The Hipster From Outer Space (The Hipster Trilogy Book 1) (22 page)

They drove up and parked by what she assumed was the reception area. The carpark was empty. It was a Saturday afternoon. If there was ever a time for this place to be busy, it would’ve been the weekend. As Bexley popped open the trunk, she paced to the reception window and looked inside, her hands on each side of her face, blinkering out the sun. Inside she saw an old office desk with bits of paper and office supplies scattered around. It was a dilapidated mess. It was just like the welcome sign — battered and beaten.

“Anything?” Bexley shouted from the car as he hoisted his bag over his shoulder and slammed the boot shut.
 

“Well, it doesn’t look like anybody’s home,” she said. “Let’s make our way further into the farm. The pigs are sure to be kept further in there, right?”

“Probably a …” Bexley caught up to her. “Probably a barn of some kind. The tip-off mentioned something about the mother pig. If there’s more than one pig, we should focus on the one with the swollen mammary glands.”

Rosie smiled and shook her head. “Got it,” she said. “Pig with boobs.”

They walked further up the gravel path, passing a chicken run, a building that looked like the main house, and then followed the smell of shit and the sound of snorting and shuffling to the Pig-House.

A large padlock hooked the doors shut.

Bexley was already elbow deep in his bag. He pulled out a little black pouch and unzipped it. Inside were a selection of lock-picking tools — various short lengths of metal, some hooked at the end. He whipped out one of the pieces of metal and got to work on the padlock. A minute later and the lock unclasped and clanged as it hit the floor. Rosie pushed the door open and they both recoiled at the smell. This was the right place. They were met with the fizzy, rotten scent of meat breaking down, the copper twang of old blood, and the earthy manure. All mixed together. This was definitely the right place.
 

Moomamu The Thinker

Teleport. Teleport. Fucking teleport. Moomamu thought the word over and over. He tried to mouth the words “Take me to Obonda” but nothing came out. His airways had been forced shut by the broken human on top of him. He was pushed down into the seat, nearly falling under the table. The man lifted him by his neck and bashed his head back down onto the wooden sitting spot. He gripped hold of the plastic eating stick and shoved it into the human’s side as hard as he could, but the thing snapped against the man’s body.
 

He heard the angry-eyed-female behind the man shouting to him to let him go. Shout harder, Moomamu thought. Out of nowhere Gary leapt onto the man’s face in a ball of ginger fur, hissing and screeching like a fluffy bundle of evil. The man’s grip fell away as he stumbled backwards and banged into the empty seating area behind him.
 

“Fucking cat,” the man screamed as the claws sunk into his face. “Get the fuck … off.” The man yanked Gary from his face, blood pouring. He shook Gary in his grip and bit down on his paw. Gary made a noise that Moomamu didn’t think was possible.

“Gary!” he screamed as he climbed to his feet, catching his breath. The howling didn’t stop until the man’s bite went all the way through and Gary went quiet. He threw the cat’s lifeless body across the caffeine house. It hit the wall like a bag and fell to the floor.
 

“You damn stupid human,” Moomamu screamed, aggression welling up inside him. As the man spat out whatever chunk of Gary he’d taken and wiped the blood from his eyes, Moomamu grabbed one of the steaming hot parcels of food from the woman’s tray — who was watching the whole thing with her mouth open all stupid-like — and rammed it into the man’s eyes. The man screamed as Moomamu pressed it into his face as hard as he could. It burnt his fingers but the anger pulled him through. He saw the hot dark meat fluids steaming away as they burnt the broken man’s eyes.
 

“Stop,” the woman shouted. “Stop.”

The man fought back with strength that Moomamu never expected of him. He grabbed Moomamu’s hands and pushed them out of the way. He then seized a hold of Moomamu’s throat again and kicked his leg over, forcing Moomamu onto his back. He was now on top of him. His hands like a vice around his neck. The woman watching in horror. As Moomamu’s vision started to go he could just make out Gary’s still body next to the wall.
 

Out of nowhere a giant man in blue clothing yanked the broken man from him and threw him onto the ground and then sat on him. Moomamu could barely move as his human body remembered how to breathe.

“I got him,” the man said to a communication device attached to his side. “Requesting back-up as soon as possible.”
 

“Get the fuck off of me,” the broken man shouted. “I need to kill him. I need to kill him. I need to …”
 

The huge man punched the broken man in the back of the head and he went quiet.
 

Moomamu looked up to the angry-eyed female.
 

“Help,” he said, his eyes watering, his breath returning, the cat lying in a pool of his own blood. “Please help the cat.”

Aidan Black

White Log Farm, 2002

Sammy said no. He always said no. He told Aidan again and again not to go into the cabin, not when their granddad was out.
 

“He’ll find out,” Sammy said.
 

“So let him,” Aidan said.

And that was that.
 

You see, Aidan was the bad kid, the problem child, the dark omen, the little shit, the fucking-shut-the-hell-up of the family, and since they moved in with their granddad he’d only realised that more. Back with his parents he always found that he’d get slapped, but only occasionally. It was only after moving to the farm that he experienced what he considered true pain.
 

But Sammy? The golden boy. He was the one, the older brother, whom his granddad had a taken a shine to. His granddad treated Sammy like he was his own son and treated Aidan like he was something he’d accidentally stood in and brought home — a smell that lingered around the house.
 

Even at school he wasn’t wanted. He made enemies on the first day, namely Mr Danning — a giant to twelve-year-old Aidan. Short grey hair. Chin like a boot. The math teacher. They’d been told to keep their heads down. To work on the problems they saw before them. But Mr Danning, for whatever reason — maybe he’d had a bad day, maybe he’d had a fight with his wife, whatever — he knelt beside Aidan and whispered into his ear. He whispered something about how Aidan’s parents had failed him. Of course Aidan spat in Mr Danning’s face. Of course he was given detention. And without Sammy to look out for him, in those closed doors, after hours, with the blinds drawn, Aidan was told to prove to Mr Danning how much of a success he wanted to be with his hands.
 

Back then, coming home from those late nights at school, Aidan would sneak into the admin cabin and grab his granddad’s Walkman. He’d find a corner on the farm to disappear into and stick whatever tape was pre-loaded on. It was more often than not Terry Rowlings — Multi-Millionaire Success Instructor. He’d listen to the inspiring power phrases and feel that it didn’t matter now. All he could do was look forward to his successful future.

At least Mr Danning got what was coming to him in the end. Even if it did mean no more school for him or Sammy. From then on it was all work on the farm. More time with their granddad.

“He’ll definitely find out,” Sammy repeated himself.
 

Aidan pulled down the headphones attached to the plastic yellow Walkman down from his ears to his neck and said again … “So let him.”

Their granddad was down at Miss Eldridge’s house — one of those house/shops where the shop-owner lives and works. One of those places where they sell groceries and sweets and newspapers and whatnot. Apparently she needed something doing to her fence. The dogs were getting out … or in. Aidan wasn’t sure which. He’d been to her shop, many times. He’d stolen from there. Nothing major. A chocolate bar. A pack of football stickers. That sort of thing. Even Sammy was tempted, just like he always was. He said no, but when Aidan offered him the shiny from the pack, he agreed. Just like always.
 

And so it was with the bottle of rum — the label read ‘Rebellion’ — the smell could’ve burnt his eyebrows. When he picked up the Walkman he saw it sitting there on the shelf, daring him to take it. The rum was eighty percent proof. Too strong for a teenager. Hell, too strong for an adult. Of course Sammy said no, but when Aidan returned with the brown bottle in his good hand, with that smile, that shit-eating grin, that slapped raw face that was so damn contagious, Sammy couldn’t help but say yes.
 

When Aidan passed him the bottle, he unscrewed the lid and sniffed it, and instantly recoiled like a spring winding inwards, like a flower growing in reverse. He shrivelled up.

“I don’t know,” Sammy said. “What about your hand?”

“If anything, this helps,” Aidan said as he took a swig. He sneezed and hiccuped a little of it back up. Sammy didn’t laugh. He was too busy looking at Aidan’s busted fingers, wrapped in bloodied bandages — wrapped by Aidan himself from the first aid kit they kept stuffed in the cabin. The pain was there, always in the background. His fingertips on fire — itchy and painful. He thought about ripping them off. He saw Sammy looking and hid them behind his back.

A moment passed between them.
 

Aidan offered the bottle to Sammy, who took it, swigged and handed it back. He shook his head in disagreement with his own tastebuds, coughing and spluttering.

“What are we going to do?” Sammy said, coughing some more. “Aidan … we can’t stay. We can’t stay with that monster. We have to go somewhere.”
 

But Aidan didn’t say anything. He was too busy taking another sip. He took another, and another. Each hot taste numbed the pain a little more.

“We could run?” Sammy continued. “We could just walk off and find somewhere else. Live on the road. Steal chickens or whatever. Maybe go to London? Start new lives?” Sammy had his hands on his hips.
 

Aidan was looking at the horizon, watching the sun disappear behind it. A cold breeze of air rushed past them and they shivered.

They opened the Pig-House door and wandered inside.
 

Moomamu The Thinker

When Moomamu had burst through the door with what looked like a bloodied bundle of towels in his hand, a swollen eye socket, and screaming the words “Save the cat” over and over, he was met with looks of discomfort and intimidation.
 

“No need to be fearful, humans,” he said, lowering his voice. “Unless you don’t help me with this feline as soon as possible.” He held the bloodied bundle of towels out to them.

The animal hospital was small. There was a young woman with a wire box of small rodents, a man with his fluffy dog master, and a woman with a smaller dog master. This one was using its subordinate as a chair. A woman in white clothing was sitting behind a box with a computing device.
 

“Explain to them,” Moomamu said, turning to the angry-eyed female from the café. “Explain to them how they will be destroyed if they don’t help us.”

“Erm …” she said, coughing into her hand. “So we have a cat that was attacked by a madman.” Moomamu noticed the humans looking at him, more terrified than before. “A different madman,” she added.

“Do you have an appointment?” the woman behind the box said.

Moomamu turned to the angry-eyed female, his eyes watering again.
 

“You said you would help,” he said.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay, I’ll see what a can do.”
 

She wandered over to the woman behind the box and they started talking. He heard her talking about Gary getting attacked and bitten and how it was a definite emergency.
 

He felt Gary breathing under the towels, but it was so light. It was like the life force was leaving him. He looked at the box of rodents and shook his head.
 

“If Gary was awake I would have to stop him from attacking your rodents,” he said.

“Well,” the woman scoffed. “Let’s be glad he’s wrapped in those bloodied towels.”

Moomamu felt like balling up his fists and swinging them at the rodent woman, but he saw angry-eyes wiggle her fingers at him. He assumed she was telling him to go over to her.
 

“Hand the cat to the woman,” the café woman said. “And she will try — notice I said try, there are no guarantees — she will try to make him better.”

He handed the cat to the woman and made sure to point at her and flick his beard to ascertain that she knew he wouldn’t accept any funny business from her.

Afterwards, they found a big machine which gave away rations of food in exchange for currency and got themselves some sugary nut-based foodstuffs and some caffeine drinks. They sat on the chairs and waited.

“I’ll have this and then I will go,” she said to Moomamu.

“I must thank you, female human,” he said. “You transported us to this healing facility quickly in your tiny moving machine.”

“My car? Well, you’re welcome. I … I felt bad that you were attacked like that in my restaurant,” she said, sipping her caffeine. “I feel a little responsible.”

“Nonsense,” Moomamu said. “You didn’t bite the cat. And I will honour your help by letting you tell me your name.”

The angry-eyed female scrunched her face inwards.

“Erm, sure. It’s Luna.”

“Luna it is,” Moomamu placed the plastic cup to his human lips and poured some of the coffee in but it was so hot it burned his tongue. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve and noticed the Luna woman sigh.

“You really care for that cat, right?”

“It’s not that,” Moomamu said. “The feline is showing me the way home.”

Luna took another sip, this time a longer one. In fact, she finished the whole cup. She threw the plastic cup into a metal box next to the ration dispensing box.

“Okay,” she said, now giggling. “How on Earth is a cat showing you the way home?”