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Title: Slugs (part three)

by Jon from Derbyshire | in writing, fiction

The tour guide was stationary, but had an expression of awe and excitement rather than fear. All of this made a pleasant change to her usual working day.
'Somebody do something!' A plump woman shouted with tears running shamelessly down her face. She was ripping her hair out hysterically. Another man stepped out from the crowd, but was somehow different from the rest. He was dressed in a crisp black suit and his tie was just the right length. Not too long. Not too short. He emanated a sense of intelligence.
'It's OK.' He assured the crowd confidently. 'Look. It's starting to decay.' The huge red beast was beginning to shake uncontrollably. Its feelers began to thrash and whirl, becoming entangled in each other. Its hide began to darken and split apart; his whole body was decomposing. Soon, there was nothing left except a small greeny-brown globule of slime on the ground. The tour guide gave a feeble laugh and announced:
'OK, everyone. Nothing to worry about. It's probably just a particularly cold day today so the slug died slower.' The man in the suit shook his head. 'The cold doesn't make a difference. The slugs need cold temperature and ice to survive.'
'Then that must have been a particularly strong slug.' She replied. The man shook his head again. 'No. The slugs are becoming immune to the Brody radiation.'
'What does that mean?' It was the lady who had been crying: now she was virtually bald. The man licked his lips hesitantly.
'It means, welcome back giant slugs.' He smiled apologetically and twisted his teleportation ring. There was a flash of light, and he was gone.
He reappeared in his small but cosy flat. There was a sound of claws scraping on wood as his dog raced towards him to welcome him back. The man gave him a quick pat on the head and then walked briskly into his office and switched on the telecom unit. He dialled in a number and pressed the orange 'call' button. A few seconds later, a bleary eyed man appeared on the screen. He was unshaven, and his hair stuck up in many places. 'What time d'ya call this, Logan?' Asked the tinny voice from the speaker.
'Three o'clock in the afternoon.' He replied bluntly. The man looked annoyed.
'Yeah, well, I was still in bed.' Logan remained expressionless.
'I need your help, Boris Brody. The giant slugs are becoming immune to the radiation exactly as I predicted. It was your dad who flew the hydrogen rocket into sun, so the slugs will come for you first. Then, they'll destroy the rest of Britain, and then the entire world.'
'What do you want me to do about it? I didn't inherit my dad's brains, OK?' For the first time, Logan's expression changed for the first time: it became somehow desperate.
'I need you to use your contacts in the military. Only they have a chance of killing the slugs.'
'The army can't help. The slugs are indestructible, remember? But I have an idea. I know someone who's working on a 'coolawave' or something. It works the opposite to a microwave, quickly cooling down hot food.
But no-one will buy it. They say that people don't need it; they already have fridges.'
'But you can't cool hot things in a fridge. It would ruin the thermostat.'
'You're losing the point. The point is: the microwave uses normal radiation to cool things down. If we fuelled it with Calicto radiation-'
'Then it would change the slugs back to normal size.' Logan finished. 'That might just work. I'll be there right away.' He twisted his ring and appeared inside Boris's house...

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I saw a strange looking slug on the ground and imagined that it was a mutant...!


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