The Ant Returns – Chapter XIV (The penultimate installment – it all ends tomorrow!) (496 hits)
Category: NoneLabels: The_Ant
Rating: 1.71 on 18 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Jack McCallum (View user info) at 2005-02-15 12:59:16 EST
(Prologue - http://www.ubersite.com/m/57985)
(Chapter I - http://www.ubersite.com/m/58042)
(Chapter II - http://www.ubersite.com/m/58125)
(Chapter III - http://www.ubersite.com/m/58205)
(Chapter IV - http://www.ubersite.com/m/58437)
(Chapter V - http://www.ubersite.com/m/58529)
(Chapter VI - http://www.ubersite.com/m/58649)
(Chapter VII - http://www.ubersite.com/m/58931)
(Chapter VIII - http://www.ubersite.com/m/59032)
(Chapter IX - http://www.ubersite.com/m/59219)
(Chapter X - http://www.ubersite.com/m/59343)
(Chapter XI - http://www.ubersite.com/m/59414)
(Chapters XII & XIII - http://www.ubersite.com/m/59569)
==XIV - Le Grand Rasoir National==
Rob was tired. He felt as if he had been running and fighting forever. He was moving at a quick trot, pushing through crowds as he approached the square in the center of which was a guillotine. La Place de la Revolution was a madhouse, hundreds of people jammed shoulder-to-shoulder and watching each bloody execution with glee.
From fifty feet away Rob saw a bound man forced against the bascule, a board which would be tilted and moved under the great blade. His heart lurched, and then settled, when he realized that the man was much older and fatter than Henri.
Rob could see that the blade and the thick metal plate to which it was bolted were bearing a tremendous amount of weight, and it fell without preamble, falling faster than he would have thought. The dead man's head tumbled clumsily from the body, and as the executioner quickly raised the blade a plume of blood knocked aside a wooden shield and brushed the crowd like a massive crimson feather. Just before the assembled mass broke into raucous cheers, Rob heard the hiss of a torch as it was extinguished by the red spray.
Rob took a step backward in horror, nearly knocking over a teenage boy.
"Look here!" the youngster said in English.
He patted the boy on the shoulder and apologized. "Sorry, son," he said. He spoke English without thinking.
The boy's father gave Rob a curt nod. Each recognized the other's revulsion with what they were seeing. "Our friend is wise," the man, an Englishman, said to the boy. "You need to exercise great care in life, Jeberechia Stout, lest ye come to an end the like of these poor Frenchmen."
"Yes sir," the boy said, putting on a brave face.
"Madness," the man said to Rob. Rob nodded. "These Frenchies call this a revolution. Perhaps they should have lent closer study to the actions of the Americans."
The man rubbed his grizzled chin. "I passed here earlier today, gathering reports for the Foreign Office. I saw a man leading a small herd of cattle down the road, and when he came to this square the smell of blood was so great the cattle would go no further. They balked and wanted to bolt. He had to take another route to quiet them."
"Cows are silly," the boy said.
"Aye," the man rumbled. "But in this case, they knew better. These bloody fools losing their heads should have smelled the blood and run when they had the chance."
"Indeed," Rob said. Then he saw Henri, and moved quickly away.
The boy, who would grow up to become a Captain in the Royal Navy, watched Rob push through the throng.
As he got closer to Henri, Rob wondred how the hell he was going to get them out of this. His actions at Notre Dame could be written off as fantasy, since most of the men had been drinking. The crowd he was in now was for the most part sober, drunk, perhaps, on the cloying aroma of spilled blood, but clear-headed enough to remember, and perhaps record in diaries, any incidents of a truly freakish nature.
Rob looked himself over. He was wearing a shirt almost identical to the one Henri had on, a once-white flouncy thing. The trousers of both of them were rendered almost colorless by mud and dust. He thought that if he could get Henri out of there and take his place, he might be able to stall long enough that his ancestor could make a getaway.
He took off his fine coat and threw it away. Then he grabbed what turned out to be a horse turd and rubbed it on his face. These actions went unnoticed by the crowd, who had seen far stranger things in the last few months. At least the horseshit was a good, honest stink.
Henri was surrounded by a half-dozen men, two of whom had a grip on his upper arms. They were guiding him quickly toward a set of raw wooden stairs leading up to the platform bearing the guillotine. His hands were bound behind his back and he was wearing a red blindfold.
One of the men pulled the rag-turned-blindfold down around Henri's neck and roared, "Time for a visit to le barbier mécanique! He may be blind, but his razor never dulls!" The other men laughed raucously.
The long and wide platform stood on many wooden legs. The guillotine was at this end, and so was the crowd. There seemed to be few people on the far side of the platform. Rob thought he could see movement under there, and there was clearly enough room to move around in the shadows. He was out of time. He had to make his move now.
"Bastard!" Rob screamed, rushing at Henri. With quick elbow thrusts he bowled over the men around Henri. He grabbed his forefather by the throat and began shaking him. Then he jerked Henri toward him to make it look as if he was being resisted.
As the fallen men cursed and began struggling to their feet, Rob and Henri rolled together through caked layers of blood and dirt, past the stairs and under the scaffold.
"We have only a moment," Rob said, untying Henri's hands. Henri opened his mouth and Rob raised a finger, quieting him. Rob slammed his fist into his palm a few times, and cried out over the fleshy thuds, "That is what you get!" Then he lowered his voice and said, "Now you see how wrong it was to come here."
Rob reached behind his thick leather belt. "Here's the money you gave me." He handed Henri the sack of coins. "That's all you have left. Use it wisely. You are going to crawl to the other end of the platform, and disappear. You will be safe in England."
A prissy voice rang out. "They are under the scaffold!"
For the first time Henri looked utterly sober. He looked into the purse and was surprised and grateful. "Who are you, Monsieur?"
"A friend of the family," Rob replied. He pulled the red rag from Henri's neck and tied it around his own. "Tie my hands as your were tied." Henri did as he was instructed, and then Rob said, "Go!"
Henri turned and went, passing by children huddled under the platform. The children were wearing coats of blood, and clutching stolen trinkets. He paused, nearly invisible in the shadows.
"How can I ever thank you, Robert?"
"Easy," Rob said. "Get married, and have lots of babies."
Henri waved, and vanished into what Rob hoped would be history.
Rob sprawled in the dirt as a gang shuffled under the platform and encircled him. He was grabbed and dragged out into the crowd. Letting his head hang he said, "Come back, you spineless bastard, and I'll chase you off again."
A man laughed and said, "It's a shame our friend didn't stay for the finale, now that he has softened this one up."
Rob was forced up the stairs by a burly blond man. When the crowd saw him they roared with approval, and then began gleefully calling for his head.
The Stouts were silent. Father and son looked at each other and wondered why the man they were talking to moments before was being rushed to the guillotine.
The executioner was another big man, wearing a blue and red overall, and a crudely-stitched hood, the latter seeming more a sanitary measure than an attempt to hide his identity, as he was covered in spatters of blood.
Rob was man-handled by the executioner and the blond man, and thrown against the bascule, the narrow length of polished wood that acted as a teeter-board. The upper hemisphere of the lunette was raised, Rob was tipped face-down and moved forward, and then the lunette was locked in place, holding him fast.
Holy shit, Rob thought. Maybe I should have worked this out ahead of time. I can't see the blade! And if I can't see it coming how the hell can I expect to tense my muscles and avoid any harm? Damn it!
An old toothless man sat on the platform stairs. He took two rusted knives from his tunic and performed a halting drumroll.
Now that I've saved Henri's life, Rob thought as he looked around frantically, I'll be born in a century and a half, and get to do this all over again.
If this was a movie, Rob was sure he'd see Schroedecker coming to the rescue, maybe firing an automatic weapon. All he saw was Pfaltzer, pushing to the front of the crowd and grinning madly.
This wasn't a movie. It was real life. The executioner raised his hand to the déclic, the simple mechanism that would release the weighted blade from its locked position ten feet above Rob's head.
The man in the red and blue coverall paused, put his hands to his gut, and passed a staggering quantity of gas, muttering something about la chanson de la merde. Then he reached for the déclic again.
The executioner's fart saved Rob's life.
In those few seconds, Rob spotted a silver comb holding back bloodstained blond tresses. The comb was a foot from his face. It was very well made, and served perfectly as a mirror.
Rob saw the executioner's hand move, and tensed his neck even as he was sensing movement in the massive blade.
The crowd roared, and then the roar was cut short.
The blade fell, hit Rob's neck, gave a shallow bounce, and then stopped dead. The blade did cut him the second time it struck, but the cut wasn't deep. He felt a trickle of blood work its way around his neck to his throat.
The executioner took off his hood and scratched his head.
Someone in the crowd yelled, "Encore!"
The call was taken up, a booming chant.
The executioner shrugged, pulled his hood back on, and began drawing a rope hand over hand, raising the heavy blade.
Rob snapped his bonds with a flex of his wrists. He heard the blade lock into place overhead and shattered the upper part of the lunette with one fist as if it were balsa wood.
The blond man who had stood aside now reached out and leaped at Rob just as the executioner released the blade again. Rob rolled out of the way. The blond man gave out an almost bird-like cry as he slid across the bascule and saw both hands lopped off by the guillotine blade.
Rob turned on the executioner, who moved with remarkable grace for someone so big. The hooded man leaped off the platform as if intending to body surf, but there was no mosh pit below and the crowd parted quickly. The man hit the ground hard, which raised another tremendous fart.
Pfaltzer was already moving, at the edge of the crowd, heading for a dark side street.
With the attention of the crowd on the executioner and the big blond man who had now found his feet and was dancing and shrieking as his life spurted out of twin stumps, Rob jumped over the crowd and down to the ground. He hit the street running, and no one tried to stop him.
Young Jeberechia Stout watched all of this with wonder.
User Reviews
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-08-03 12:11:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Supreme Overlord damage control...
Submitted by Supreme_Overlord (user info) at 2005-07-21 22:26:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
shite
Submitted by tlozoot (user info) at 2005-02-16 16:41:00 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
AHH
Submitted by HZRD (user info) at 2005-02-16 14:02:31 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
See? farts DO save lives. I'm calling my girlfriend up right now and i'm gonna tell her to shut up for all those times she bitched.
Submitted by EatMeCompletely (user info) at 2005-02-16 12:47:27 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Goddammit, more people need to read this series.
Submitted by CaptainThorns (user info) at 2005-02-16 09:02:58 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I will miss the Ant series.
Submitted by Mitchapalooza (user info) at 2005-02-16 04:08:54 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
yawn.
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2005-02-15 22:37:36 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Jack- Could we puh-LEASE end the "ant" series and get back to writing some quality stuff that pisses a whole bunch of people off?
I'll give you your honorary +2 for your Uber victory but this is where I have to draw the proverbial line.
Submitted by Remission (user info) at 2005-02-15 22:25:26 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Awesome yet again, Jack!
Submitted by Adjomak (user info) at 2005-02-15 18:52:06 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
It's been a great story, but time to let Rob disappear into history and legend where he belongs. Can't wait to see who steps out to take his place
Submitted by horse87 (user info) at 2005-02-15 18:29:56 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
So many hits...
So few reviews....
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2005-02-15 15:44:11 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by stardamage (user info) at 2005-02-15 15:31:45 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Kicker of all ass, that's what it says. Yep.
Submitted by AshK (user info) at 2005-02-15 13:54:33 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2005-02-15 13:31:26 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
and another for good measure
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2005-02-15 13:31:13 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
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Submitted by munkeypants (user info) at 2005-02-15 13:11:54 (#)
Ranking: 2
The executioner's fart saved Rob's life.
hahahahaha
i am so sorry to see this series end.
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Submitted by munkeypants (user info) at 2005-02-15 13:11:54 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
The executioner's fart saved Rob's life.
hahahahaha
i am so sorry to see this series end.
Submitted by EatMeCompletely (user info) at 2005-02-15 13:01:09 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
first to rate, reading it now. WOO!