#4

"The Powers That Be"
by Dallas Lee

The planet was dead.

“Why in the hell have you brought me here?” screamed Blaze.

“You’ve abused me too much,” said Tefe. She stood with her hands on her hips. “And now it’s my turn to turn the tables on you.”

“How did you bring me here?”

“A little help from my father you might say,” replied Tefe. “I take a lot from him. Fortunately, for you, I also have a bit of my mother running through my blood. I won’t leave you here for long. Just long enough for you to reconsider ever hitting or cheating on me, again.”

“You can’t do this,” said Blaze. “You can’t leave me here.”

“Oh yes, I can.”

Blaze looked around. The entire planet was nothing but rock. It was a dead gray. Overhead were clouds pregnant with rain. Lightning bolts streaked through the flagging sky.

“Please,” he said. “Take me home.”

“I will,” said Tefe, “but not right now. I’m going to leave you here for a few days to reconsider your actions.”

“But I love you, baby. Please, don’t do this to me.”

“I love you, too, Blaze,” said Tefe. “And this is my last straw. If this doesn’t make you rethink your actions, nothing will.”

Blaze dropped down onto his knees. Tears were coursing down his cheeks.

He thought about following Tefe into the swamp. She had thought it was sexy. And, for the first time, she was going to allow him to sodomize her. It had been too much to pass up.

But then, after telling him to close his eyes, she had done something to the both of them. She had transported them to this hellhole of a rock.

And now she was going to leave him here…

“I’ll kick your ass for this,” he said. “I’ll make you pay.”

“See?” replied Tefe. “That’s just what I’m talking about.” She sighed. “I don’t think you’ll ever change, Blaze. But I’m really hoping for the best.”

“I had a gig, tonight, you bitch!”

“I’m sure no one will miss you,” said Tefe. “It’ll take them a few days. And by that time I’ll come back and get you.”

“You’re a bitch,” snapped Blaze.

“You’re right. I am.” Tefe looked around. She sighed. “I guess it’s time for me to be leaving, now.”

“If you don’t take me with you,” said Blaze, spitting on the ground, “I’ll kill you.”

“I don’t think so.” Tefe laughed. She reached out an arm. Her arm turned into verdant tentacles that snaked out towards Blaze. She wrapped the vines around his throat, tightening them. “Do you have anything else to say?”

Blaze grabbed at the vines. He began to choke. Spittle ran down off his chin as his eyes bulged.

“I didn’t think so,” said Tefe. She withdrew the vines back into her hand. “Now I’m leaving.”

And that’s just what she did.

Blaze looked around at the lifeless planet. She’d be back for him, she’d said, and he’d kill her ass for it as soon as she got him back home.

He’d never dreamed she had such powers. And they were dreams, as he looked around at the deceased earth, which had turned into nightmares.

The Weed Killer must kill. It was the only thing it knew to do.

Pilate Voorhees had known what he was doing. He had switched Buck’s brain into a lower specimen that he could control. And control he did.

Buck Clark was dead.

The newly christened Weed Killer was to destroy Swamp Thing.

“Why are you in my bayou?” asked Swamp Thing.

But the Weed Killer couldn’t speak. Only it knew was death and destruction. Its arsenal included a left hand which ended in a chainsaw. And its right hand was connected to a power pack on its back that was full of acidic venom.

Swamp Thing reached out a hand. “Come with me, my friend,” he said. “Explain to me your trespassing.”

The Weed Killer answered with a swing of its chainsaw. The deadly teeth whirred through the air. They ripped through Swamp Thing’s extended hand, buzz-sawing through the verdant flesh. Swamp Thing’s arm, up to the elbow, had been eviscerated. The limb fell onto the bog’s misty floor.

The Swamp Thing fell back. It looked down at the greenish brown blood that dripped from the wound.

“You have made a mistake,” said the Swamp Thing. And he lunged forward, tackling the Weed Killer.

Both of them fell back with a crash into a nearby tree. Swamp Thing felt the chainsaw tear through his stomach. He stumbled back away from the Weed Killer, clutching the wound.

Swamp Thing’s brain rippled like a leaf falling into the nearby bog. It began to tell him different things. One did not want him to fight this trespasser, while the other told him to destroy him.

Swamp Thing scratched at his temples. The voices inside his head were so loud he felt as if his skull were to be blown open.

Wounded, he turned his back on the Weed Killer.

It was a grave mistake.

The Weed Killer held out his right hand. Acid poured through the tubes attached to the backpack. It spit out across the bayou, burning a hole through Swamp Thing’s left leg. He stumbled onto the ground as the venom continued to spurt.

Swamp Thing crawled across the boggy marsh.

The Weed Killer arose to his feet. His chainsaw began to tear at the air. Pilate Voorhees wanted the Swamp Thing dead. He would bring back the swamp creature’s head as a trophy.

But as he grew closer, the Swamp Thing looked around at him.

The voices inside his head were screaming. Insanity was tugging at his brain. He felt it begin to split.

He climbed back onto his hands-and-knees. Then, stumbling, he arose to his feet.

“No!” screamed the Swamp Thing. He raised his bloody stump. “That’s enough. Do NOT come any closer.”

The Weed Killer allowed his chainsaw to do the talking for him as he raced across the bayou’s muddy floor.

Closing his eyes, the Swamp Thing began to concentrate. He willed himself into another body. He could feel the change rapidly take pace as his body ripped and tore into another being.

Standing 24’ tall, the Swamp Thing looked down at the Weed Killer at his feet. The chainsaw tore futilely at his ankles. Swamp Thing kicked out, sending the Weed Killer smashing back into the misty bog.

The Weed Killer glanced up. For the first time, fear began to course through his veins. The Swamp Thing towered over him. And his eyes burned a fiery red. His mouth opened in a scream; streams of spit issuing forth through the open cavity.

Swamp Thing reached out and picked him up in one large fist. Gone was the passive creature that he had first met. Now, in his place, was a tempered monster.

“You did not heed my warning,” said Swamp Thing. “Now, you must pay for your childish attempts at hurting me.”

The Swamp Thing threw the Weed Killer across the bayou. He crashed into a nearby tree. Gone was the struggle to regain his footing. He simply lay there, broken and defeated.

Victorious, the Swamp Thing reached down. He ripped off the Weed Killer’s helmet. And beneath:

Buck’s childish face looked up at him. His eyes, staring, were dead. Droplets of blood swelled in his split lips. And a jagged scar running across his bald forehead was ripped open. His tortured brain was exposed in glob of gray matter.

“Look at what was sent to destroy me,” said the Swamp Thing. “It’s an abomination of mankind. It’s nothing more than a juvenile attempt.”

The Swamp Thing shrunk back to its normal size. Reaching out to the sunlight filtering through the bayou, he grew his stump back into an arm. The chainsaw and acid wounds slowly mended themselves.

“I’m going crazy,” he muttered to himself. The pain inside his head had yet to subside. “I’ve just killed a man.”

For a split moment, he thought of Jimmy Coffey.

YOU’LL NEED ME, he had said.

Swamp Thing gripped his temples to silence the voices, but they continued to gnaw away at his brain.

He stumbled off into the swamp, allowing it to devour him.

And still his mind continued to split…

There was no way she could tell Barbara about the venereal disease.

Abby had thought about approaching her, but each time had changed her mind. She was curious to know if Barbara had the same thing, but curiosity did kill the cat.

And satisfaction brought him back, thought Abby.

Instead, she had decided to go to Johnny and stare him down face-to-face. She would just eliminate Barbara as the middle man.

Abby poked her head inside Barbara’s office.

“I’m going to take a long lunch, okay?” she said.

“Appointment?” asked Barbara.

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Not a problem. I can hold down the fort until you get back.”

“Thanks,” said Abby.

She grabbed her purse and headed out of the abuse center. Outside, she hailed down a cab.

Climbing into the back, she gave the driver instructions.

As the cab pulled away from the curb, Abby began to feel strange. Suddenly, she felt a strong sexual desire come over her. She was sure it wasn’t because of Johnny, but another man she’d had.

One afternoon, years ago, she’d met a man at the local museum. He had been dressed in a three-piece suit and sunglasses. But the thing that had really turned her on was his black leather gloves.

He’d coaxed her into coming home with him. As they got into a waiting cab, he’d made strong love to her. He never took off his sunglasses or the gloves, and she’d had more orgasms than ever. She could also remember the cab driver tilting the mirror so that he could get a better look at them. It had only intensified her sexual urge.

She’d never seen the man, again.

How strange to think of that, she thought. With the predicament I’m in, you’d think sex would be the last thing on my mind.

But she couldn’t resist it.

And her mind turned to the Swamp Thing. It was possible that the stranger had given her the most orgasms, but never had there been more love than with Swampy.

Out of the blue, she began to think about removing her panties and playing with herself. She could give the driver more than the ride he was giving her…

Stop it! Keep your mind on what you’re doing.

And that’s just what she did. She’d really be a sight masturbating in front of a stranger with a V.D. splotched crotch.

Finally, they arrived at Johnny and Barbara’s apartment building. She paid the cabbie and stepped out.

She took a breath before entering the building. Just what was she going to say? Oh Johnny, you’ve got my pussy itching and I need you to pay for a doctor?

As she neared the apartment door, she noticed that it was cracked open. She gently pushed it open.

“Johnny?”

There was no answer.

She walked into the apartment. There seemed to be no one there. And then she noticed the bathroom light on, and the running of water. She could see that the tub was overflowing out onto the living room floor.

“Johnny?” she called, again.

Abby walked over to the open door.

Johnny, his wrists slit open, lay in the tub. He was dead.

Abby bent over and puked.

And, for the moment, forgot the itching at her crotch.

“What a waste of good human meat,” said Pilate Voorhees. He stared down at the Weed Killer’s corpse.

“Do you want us to remove him?” asked one of Pilate’s bodyguards.

“Yes,” he said. “We might as well pack up and move on. There’s nothing more for us to see.”

The bodyguard called for help. As they were hoisting up his body, Pilate stopped them.

“Wait a second,” he said. He reached out to the chainsaw lying silent on the Weed Killer’s arm. He picked off a mess of mossy tissue on its blade. His eyes began to glisten. “Remove him.”

Pilate rolled the moss between his fingers. He knew what it was.

“I have the Swamp Thing’s tissue,” he said to himself. “And with that I have power.”

Pilate nearly did a skip as he followed his bodyguards out of the bayou.

The Swamp Thing be damned…