To the Time Machine! - part 13

Some years ago




Call him The Dossey.

That's what we call him. Not for lack of better names, mind you.

Like some crazed running bear, the Dossey loped across the bright grass, hustled twixt blistering automobiles, and only slowed to clamber up a small, steep hill.

He had to get to the Armory.

He had waited on Earth for so many weary years, sometimes doubting his mission, wondering if his time would ever come. The Dossey was not about to be stopped by an overgrown weed bent on eating the Creek.

Besides, Dossey recognized the signs. The time traveler was the first. The plant was the second. But Dossey was no sign language expert. What did it all mean?

DD had never expected to find the Foretold One here in the Creek. He had actually given up and decided to take a career with some stability to live out his years, forgotten here in the mother realm.

But as Dossey was too often reminded, Destiny was like the ex-girlfriend who only called you up when she got dumped by someone richer or better looking, when she was between beaus and feeling low.

Dossey dismissed these thoughts, and hurried up onto the front porch into his humble abode. The velociraptor guard was noticeably absent. Perhaps they had been summoned to aide in the defense of the fine arts building?

He rushed into the seldom-used den, and spoke the unlocking words. The entire floor of the room sunk beneath the house, revealing a storage chamber hidden beneath the home.

DD had never quite got around to mentioning his secret, subterranean armory to his lovely but ornery wife. She was bound to notice extra expenditures on the credit card bill when next it came, but in the meantime, Dossey was safe.

As safe as a man could be facing a towering triffid. Dossey changed into his atomic suspenders and titanium trousers. His eyes scanned the racks for the best weapon.

In the low light, the Fibrillator (aka The Heartbreaker) called to him. But, no, this plant had no heart. It must be cut down where it stood. Now where had the Big D put that chainsaw?

Hanging from some seriously strained pegs was a gas-powered chainsaw. He held it up, but as he did, he caught sight of the herbaceous horror. Through the tiny basement window, he saw the monster widening its great maw and slide its mouth down the monolith-like top of the theatre building.

Dossey looked down at the chainsaw he held. It suddenly felt very small in his hands. He realized its jagged teeth would be no match for the phytological menace.

Time to call in the big guns. Dossey grabbed a flashlight off the workbench, flicked it on, and headed to the darkest corner of his workshop. He pulled away a heavy cloth tarp to reveal a giant, metal body hunkered down under the low ceiling.

“It’s time,” Dossey said.

A red light flickered to life on the head of the thing. The device emitted a satisfying hum and it rumbled to life.

“But first, a few modifications!”


* * * *

Dossey gazed at the mishmash of machinery that stood before him. For the briefest of moments, a flash of doubt disturbed him. Was it morally wrong to combine robots and chainsaws?

Just as quickly, he dismissed his qualms. Desperate times called for disparate measures.