Flaming Zeppelins

  “He loves your Buffalo Bill Cody,” Tin said. “I think he might. But then again, only if Cody wants to leave.”

  “And why would he not?” Hickok said.

  “The body,” Annie said. “You know that.”

  “And I know when the chips are down, Cody does the right thing.”

  While Ned sat in a chair in the corner, curled up with a dime novel Buntline had written, titled, Buffalo Bill Battles the Steam Dogs of the Prairie, Cody lifted his new shoulder, flexed his arm, closed his hand and wiggled the two fingers and thumb he now had. It felt good, looked like his old arm, only stronger; in fact, he felt so vibrant he thought he might somehow be intoxicated from the chemicals used in the operation.

  He was trying to consider who to offer Doctor Momo. Annie was out. She was just too sweet.

  And Hickok. They had been friends a long time. He did not really want to have him boiled up and made into goo.

  Bull. Bull was also a friend. But he was an Indian. Cody considered that he had certainly killed a lot of Indians in his time. Maybe one more wouldn’t matter. Maybe that was the way to go. Just add to the record. On some level, Bull would understand that. He was a practical man.

  Then again, would Indian flesh work with his flesh? Did that matter?

  Cody let that run through his head for a while.

  Bull became his favorite candidate.

  In his coffin in the jungle, under three feet of dirt and leaf mold, Vlad Tepes, Dracul, could not sleep.

  He hated that kind of thing. You needed to sleep. Wanted to sleep, and just could not.

  It was terrible.

  He had only recently started to have trouble.

  Used to be, he lay down, his head hit the cushion in the coffin, and he was out like a dead man.

  Oh, that was good. Dead man. He wished he had someone to share stuff like that with.

  But…that was out.

  Instead he was here with these creatures. They were not even proper men. They were made from this and made from that, and if the boar man he had tasted was any indication, they were a lot like the British. Bland. He had always preferred ethnics while in Britain. An Indian. A Chinese. They had some taste.

  Their taste caused him to consider Asia in the first place.

  Oh, the Americans had been all right, in spite of the smell. But they gave him indigestion.

  Sometimes, no matter what you did, you just could not win.

  Dracul closed his eyes and counted backwards from a thousand.

  …eight hundred and seventy-one… Oh, this is not working. Not in any kind of way is it working. Eight hundred and seventy. Eight hundred and sixty-nine…

  When he got to seven hundred and seventy-nine he lost count because he fell asleep.

  The sun slowly sank toward the ocean. It was so red it appeared to be heated. The beast men gathered at the edge of the woods to watch it go down.

  It made them nervous.

  They knew they had to dig up their master when it was low down and the dark was high.

  They knew they had to do that, and they would, but they feared doing it, and it was not just because Vlad Tepes, Dracul was ill tempered. It was something else. Something they sensed and could not explain.

  The Lion Man said, “I know. Why don’t we just dig him up now and eat him.”

  This was considered, and agreed to be a good idea.

  Vlad heard the ground being scraped away.

  He sent out a telepathic message. NOT YET, YOU FOOLS.

  The digging stopped.

  Then it resumed.

  I SAID STOP.

  A pause.

  The digging started up again. Now Vlad could hear them scratching on the lid of the coffin.

  Oh, boy, was he going to whip some ass if they pulled off that lid.

  The lid creaked, groaned, was lifted.

  Beast faces looked down on him. Directly above his own face was the face of Wolf, formerly the Sayer of the Law.

  The red rays of the dying sun fell inside the box and burned Vlad. He quivered, smoked, but could not make himself rise. The sun owned him.

  I CANNOT STAND THE SUN. I MUST NOT HAVE SUN. REPLACE THE LID. NOW.

  Wolf heard the voice in his head, and he wanted to do as he was told because he was afraid, but he wanted not to do what he was told because he was a beast and he was no longer a man and he did not have to listen to men, even one as powerful as this one.

  “You ate Boar,” Wolf said. “Bad man.”

  “Bad man,” the beasts said together.

  Vlad was cooking now, screaming, folding up inside his clothes.

  But before he dissolved entirely, the beasts, in a frenzy, feasted on him, eating the smoking flesh quickly and finding it good.

  If a bit bony.

  Two hours later, dark, the beasts sat on the beach and watched the waves explode in the moonlight, crawl over the rocks like some kind of frothy parasite.

  “The bad man tasted good,” Lion Man said.

  Wolf stood up. He was wearing Vlad’s cloak. He ran around the beach on his hind legs so that the cloak was caught up by the wind and flapped behind him like wings. The red underside of it looked orange in the moonlight.

  Lion Man, who was wearing Vlad’s vest, and nothing else, stood up and scratched himself.

  “Momo, and all those men, they can kiss my ass. I am through with them. I am a beast. I can run on all fours.”

  He sprang about on all fours, shouting:

  “I am free. ARE WE NOT FREE?”

  The other beasts joined in. “We are free! We are free!”

  “We bend to no man!” screamed the Lion Man. “We can eat anything we want. We can eat anybody we want. We can eat Doctor Momo if we want.”

  Wolf bounded into their midst.

  “Oooooh. I don’t know about that. Is he not our father?”

  “Is he not meat?” said the Lion Man. “Do we not eat meat?”

  The Goat Man said, “I’m sticking with vegetables.”

  They howled at the great big moon. They danced on the beach. They made love to each other. They drank spoiled fruit juice. They had a big time.

  Of course, the next morning they were mighty sick, two of the creatures had bleeding asses, and the Lion Man, high on fruit juice, had eaten one of the goats.

  Cody was ecstatic about having a shoulder, arm and a partial hand. But the ecstasy soon passed. He wanted more. He decided he hadn’t really liked Bull all that much anyway.

  Bull it was.

  He worked the muscles in his jaw, turned on his rotor and looked at Ned, curled in a chair, using his flippers and thumbs to read the Buntline book.

  Old Buntline, Cody thought. Always there for me. Except when he was drunk. Or asleep. Or chasing whores. Well, there for me the rest of the time. Turned my crank when I lost my body. Listened to my bullshit stories. Made up bullshit stories about me that made me rich.

  They had done all manner of things together. Back when he had a body.

  God, he thought. A body.

  Cody missed Buntline, but he missed his body more.

  Damn, he thought. Ned Buntline. Ned the seal. What a coincidence.

  Ned finished the dime novel, closed it, lifted his head, saw Cody looking at him. He smiled his little seal teeth. His whiskers wiggled.

  With furious movement he laid aside the novel, pushed his glasses on his nose, grabbed up his pad and pencil, began to write.

  Scooting down from the chair, Ned eased over to where Cody was, lifted the pad to show what he had written: I ADMIRE YOU.

  “Why thanks, lad. That is most kind of you. I think you are quite the little cutter, yourself.”

  Ned began writing again. He held up the results: IT IS YOUR CODE OF HONOR I MOST ADMIRE. I HAVE NEVER KNOWN ANYONE LIKE YOU. I READ WHAT YOU SAID ABOUT LOYALTY TO FRIENDS. I WANT TO BE LIKE THAT.

  Cody developed a lump in his throat.

  “Why yes, little friend. That is important.”

  Ned jerked the page off,
wrote on another, held it up: I WILL LIVE BY YOUR CODE. DO RIGHT ‘CAUSE IT IS RIGHT… YOU HAVE CHANGED MY LIFE.

  “Good…how good. Well now, I think I should close my eyes and rest, Ned.”

  Ned writing again. He held up what he had written: OF COURSE, SLEEP WELL. YOU ARE MY HERO. AND I KNOW YOU HAVE ALREADY DECIDED TO PASS ON THE DOCTOR’S OFFER. I AM SO PROUD OF YOU.

  “Very nice,” Cody said. “Very nice.”

  Cody closed his eyes to feign sleep. Maybe he could talk to Momo about banging the little seal in the head. Something quick and from behind, so he never knew what hit him. Have Jack do it. Better yet, Tin. Tin could hit hard and he seemed methodical. Jack would enjoy it too much. Jack would probably eat Ned when he finished. Must make sure that doesn’t happen, thought Cody. No eating Ned. Just a quick bang and it’s over.

  During dinner Jack chewed a lot more of Doctor Momo’s food than usual.

  Bert joined them for dinner this time. He sat by Tin, but they did not show any obvious affection toward one another. Beneath the table, however, their feet touched, and a couple of times, for what seemed like no reason at all to the other diners, the bolt between Tin’s legs rattled.

  Hickok sat and thought about all the monkey men Cat told him were behind the see-through wall. Hickok looked and saw only solid wall. Amazing. Was it true? Could there really be monkey men on the far side of the wall watching them?

  Considering all the things he had seen here on Doctor Momo’s island, there seemed little reason to doubt it.

  Captain Bemo said not a word during dinner. He drank heavily and his face was gloomy.

  Doctor Momo noted this with enjoyment, said, “Bemo, look at it this way. There is no use worrying over your plight. You are alive. You would have been dead. As for the rest of your life, well, it is mine.”

  After dinner, Bert was assigned his own room. Doctor Momo thanked Tin for watching after him. Tin escorted Bert to his room, presumably as a prisoner, but he left Bert’s door unlocked. Jack led Annie and Hickok to their room, locked the door.

  Doctor Momo himself carried Cody back to his room, Ned following.

  Four armed monkey men helped the intoxicated Bull to his room. Bull had his arms around a couple of them, and was telling them a story in the Sioux language. They put him in his room and locked the door. One of the monkey men bent over and looked through the keyhole.

  Bull staggered to his bed, sat down, stooped his shoulders, then fell backwards on the bed and lay still.

  When the monkey man’s eye went away from the keyhole, Bull sat up on the edge of the bed, straightened and smiled, sober as a minister at a baptism.

  Inside Tin’s room, Tin packed a small bag. It included: Machine oil. Polishing rags. A toothbrush. Mint water for a mouth wash. He opened the compartment in his body and took out Dot’s silver slippers. He put the slippers in the bag, then pushed the bag into the opening in his leg.

  Packed.

  In their room, Hickok and Annie kissed. After kissing, they exercised their fingers. Stretched them, bent them this way and that. They always exercised their fingers before they did any kind of marksmanship.

  Of course, they were usually sure of having guns.

  Bert sat in a chair and thought about the skating championships. Shit, he had lied to Tin. He had purposely kicked that goddamn Frankenstein in the mouth. He had gone back for just that purpose. He would have to tell Tin the truth.

  Then again, why?

  They loved each other. Wasn’t that all that counted?

  Captain Bemo looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. He looked the same, but knew he wasn’t. He hadn’t been the same in a long time, and he didn’t like it. He would never be the same, and he didn’t like that. Even the load he had just dropped felt different. He had no desire to fornicate anymore. Food was a chore. When science, eating, fucking and shitting were no longer fun, what was there?

  He got a smaller mirror, turned so he could look in it; he could see the back of his head in the main mirror.

  The bulb pulsed a dull yellow.

  He remembered long ago, building the Naughty Lass with his original crew. He remembered how the crew jumped to his every command. Now he was lucky if someone would pass the salt.

  Not worth it anymore, he thought. Being Momo’s zombie is not what I had in mind for my life.

  Bemo laid the mirror down, selected from his shaving kit his straight razor, and without opening it, using the mirror again, he pinpointed the bulb in the back of his head. Reaching over his shoulder, he used the closed razor to tap the bulb.

  It was sturdy. It took the hit.

  He did it again, but this time like he meant it.

  The bulb popped.

  Before Bemo fell to the floor, truly dead, he had the sensation of being on board the Naughty Lass, diving down quick into deep dark waters.

  In Doctor Momo’s room Cat grabbed a few things and put them in a satchel. A razor for shaving her legs. She still had a lot of fur to contend with, even if it did make her look as if she had a wonderful head of hair. She even had a faint mustache, but she stayed on top of it. No reason for anyone to ever know. She packed a toothbrush and a container of baking soda. Baking soda was really good for the teeth. Gave fresh breath, too. She packed two Dickens novels and a small bottle of flea killer. She also packed two dresses and no underwear.

  As he adjusted Cody’s head on a dresser top, Doctor Momo said, “Did you give it some thought? About who goes to the meat machine, I mean?”

  “I did,” Cody said.

  “And?”

  “You can take your flesh-growing business, all your test tubes, and stuff them up your ass, if there’s any room in there after Jack climbs in.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Doctor Momo said.

  “Hell, boy,” Cody said. “You heard me. I don’t stutter.”

  Ned snickered.

  Doctor Momo’s mouth collapsed and sucked wind. “You ungrateful American peasant. I will have you ground up and mixed with monkey meat. I promise you. Ned, take this talking head to my laboratory. Now.”

  Ned, glasses on his nose, jerked up his pad and pencil, began to write.

  “What are you doing?” Momo said to Ned. “I didn’t ask you a question. I gave you an order.”

  Ned turned the tablet around so Momo could read it: KISS MY LITTLE BLACK SEAL ASS.

  “Why you ungrateful, glorified fish.”

  Ned wrote quickly, held it up: MAMMAL. YOU SHOULD KNOW THAT.

  Doctor Momo reached in his pocket, pulled a flick blade knife, snapped it open.

  “I will have you gutted, sliced, cooked and put on crackers, you piece of sea lard.”

  Doctor Momo slashed at Ned.

  Ned moved just in time. For a seal on land, he was pretty fast. “Leave him alone, you coward!” Cody yelled.

  Doctor Momo turned, swung his hand at Cody’s head, knocking it and the container that held him flying.

  Cody rolled across the floor, slammed up against the door. Cody’s new thumb popped back into his face and poked him in the eye.

  “Owwwwwwww.”

  Doctor Momo turned his attention back to Ned, said, “Now where were we?”

  Ned wrote quickly: YOU WERE TRYING TO CUT ME, YOU ASSWIPE.

  Tin walked out to the weapons shack. There were two monkey men guarding it. They gave him a quizzical look. When he walked between them and took hold of the door, they began to chatter. One clutched his arm. Tin grabbed the monkey man’s head and twisted it violently. It came off in his hands, messy and wet. He turned and threw it, striking the other guard full in the face. When the guard tried to get up, Tin stepped on his head. Tin was heavy. The monkey man was small. There was a sound like someone stepping on a pile of brittle sticks, followed very soon by a sound like someone stepping through a large pile of cow pies.

  Tin shook the monkey man off his foot, grabbed the door to the shack once again, ripped it free. Inside was a virtual cornucopia of arms. Tin chose holstered revolvers, bando
leers of coordinating ammunition. He draped them over himself. He picked up a Gatling gun as if it were a pencil, as well as belts of ammunition. He tucked the Gatling under his arm. With his free arm, he scooped up a pile of rifles and shotguns, headed back to the compound.

  On the way two monkey men approached Tin.

  “What are you doing with that stuff?” one asked.

  Tin tried to think of a quick answer. Nothing came to mind.

  “Doc Momo said stuff was not to be touched unless he said so,” the monkey man continued. “You are not doing some kind of bad thing, are you?”

  “Well,” Tin said. “Yes, I guess I am.”

  Tin kicked the inquiring monkey man in the testicles so hard the critter went out. The other one screeched, drew his revolver. But before he could fire, Tin dropped the Gatling, took hold of the monkey man’s gun barrel, twisted it.

  Next he twisted the monkey man.

  When I’m oiled, he thought, I am one quick sonofabitch. He picked up the Gatling, kept going.

  Ned ducked Doctor Momo’s swipe, rushed between the doctor’s legs, knocking him down. In the process, Ned took a cut to his back.

  Ned grabbed up Cody’s jar, tucked it under a flipper, jerked the door open with his other, rushed out into the hall.

  “Treason,” yelled Doctor Momo. “Attempted murder. My seal has lost his mind. He’s got Cody. Catch them!”

  Monkey men appeared almost magically in the hall, sliding out of trap doors, slipping out of sliding walls. Ned saw them, but he didn’t slow down, he went through them with his nose forward, his eyes half closed. He wasn’t moving very fast, but he had some momentum. He knocked several of them over before a pile landed on top of him and hammered him to the ground.

  When Bert heard the noise in the hallway, he cracked open the door, saw the seal and Cody’s head taking a beating. Monkey men were hammering the little seal, clanking on his tin head-guard, kicking Cody’s jar about. The jar slammed up against a wall and cracked, fell apart.

  Cody stuck out a hand he had not had when Bert saw him last, grabbed the ankle of a monkey man and tripped him.

  Bert rushed out into the hallway, grabbed a monkey man by the throat, squeezed until the throat went small. Then he grabbed up the dead monkey man by the ankle and went through the hall swinging the beast, knocking monkey men from wall to wall.