On the left point a weakly struggling orke was impaled. The werbull shook its head and the dying orke was flung off into the crowd.
The werbulls eyes were pools of flame. Between the horns, a pair of long, bat-like ears twitched and swiveled. Along the beast’s long, saliva dripping snout, curving, pointed teeth stuck out in random directions. The creature stomped its four black hooves. Sparks shot from them with each strike. A long, scaled tail whipped back and forth. More black, boney spikes grew from the tail’s end.
The beast threw back its spiked head and let out a thunderous bellow. So loud it made the ground tremble. Hilario clapped his hands over his ears. Hoped that they wouldn’t be bleeding when he pulled his hands away.
Assuming the beast over stopped bellowing.
After what seemed a gut wrenching eternity, the bellow stopped. Leaving only a ringing in Hilario’s ears.
But on the bright side, Rodney wasn’t screaming any more.
The werbull tossed its head side to side. Its eyes flamed and smoke poured from its nostrils.
The smell of it finally reached the van. Something like burned pineapples soaked in sulfur and then rubbed in a freshly used kitty litter box. It was enough to make his eyes water.
Which they would have if every part of his body wasn’t screaming at him to retreat in the fastest possible manner.
“What in holy fuck is that thing?” Marco whispered.
“Shhhhh,” Hilario hissed, “Someone put a clamp over that guy’s mouth.”
Metal scraped on metal. There was a short, muffled protest. Followed by a thud.
Werbull. If they were lucky, there would only be one. The beasts had terrible eyesight. But fantastic hearing. And if anyone so much as passed gas when the beasts were in the hunt…
A second ear-punishing roar split the air.
More orkes pinwheeled off into the sky. Their cries faded into the distance.
The second werbull leapt into the clearing. Its hooves sent up a shower of sparks as it landed. The beast’s bat ears swiveled back and forth.
Oh, humungous poop nuggets.
At least his luck was staying consistent.
He mentally sent his companions a desperate plea to be quiet. Only some of whom were equipped to receive such signals. And those ones wouldn’t need to be told.
The other…
“Holy mother of god what are those things?” Marco said.
Two sets of bat ears swiveled their way.
Poop.
“Shut. Up.” Hilario hissed at him.
The two werbulls stomped the ground, sending out showers of sparks. They threw their heads back and snorted gouts of black smoke from their snouts.
He tightened his fingers around the steering wheel. Okay. There were only two of them. He could find a way around this.
At least there weren’t three of them.
Another bellow pierced the air.
The ground shook. Movement caught his eye in the sideview mirror. More orkes being tossed to the sky. Then sparks as hooves smacked the ground behind the van.
Oh, poopity poop poopington. He just had to think that, didn’t he? When was he ever going to learn?
Don’t even think about a fourth–
The bellowing roar shook the van.
The ground shuddered as the fourth werbull landed behind the van. Complete with the sparking hooves.
“Oh come on!” Hilario shouted.
Then clapped a gloved hand over his mouth.
Oh dear. Bad. Oh so bad.
The werbulls reared up, kicking their terrible hooves in the air. Their bellowing roars threatened to shatter his head.
Someone in the van screamed.
A hand grabbed his shoulder.
Hard.
Before he could react he was flying backward from the seat. He caught a glimpse of Rodney the pizza delivery driver. The man’s eyes were wild. Almost popping out of his head with fear.
Hilario landed butt first on Odom.
Rodney was already in the driver’s seat. Still screaming. Through the windshield he saw the werbulls still kicking hooves in the air.
Rodney jerked the van into gear and stomped the gas.
The van leapt forward like surprised gazelle.
The side door opened. A long, knobby arm threw Larry/Igidbon inside. Smacked into Hilario and Odom. An instant later Roger the ogre swung in, slamming the door behind him.
The van surged forward like it had suddenly achieved its dream of becoming a Ferrari. Rodney the pizza deliver driver, still screaming his fool head off, expertly weaved the van between the two werbulls in front. The engine roared and they bounced past the stinking behemoths.
Rodney didn’t stop though.
He aimed the van at the gap between the rows of confused and maimed orkes. Moving like a van possessed the van dodged fallen orkes and debris under the apparently skilled hands of Rodney the pizza delivery slash race car driver.
“Rodney good-a driver-a,” Larry/Igidgbon said.
Rodney jerked his head around. His ping pong ball sized eyeballs continued their effort to pop out of his head.
His scream went up a few more octaves. So high it became a continuous piercing whistle.
Exactly like before.
Hilario craned his head around. The werbulls were now back on their black hooves and stampeding toward the van. Ruddy firelight, the color of fresh blood, glinted off their spiked horns. Black smoke streamed from their nostrils like the exhaust from some terrible engine.
Oh booger pickle snot.
“Rodney! Stop screaming!” Hilario shouted, “You’re only making things worse.”
And of course Rodney immediately stopped screaming and the werbulls went away and the orkes all turned into chocolate covered marshmallows and the dark lords decided to go play checkers instead of unleashing a heckstorm of evil upon the city.
Sigh. If only.
The van hurtled over the rocky ground, bouncing and banging and shaking all the way.
And Rodney screamed on.
Four thunderous bellows of heck rage rattled the van’s windows.
