holding the mirror and made an exploding sound through pursed lips. “We write this one up as ‘The Zod Technique’ on report,” he chuckled, talking into the small camera on his shoulder that recorded all their missions.
“That’s how we do it, kid,” a relieved Lion cawed at Eastwood. “Look to your tools and your environment for the advantage. Always stay on your toes.” Then to himself in a quieter tone, looking around at the carnage, “Or you’re left with a real mess.”
But Eastwood wasn’t listening. A frown knitted his brow as some deep elusive knowledge swam in his head now, flickering in his mind’s eye.
“They use their environment too,” was all he said as he suddenly sprinted to scoop up the nearest glob of charred flesh.
He had barely done so when the wet grass under the scattering of black chunks burst into blue flame simultaneously, the same scene playing out on Eastwood’s glove as he clutched what quickly morphed into a thrashing pygmy version of the teeleoth, joined by a half dozen replicas springing up and staggering ungainly around the patio as they found new legs.
“Fusion is a chain reaction, a multiplication,” Eastwood shouted above the sudden chorus of otherworldly hissing and chirping that was filling the twilight. “In spawning season, a teeleoth burns its mate into pieces and each piece becomes a new teeleoth! It’s how they breed. A pair of these can easily become a hundred . . .”
His voice trailed