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Show Anting Alone Page 163 more, sort things out; but he could already hear the sound of a bestial heart heaving and crashing against a pair of giant, half-atrophied lungs as they pumped and ventilated a three hundred pound carcass up the hill. That the approaching monster could barely breathe was apparent even at this great distance; yet it managed to scream out Axelrad's name several times more as though in some kind of mortal throes and cursing an unjust god who happened to share Axelrad's name. The monster's voice managed to climb about a half of a notch higher up the humanity scale than the serene automaton voices of the Companions - but no higher than that. For only this one certain individual, in all of Axelrad's listening experience, could scream in agony and still maintain a monotone devoid of any inflection, somehow, but mild self-amusement. Just as the last pinebough was being realistically strung from the last radar atenna, something huge and orange (an escaped animal from the zoo?) crashed through the underbrush in a hell of physical exertion, its carniverous snout curled back, wet and red with blood, its head and torso pouring yellow hypertensive sweat on everything in its path, this beast, laden with gifts of wine and dope - mostly for its own consumption. Axelrad was deeply grateful to this intruder for interrupting his thoughts and driving away the mosquito-like 'copters and satellites. But the Companions had been staring at Axelrad weirdly ever since he'd peeked in the Big Fucking Mystery Tent, and he was speechless, literally, with fear now. So he couldn't properly greet his friend and momentary redeemer; this bullyboy. |