Big Bad Boom

MALADY MALICE the AwareMouse and BoB Volume #1 chapter 1

Maliciously Malignant Malady, aka Malice Mouse, Her malevolence , the Aware Mouse,

Chaos slut and venom sipper,

The famous were mouse of Los Loco Whereos New Mexico.

Great great grand daughter of Billy the kid, Pat Garrett , John Chisolm and Geronimo.

Half outlaw half hero, all chaos.

What can be said of Bob, Mals best friend?

What can be said about a mutant six legged giant bobcat from White sands New Mexico?

The world is his sand box.

Watch your step.

Prologue:

The Southern Grasshopper Mouse

Is a lycanthropic terror. Not only are they viciously carnivorous, they are immune to venom, known to annoy scorpions into stinging them just for the buzz created. Venom gets them high, then munchies ensue and the southern grass hopper mouse devours, anything and everything. Ounce for ounce the most terrifying mammal ever conceived.

The truly horrific fact is, that these little terrors are carriers of a form of rabies that is lycanthropic in nature. Those bitten that are not eaten, transform into a weremouse.

Once transformed, the change is permanent. The victim becomes a cheese addicted carnivorous highly intelligent and aggressive creature.

She ate what?” The Mayor asked.

“ Before or after the Sheriff , boss?”

“What?” The fire chief handed his smart phone to the Mayor, who stated incredulously at the screen pretending not to hear the noises also captured. Mayor Bumbly made an attempt to sit down. The bar stool chose violence rather than cooperation. The sleazy biker bar’s floor was unexpectedly clean. Mayor Bumbly introduced himself to the rough wooden floor face first. The rest of his disheveled being followed in short order. The bar stool, rage powers activated over exerted itself as it began teaching an introductory course in the ramifications of gravity.

Mayor Bumbly received a hard earned lesson in sudden deceleration dynamics. The wood floor was pleased to comply. The rough hewn floor deemed losing a few splinters in the process as being an acceptable transactional cost. The mayor got the point, rather pointedly. The ancient vampiric oak flooring eagerly absorbed the blood spilt during the mayors accelerated learning curve experience.

“Cotton picking worthless hound dawg can't hunt!” Mayor Bumbly cursed as he struggled to his feet. Tearing the broken remnants of the stool out of his way.

“Ok, okay, make the call!”

He bellowed while stomping back outside to stare at the full moon. The mayor slumped his way into his four by four, to wait for the inevitability of fate to manifest. Repeatedly smashing his forehead onto the steering wheel did nothing to help his increasingly sour mood.

Containing the event was not going to be easy. The county, now short a Sheriff, three deputies and the local biker gang opened whole avenues of trouble. The only thing that had kept their little hidden valley free of the border cartels had been the local chapter of the Misfits.

Now, they were gone, which was going to invite explanations to the club at large, nevermind potential turf wars and the entire sheriff's department now non existent.

Mayor Bumbly tried unsuccessfully to forget what the surveillance cameras had caught. Another round of head pounding ensued.

Until the night before the small town of Los Loco Whereos New Mexico had lived peacefully with the Chupacabra, as some of the locals called her. To be fair, Malady did enjoy the occasional curried goat, but generally she had kept to herself out in the desert. That was all in the past now.

There had been no choice but to make the call. Things were already out of hand, there was no way that the cheese crazed weremouse could make it worse. That was the hope anyways. Mayor Bumbly considered the probable possibilities. This triggered yet another round of head pounding. This time Mayor Bumbly managed to knock himself unconscious.

Big Mike, the fire chief watched the mayors coping mechanism, from a safe distance. When the head banging ceased, he sent a watching paramedic to check on the mayor. The cavalry, so to speak was on the way. Nothing more to do but wait, and pray.

*†*†*†***†***†*†*†*

Bob had answered the call. Which as always was a tricky feat. Six legs, and no hands or prehensile digits had been a problem until smart phones and voice activated interface had become a thing.

Bob the mutant bobcat yowled in joy at the call. Boredom had been nearly unbearable. Now, a hunt, and a reason to rampage promised needed distraction. Bob loped up the hill sniffing the air as he searched for Malady, he followed the distinct aroma of distilled scorpion venom.

Mal was enjoying her favorite concoction, a mixed drink of moon Shine, Rattle snake venom and distilled scorpion venom. Equal measures. It was her second glass. The setting sun cast long shadows that seemed to wiggle and dance. A serene happiness spread through her, it felt as if she glowed in pleasure.

The rather large meal she had scarfed down the night before had upset her stomach. No matter now, done was done. Corrupt cops and drunk bikers had been a spur of the moment snack. Mal belched loudly. Blech, that greasy cop kept making her gassy. He tasted even worse the second time.

Bob loped into view yowling something about the mayor and the deal and time to go. Mal didn't really care. She felt pretty good and an excuse to ride into town seemed a good idea. She scrambled onto Bob's back and they were off.

Bob took care of the prep work. Mounting the gyro stabilized two wheeled Bob-sled of doom cycle. Mal giving rambling hints at encouragement in process. For his part Bob hurried, because he wanted to hit town before Mal sobered up. It would be much more entertaining that way. They were ready, mounted and enroute in record time.

Bob pressed hard on the brake activators with all four rear paws. The Bob-sled of doom cycle slid , spinning like a two wheeled top slinging dirt and gravel in all directions.

Mal, even more intoxicated having imbibed while enroute down the mountain attempted a leaping somersault from her perch on Bob.

Which she had rather proudly felt was an impressive entrance right up until the unpaved parking lot disavowed her illusion of grandeur. It is never the fall that hurts, it is that sudden stop that breaks the fall. Mal rolled onto her back and caught her breath. She felt the pressure of eyes upon her.

Struggling to her feet Mal stretched herself to her full four foot nine, and announced, “ Have no fear I am here! Deliciously Malicious Malady , Her magnificent Malevolence of malice at your service!”

Mayor Bumbly watched the scene play out. Another round of head banging ensued. Unnoticed by anyone the vampiric floor of the misfits clubhouse giggled and burped.

Bob wandered into the biker club, drawn by the faint odor of old blood and stale beer. Mal was busy watching the paramedics tend to mayor Bumbly. Which kept her from distracting Bob's sense of things.

The events of the previous night still fresh in his memory, Bob was curious about the state of things. The floor was oddly clean, the broken tables and chairs from Mals midnight snacking were not to be seen. The place appeared neat, tidy, ready to serve the days patrons. Only, the patrons would not be visiting having all been consumed the night before. Something was definitely off here, aside from the obviously clean state. Bob sniffed and wandered back onto the entrance deck.

The bikers Harleys remained lined up neatly along the wooden deck. Three Dodge Durango four by fours with Sheriff's decals sat empty. The mayors truck, the fire chiefs truck and the paramedics rig. And of course the Bobsled.

Every thing looked normal, which was not as it should be. Mal was explaining about what had happened, hopping about, gesturing while the fire chief grimaced. What had happened was obvious from the security video, the why was the issue at hand. Which Mal was explaining.

“ It was self defense and a community service I keep telling you. I ate them to protect the town! “ Mal accentuated her pronouncement with a raucous belch. The stench of which set the fire chief and medics to vomiting. Bob growled in afflicted aggravation, as the aroma spread across the gravel parking lot.

Eventually mayor Bumbly regained consciousness and some semblance of self control. Mal climbed into the passenger seat of his truck with him. Conversation ensued. Bob prowled about sniffing at the various bikes lined up. Snuffling at saddlebags, noting various interesting aromas, cataloguing them for later. A couple of the saddle bags smelled like the late sour tasting sheriff's truck did.

Bob ambled about, circling the building. In the back he found empty sacks scattered about. A lot of them. A moments sniff, along with reading a label had Bob snatch up an empty bag, running back around front where he knocked the fire chief down, depositing the empty bag in the chiefs lap. The fire chief tossed the bag aside as he climbed back to his feet. One of the watching medics picked it up. “What's with the fertilizer?” As the question registered the fire chiefs face paled. “Oh fuuuck!”

Bob had leapt up onto the hood of mayor bumbly’s truck, snarling and hissing. Mal took notice , rolling down the window to lean out and ask what was the matter. Bob explained what he had found.

Mal strolled to the bikes, and began to rummage through the

saddlebags. Humming a bastardized Nazareth song. Casually tossing what appeared to be pipe bombs over her shoulder as she progressed. Snatches of her twist on the lyrics erupting, “ Now you're messing with a malicious bitch!” While she worked.

Mayor Bumbly watched with trepidation, the fire chief and medics lit out running the moment they figured out what Mal had found and was carelessly tossing about. When Mal pulled out her M-48 tactical emotional support axe while eying the sheriff's trucks the mayor spoke up “ umm, Mal , I have keys you don't have to…” Mal swung the tomahawk embedding it in the center of the Sheriff's Star logo.

Spinning about, hands on hips She screeched at the mayor. “ You will address me as Your Malevolence, Milady Malice, or Your delicious maliciousness, not Mal! You are not either my equal or my friend, you, you, political pig puke!” stamping her foot to emphasize her point. Wrenching the axe out , “ Screw your keys axes are more fun!” Mal proceeded to smash the rear window out of the Dodge.

Bob, paying attention to her temper understood that the scorpion venom was wearing off. Mal was only ever amicable under the influence. He retrieved her flask from the sled , ambling up to her to present it. Mal snatched it up, uncapped it and took a long deep swig, smacking her lips. Two swigs later she was once again in a cheerful state.

Mayor Bumbly was once again in a manic state. Between the saddle bags and the three sheriff's trucks Thirty pipe bombs had been found. Mal strutted about proclaimg “ I told you so! “

"Boom."

"Whaddya mean boom?"

"Big boom." " Lotta booms"

"Lotsa Booms!"  Each echoing sentiment growing more emphatic.

"Big Bad boomy Boom!" Mal exclaimed slamming both gloved paws onto the counter top.  Mayor Bumbly leaned against the bar. He couldn't bring himself to trust the lone, unattended barstool. The bruises were not even a day old yet.

Big Mike waved for silence and the crowds attention.  The ground rumbled, a loud thunderous roar filled the bar room. The flooring giggled and swallowed up one of the crowd. The tax assessor. Only Bob noticed, Bob watched, saying nothing.  Not that anyone would likely care anyway.

The crowd moved outside onto the deck. A mushroom shaped cloud climbed skywards from the direction of town. "Told ya, Big Bad boomy Boom!" Mal repeated.

The horizon developed into a Hodge podge of psychedelic scapes.  The high desert of central New Mexico experienced yearly monsoons at the end of summer most years. This year was no different. Los Whereos,  sitting over eight thousand feet above sea level, nestled between Ruidoso and Nogal Canyon,  overlooking Capitan in the distance, had been flattened by the blast. The after effects were reflected from the relatively low cloud cover.  A bright orange glow interspaced with brief openings in the cloud cover. A full moon had let the incredible starscape to shine intermittently through openings in the cloud cover. Brief fire trails from the flashes of meteors like fireworks,  the stars so bright one didn't need a flash light.

Mal, gazed at the night skies as she took sips of venom from her ever present flask.

The gathered towns folk looked in mixed emotions at the after glow of destruction.

" I hope Y'all have insurance." Mal spoke up, breaking the silence. Every eye turned to her, " This ain't the end ya know. There's ten empty pallets back there." She gestured towards the rear of the clubhouse.  "There's more boomy out there somewhere."  Bob strolled over to her and she scrambled up onto his back.  They ambled off into the dark.  Mal wanted nothing to do with the drama that was surely going to erupt when the shock wore off. Cleaning up the mess was not her job anyway.

Mal had several lines of thought to pursue.  Finding the rest of the explosives, the targets and the why's and wherefores. That was her job. Best place to start would be the rez she figured. The Mescalero nation,  was her preferred stomping grounds.  Not to mention,  any high rollers would have hit the casino. Considering there's not anything else for a hundred miles in any direction that anyone with the money to finance the mess would have stayed at.

The White mountain wilderness is a beautiful place.   The Mescalero nation adjoins the Wilderness and the Lincoln national forest.  Right next to White Sands, and the in the midst of UFO central .

  Mal had fallen in love with the area as a teenager, before being bitten by the Weremouse and her transformation. Now the wilderness  had become her home.  Bob,  was a native to the region. A mutant product of  secret nuclear testing, along with breeding experiments from the early days of operation paper clip.   Some bright Nazi had gotten the idea to cross breed chimpanzees and bobcats , which, who could have guessed, went fubar.  Enhanced cross bred critters escaped, and living amongst the secret nuke sites mutated further.

No one knew if Bob was the only one. Bob wouldn't comment either way.  Mal suspected there were more.  After Bob had sprayed her, she never raised the question again. It had taken weeks to get the mutant super stench out of her fur.

***†††***

"Boom! Boomy Boom boom boom, boombly big boom!" Mal danced a confused jig. More of a staggering stumbling disagreement with gravity truthfully. Still, she managed to keep her torso off of the ground as she stamped and whirled. Bob lounged on the Bob sled watching the show.

"How long has she been at it this time?" The baritone voice sent rumbly tingles through Mals tummy. She abruptly sat down hard. "Five" Bob snarffle yowled in reply. The rather tall man scooped Mal up, cuddling her against his chest. " Damnit Mal, a week?" Mal burrowed against the man. Happy at the rumbly feelings from his deep voice.

He carried her into his cabin. She was asleep before he set her down and covered her up on his bed. Bob followed them in. When the big man closed the bedroom door , Bob had already laid out a smart phone and a tablet on the table.

The man silently set about making coffee.

It was going to be a long night, catching up with Mals latest . Bob settled down, curling up on the futon in the main room. Everything important had been recorded, audio, video, pics, all there on the devices.

Sitting down at the table a bottle of Old Weller bourbon and a pot of coffee , the man lit a cigarette and began to scroll through the tablet and phone.

Things had been sort of quiet lately.

Evidently, not as quiet as he had thought.

Things were about to get seriously interesting.

The Care and Feeding of Lycanthropic Hellbillies is time consuming and expensive.

As are emotional support axes.