The beetle snorted and pawed at the shitty carpet. It tore a strip free and gouged the floor with its clawed feet. The thing's face had bright, iridescent orange eyes, and a toothy maw that dripped foaming spittle. Then it snorted again, and all its legs all went suddenly stiff.

I dove into the bathroom and scrambled into the far corner. It roared as it smashed through the door and toilet, tearing its horns through the back side of the building with a series of loud electrical pops. The beetle stopped as soon as its head punched through the metal and fiberglass siding and started trying to free itself.

Super Nine Coleoptera Spray – Beetle banging about your home? We’ve got your solution. Three pumps of this in infested areas and even the mightiest of beetles will fall to your wrath. 30 morties, 4.3 stars.

I have to admit, that ad dazed me. It was a tiny fricking spray bottle, the size of window cleaner. Something for real beetles and not giant ones bigger than the trailer! It was so stupid and so obviously not something I could use at this moment.

Luckily the arrangement of horns on its head caught and prevented it from pulling its head back in, and the beast immediately panicked as all the lighting fixtures and electrical outlets erupted in sparks.

It began thrashing in the building, with me trapped in a tiny bathroom right beside it. The insulation in the building without doubt saved my life, as those sparks were everywhere. One area the construction company hadn’t skimped on design, almost certainly in order to avoid a lawsuit.

I muttered the word “shit” at various volumes while this was happening, curled up in the far corner as I tried to avoid the electrical sparks raining from the ceiling. This thing had been sent to kill a slime monster, and it was way more than I was ready to handle unarmed.

The beetle’s hardened wing covers popped open and shut several times, slamming into the walls, crushing and distending them. Then it stopped and held perfectly still for a moment and I recognized my opportunity.

I jumped up and scrambled through the broken wall and into the now destroyed office. The beetle trumpeted and heaved and tore itself free from the building entirely. It pranced around looking for me, then turned back and froze, pointing directly at my position. It bounced once on its back end and charged again.

As I fled from the office, I heard it slam inside the building and looked over my shoulder. Metal siding screamed, sparked, and rose into the air and the building itself buckled.

The beetle roared and thrashed, and the little metal trailer came apart at the seams. The wall behind me tore like an aluminum can and the beast noticed me again. I was already running, this time for Phyllis.

I yelled at the top of my lungs as I went, “Phyllis! Help!”

The office was near the front of the campground, by the entrance gates. I had most of the campground to cover to reach Phyllis and her mech, so I diverted course and ran for the tool shed instead. We parked the lawnmower there and kept various sundries on hand.

Garbage bags and gardening tools, mostly.

It was a tall metal building, and the rollaway door could only be lifted. I slid to my knees and grabbed the tab, hauling on it. Locked.

“Shit!”

I scrambled for my keys and dragged them out of my pocket as the beetle squalled from the office. I could hear it snuffle, and then it started scraping the ground again. It sounded like it was snorting in my direction.

The padlock was old and rusted, but I kept it oiled and it popped open on the first try. I jumped up and hauled the door with me. The walls were covered in cobwebs and tools, and as I entered, the beetle charged with another trumpeting roar. I could feel its bulk shaking the ground as it rushed me.

It tore through the doorway as I climbed up onto the shelving beside the door. The tip of one horn gored me, catching me in the leg and tearing a chunk of flesh out with a giant spark.

I gasped and flopped onto the ground behind it, convulsing briefly. The shock passed quickly, and I began crawling toward the doorway again with rubbery limbs. A cartoon starfish suit appeared in my vision at the doorway and gasped exactly as I had a moment before. I got the distinct impression I was being mocked.

“Damage detected!” The familiar shrill voice announced my painkiller dose, and immediately began working on my leg with its tendrils. The painkiller helped flush the last of the nasty jolt I had gotten out of my system and I started moving easier.

I got up and tried to run. One tendril shot flesh sealant into my wound while another zapped at it with a laser. My leg erupted in a new squirt of arterial blood and I collapsed. The starfish frowned at me and wagged an arm. “Hold still, user!”

I rolled over onto my butt and faced the beetle. It was in the shed still but had managed to turn around and was staring at me from ten feet away. When it suddenly spread its wings and charged, I flinched in response.

The sides of the shed ballooned out with a metallic bang and the beetle bounced back inside. Electrical arcs jumped from its horns to the sides of the shed and metal objects on the ground as it stared at me, a cthuluesque beard of thunder spread out before the creature.

I immediately started scooting backward on my butt, trying to get away from the angry beetle. Then I changed direction and scooted up the slight hill to the side of the shed.

The beetle, meanwhile, thrashed and roared, kicking out and fluttering its wings. The shed bounced and popped, and then tore free from the ground completely. The beetle was trapped in the warped building, unable to get the thin metal siding to shake free.

I glanced at my leg and was unhappy to see that work had stopped. I wasn’t bleeding to death, but the giant tear in my leg wasn’t getting patched up either. My cartoon starfish gyrated nearby for my attention, and when I looked at it, it pretended to pout.

“My charge is empty,” it shrieked. “Break something, break something!”

The beetle trumpeted from inside the metal shed walls, as it danced and spun away. It seemed to have forgotten about me, so I started scrambling to the mess of tools and items it had left from the shed. There was a glass jar of random screws and nails we kept.

I always found the stupid things laying around in the road, figured they might come in handy someday. I was wrong, but, at that moment, I just wanted to break the jar.

Scooting backward down the small hillside gave me plenty of time to try and remember where it had been left, but when I arrived at the mess I started losing hope. A collection of tools, bug spray cans, and gardening equipment was scattered all over the immediate area.

I saw the jar finally, at the far end of the patch the shed used to be on. As soon as I started scrambling for it, the beetle returned. It was still desperately trying to get the remnants of the shed free from its shell, throwing arcs of electricity nearby. Portions of the metal had bent and were hooked to the hard armored shell that covered its wings. It stomped and roared, spinning in circles and whirling.

I ducked back as it stomped the jar and moved on, then I stared at the crushed glass. It was all tiny fragments, but I gave some thought to trying to break even those. Then I noticed the old lawn mower beside me and grinned. I smashed both fists into it, one after another, shattering the crappy old plastic cover that sat atop the engine. I hated that lawnmower.

My starfish thanked me, the suit spun back up, and the armor’s tendrils got back to work. The beetle had heard me and started its dance back in my direction. Apparently it was still pissed. I scooted for my life, hauling myself backward and out of its path. Thankfully, the shed siding was covering its eyes.

The beetle grunted and shuffled at where I had been, turning in short semi-circles and reaching out carefully with its sharp footed legs.

I scooted quietly, but it quickly gave up looking for me and went back to its one bug rodeo. It flapped its wings hard, jumping up and down in an apparent attempt to fly. The shed’s sides bulged and bent, making popping sounds as it cracked loose, and the beetle stepped out from beneath it.

I looked at my leg and froze. It wasn’t quite complete yet, but I was about to risk standing up when the beetle attacked the warped metal siding that used to be our tool shed.

It rammed the metal and began stomping on it repeatedly, raking it with its horns and sending loud snaps of electricity into the air. It made so much noise that I scooted backward as fast as I could, and it still didn’t notice me.

I was past the office and well into the main road when I noticed an odd tool that had been thrown free. A tree trimming saw sat in the road to my side. It was little more than a curved saw blade on a metal pole with rubber grips, but it was a weapon, and I was desperate.

I rolled to the side and grabbed the haft of it, sitting up and looking back at the beetle. It was done with the metal and was staring down the hill at me.

I glanced at my still repairing leg and decided it was close enough. The gummy flesh sap was being injected again, and it looked like the wound was mostly closed. I jumped on my feet and started limping for Phyllis’ trailer. The beetle charged me again, trumpeting and sparking.

“Phyllis!” I screamed as I ran-limped, looking over my shoulder. “Help!”

I made it out of the main road before the beetle caught up to me again. I could feel it coming in the ground, so like an idiot, I turned.

The horns bore down on me and I feebly raised my saw on a pole to defend myself. Sparking beetle antlers caught on the ends of the pole and I was lifted bodily into the air as it reared its head.

My feet scrambled at the beetle’s carapace as it tossed me up and bucked. Electricity flowed through the handle into me, and my hands gripped involuntarily, as I dangled between its horns. The saw blade caught in the antler rack and I was stuck, flapping up and down as the beetle continued charging. I tucked my legs to avoid contact with the ground, lest I become part of a circuit.

My new friend and I hurtled down the road, as I struggled to get some control over the situation back. I was trapped, perched on the top of the beetle’s head, with my tree saw wedged firmly in the thing’s antler rack.

The beetle chose its own path, but we managed to end up at Phyllis’ anyway. Her campsite was in the middle of a row of smaller campsites. The beetle followed the curved road, and it took us directly by Phyllis’ Shasta. I managed to turn my head and stare at the scene on her deck.

Molls was there, hanging out with Phyllis. She had her coils laid out comfortably beneath her and was frozen with one of Phyllis’ tea-cups halfway to her mouth, staring at me. Phyllis was sitting next to her, pointing and laughing as I was carried by on the horns of an angry beetle.

I gritted my teeth and turned back to my struggle. With a surge of effort and movement, I managed to get my grip on the pole turned around.

The hardest part was opening my fingers, but I forced the movement by rolling my hands over, one at a time. I was facing the right direction at least, by the time the beetle went around the full loop and turned to run behind the Shasta, back toward the office.

I could hear Phyllis’ cackling vanishing into the distance, but then Molls’ voice sounded from beside me. “What do you have caught in its horns, a weapon?” she shouted from the creature's side. Her coils moved faster than I could properly see, and she seemed to be keeping up with the beetle easily.

Jostling about as I was on the beetle’s carapace, I tried to answer and managed a garbled shout instead, but she took my noises to mean yes, and attacked. Molls moved fast when she wanted to, and she lunged in front of the beetle with her arms and hood extended. The flaxen scales in her hood flashed in the midday sun, and the beetle reared and faltered.

Molls raced in a fast circle around the beetle’s legs and compressed, dragging them together. Her long tail whipped through the air behind me with a crack and gripped the shell over the wings, closing them tightly.

I could see her body flexing as the beetle tried to open its wings, but she kept it steady. Then her face appeared beneath me, jutting out from the underside of the beetle. “Kill it!”

She was straining, her arms gripped against her sides as she grimaced with effort. Keeping the beetle in her coils was a temporary situation, I realized with a start, and got to work. I shoved hard against the saw and got the blade out of the beetle's horns with a shower of sparks, then lifted the weapon over my head and slammed the blade down into the front of the giant beetle’s face.

It squealed as a fine spray of orange mist shot out and sprinkled Molls’ face. She squeezed her eyes and mouth shut against it, and turned her head, but said nothing. A glance back at her coils told me she was holding on as hard as she could. The saw blade was stuck in the beetle’s carapace, so instead of trying to get it out, I just started sawing.

With my first hard push on the blade, steaming orange ichor gushed from the beetle and splashed against Molls, who let go and gasped as she turned her head. Then the blade hit something vital, and the beetle stopped dead in its tracks, slumping on top of Molls and pinning her beneath it.

More ichor gushed out, covering the rest of the snake woman’s upper body. Her tail thrashed in the air behind me, and a bolt of plasma from Phyllis’ fusion cannon ripped through the beetle, right in between us.

I jumped free of the antlers as it fell, and they punched into the ground on either side of Molls. This had the unfortunate effect of shaking free more ichor, adding to the slick Molls already lay in.

After I landed, I rolled to a stop and stayed on my back in the gravel. “Hold your fire Phil! You got it!” I cupped my hands and shouted. Never knew if her hearing aid was up or down these days.

In the distance, I heard her frail voice say, “damn right I did,” and then the mech was walking back to the Shasta. I turned my attention to Molls, who was extricating herself from the ruin of the beetle.

She glared at me. My clothing was clean, I had somehow managed to avoid getting any of the glop on myself, even though it was flying through the air at random. It felt very unfair being mad at me for having a tiny bit of good luck in this situation, but Molls looked furious.

Her tongue shot out and she recoiled, grimacing at the smell. It was pretty rank, to be fair. These BuyMort bugs were messy and smelled bad. Molls moved closer and stood stock still in front of me, her arms tight at her sides, and hands balled into fists.

“You have none on you at all?” It was more of an angry statement than a question, but I still answered stupidly.

“You shoulda seen me last time, I was caked in it.” The instant it was out of my mouth I realized it was the wrong thing to say, but she stiffened even more, began rattling her tail at me, and turned to leave. “Molls wait, I’m sorry.”

The Nah’gh stopped and held her position but didn’t turn to face me.

“I am really sorry that happened.” As I spoke, I walked slowly over to her side. She looked at me, but still didn’t turn her head. At least her tail wasn’t rattling anymore. “Thank you, Molls. Really, I mean it.” That got her attention. The tall snake woman finally turned her head and met my eyes. She awaited what I would say next, and I shrugged.

“You saved my life. Thank you.”

She lowered her head and pressed her hands together in front of her chest. “You are welcome,” she snapped, and then took off.

I was impressed again by how fast Molls was, as she slithered down the road and vanished around the corner to my old campsite. I stood there in the gravel, next to the giant beetle corpse with my hands on my hips, and I thought about what I did.

Yep. That reaction made sense. She would hate me forever.

Oh well. Not like I’m trying to date her.

After a minute I shook my head and turned to sell the dead beetle. At least I could get a few morties for my near death experience.

Imagine my displeasure when BuyMort informed me the beetle remains were already being sold, and if I had issue with that, to take it up with the seller. One Phyllis Greenly. I grumped off to Phyllis’ trailer to confront the old bat. I hadn’t even seen her point at it, the sneak. She was in her usual position, basking in the shade on her deck.

“Phyllis, you stole my beetle.” I accused as I flopped into my chair. I couldn’t help but notice that the deck was still warm from Molls. “And why are you hanging out with the new tenant? I’m not good enough for you?”

“Dear, TV and weed is good enough for me. Everything else is gravy, and I like her. She’s funny, and easy to talk to. Not like you, you mostly just grunt and complain.” Phyllis finished her scathing report by tossing me a paper wrapped joint.

Oh right, she’s an angel. A drug dispensing angel who might hate me just a little bit.

I lit up and took a long satisfying drag before nodding. “Fair assessment, Phil, alright. You got me. Didn’t have to steal my beetle though.”

She turned and raised an eyebrow at me. “That was my beetle, Tyson, I put it down.”

“Darn you Phil, no you didn’t. I stuck a saw blade into its brains and made it gush blood all over poor Molls, who ran away upset. Can’t blame her.” I gestured at the old lady with the joint. “I just told you that to stop you from shooting anymore, you nearly killed us both.” Then I sniffed and leaned back in the chair. “Thanks for the joint though.”

“You’re welcome, dearie,” she automated, staring at the TV screen in her suit. “It’s an indica.”

I watched behind me as the pod arrived and warped away the beetle, then reached over and shoved Phyllis lightly. “How much you get, can you get us something to eat at least?”

The mech didn’t even move, but she looked over at me and sighed. “One moment, dear. I do so hate this shop thingy.” She began blinking and making little motions with her head. Apparently she was a much more interactive shopper than I.

After a few minutes, she shook her head. “Oh, no, that wasn’t very much at all. Only four hundred.”

I scowled. “I’d be pretty happy with four hundred morties, I’ve got like 20. And most of those I made selling clay-clone garbage from Mr. Sada. You would not believe the shit he pulled today!”

With that, I launched into a classic stoned gripe fest about my boss, and Phyllis nodded politely and said ‘yes dearie’ a lot. She did order us food though, a nice assortment of trail mix, which she liked nibbling at. I sighed at it, but then I found a batch in her multi-box that had jerky bits in it and chowed down.

Letting Phyllis choose lunch usually meant trail mix, but it was all right. I was used to it, and trail mix is just stuff like peanuts with candy, it’s delightful.

Who doesn’t like trail mix?

I thought about that old saying about the guy dangling from a cliff with a tiger above and below eating his strawberry and smiling. The trail mix was a poor strawberry, but I took what enjoyment I could.

It’s not so bad, hanging out with a friend and having a snack, while enjoying an intoxicant. Almost makes the end of the world feel homey.

When Mr. Sada called me and ruined my lunch, it was just before noon. I groaned and nodded, and the psychic fog monster in my phone turned and said, “loathingly accepted,” and the tunnel of fog spread to encompass my screen.

When Mr. Sada’s angry face showed up on my screen, I shook my head. “I’m pissed at the phone, not you. What’s up?”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Get over here. Now. You gotta see this. We gotta do somethin’.” Then he turned and reached a shaking hand out for the phone and shut it off.

Phyllis shook her head. “Don’t go. It’ll be bullshit.”

I was already on my feet, heading down the ramp. “It’s all bullshit now, Phil. Off your porch, it’s all bullshit.”