Kitty Wittgenstein and the Sinister Society of Southpaws (4.8)

4.8 Ineptitude

(note: to go to the beginning of the story, go here, to see all Chapter Four posts, go here and to see all Sinister Society of Southpaws posts, go here)


I rebounded off the invisible person. Straight back into Orlando. I pushed him back and started to turn.

“Not this way,” I said.

The invisible person grabbed my arm.

I yanked down, hard, where I felt the thumb. Thumbs are always the weakest part of any grip. I broke free.

I pushed Orlando again. “Back the way we came,” I said.

He ran through the door and took a left. I followed him. The lumbering original battle suit dude had now reached the door.

He reached for me. But way too slowly. I swerved and followed Orlando down the hall, towards where the over-accelerating battle suit-wearer had emerged.

I glanced behind to ‘see’ the invisible guy barrel into the lumberer. He fell into the wall.

“Jesus, Joe,” he said.

“Sorry,” came the reply.

Apparently we were dealing with the Keystone Cackhanders. These guys could barely move without running into one another.

Not that I was complaining, mind you.

Orlando and I ran up the stairs at the end of the hall.

Straight into the panicking studio audience.

We merged with the crowd. They were fleeing towards the exits. Maybe we could escape undetected this way.

Or perhaps not.

One of the battle suit guys was standing ominously at the exit gate. His head swept left to right. It was only a matter of time before he saw us. We couldn’t rely on all the battle suit guys being as inept as the three we’d confronted so far.

And if he did see us, I wasn’t convinced that being surrounded by screaming hordes of innocent bystanders would prevent him from opening fire.

“Come on,” I said to Orlando. “This way.”

I pulled him away from the crowd. As we hurried down the stands, we heard a whooshing sound above us.

Oh, good. A flying battle suit. Just what we needed. He had some kind of jet pack strapped to his back. He swooped down towards us. We hit the dirt.

And so did he.

Ouch. That was not a good landing. He stirred a little, before collapsing again.

No time to check on him. The crash-landing had attracted the attention of the guy guarding the exit. He ran towards us. Then accelerated to superhuman speed.

And then, unlike our previous speedster, stopped the acceleration.

This was a worry. This guy might actually know what he was doing.

I dragged Orlando up and ran for the stables.

We couldn’t outrun this guy.

But maybe one of the horses could.

Of course, before we could even think about riding safely into the sunset, we needed to get past the furious bull in front of us.

(to be continued)