Cineverse - Bride Of The Slime Monster Part 22

But Delores was still trying to tell him something.

That's when Frankie launched into another verse about if he hit his head Roger would be dead but he doesn't care if he flops so that's why he was the tops. By the time the crowd had gotten around to shouting "Hey!" he had made his decision.

He wouldn't have a chance for the Cowabunga-munga again.

"Frzzm!" his challenger insisted as the leather-suited muscleman ran out into the waves.

A giant wave, hundreds of feet high. One man against the force of countless tons of water, with enough destructive force to annihilate this beach and everyone on it. How could he refuse an adventure like that? Roger would never forgive himself if he backed down from the ultimate surfing challenge.

Maybe, though, he might want to say a final word to Delores.

He looked around for the beautiful young woman, but, right where he thought she should be, there stood a new pair of surfers, even stranger looking than Dreaddy and his crew. One of them was entirely covered in s.h.i.+ning silver, as if his skin were made of metal, while the other's face and body were completely covered by coa.r.s.e brown hair.

"Who are those guys?" Roger asked uncertainly.

"Nothing to worry about," the Prof a.s.sured him. "That's just Mort the Killer-uh- Surfer, and Diablo, the-er- Surfer with the Mind of a Man. They're here to make sure no one interferes with your facing the Cowabunga-munga."

Oh. He had heard those names somewhere before. Or maybe something like those names. There was something about those names-why was everything making him uneasy?

Brian started another verse: "Now Roger he is on his own, If he wipes out, he's blood and bone-"

That was it. Roger didn't need any more coaxing. As soon as the song resumed, all his doubts were gone. He pulled off his socks and sneakers, balanced the board atop his head and ran down the beach.Brian kept on singing: "Yeah, he may just be smashed to bits But with us he'll always be a hit."

Roger fully agreed. It was time to catch a wave. He jumped atop his board and quickly paddled out into the sea. It was difficult to concentrate, though, and the pad- dling seemed to get harder as the music grew fainter. Soon, it was difficult to do anything much except listen to that ever-increasing roar in his ears. From the sound, it was going to be the biggest wave Roger had ever seen.

He redoubled his efforts, paddling as fast as he could. The roar was so loud now that it drowned out any traces of the surf guitar behind him. It was harder still to paddle when there was no music at all.

His challenger paddled by Roger, the other's motorcycle-trained muscles pus.h.i.+ng the water out of his way. But Roger had to win this surfing duel! The honor of the beach was at stake! And he wasn't going to do it staring at the other guy's back. If there was no music to urge him on, he would have to urge himself. He would have to make his own music. Roger tried singing a verse off the top of his head: "Here it comes, the Cowabunga; Gotta get there, ain't gettin' younga.

Gotta paddle, can't be a fool.

Gotta finish this surfin' duel!"

It may have been a little rough around the edges, but he thought the verse was pretty good for a first effort.

"Hey!" he shouted, wis.h.i.+ng he could somehow hear the surfers back on sh.o.r.e shouting along with him. He knew the music had helped his paddling-he had pulled alongside his opponent by the end of the second couplet. He glanced over his shoulder, and was startled to see how far he had come from the sh.o.r.e in one short verse-the people back there looked like nothing more than tiny specks on an endless strip of sand.

He realized he must have discovered a Law of the Beach-things happened when you sang. It was only logical, considering all the rules he'd confronted elsewhere in the Cineverse. He thought of singing another verse to really get ahead in this surfing duel, but stopped as he listened to the wave-the roar was so loud now, he'd have to shout to be heard.

That's when he looked up and saw the Cowabunga-munga, and all thoughts of surfing duels left his head.

It was not a wave-it was much too large for that. It was more like someone had taken a five-hundred-foot-long knife and cut the ocean in half, and then stuck one piece on top of the other-and the top piece was coming straight for Roger! It was a wall of water, looking as solid as a mile of gla.s.s, its very top hidden in a mist that nudged the undersides of the clouds.The Cowabunga-munga; it certainly lived up to its name. Roger guessed the legendary wave was still over a mile away, but it stretched the length of the horizon, as if it had already conquered the ocean and everything within it, and was coining to take him next.

Roger blinked. What was he doing here? He didn't know how to surf. Even if he did, there was a wall of water out there so huge that it was probably unsurfable. Delores had tried to warn him away. Why hadn't he listened to her? But he knew why-it was that infernal surfing music! That beach party beat had kept him under its spell until he had woken up to the reality of the Cowabunga-munga!

Roger glanced down at the surfboard that he sat upon, and his disquiet turned to despair. It was even worse than he feared. He remembered how Doctor Dread had described this board as "customized," but Roger had been too far gone under the surfing spell to realize the true meaning of Dread's additions!

Even half-gone into surf mania, Roger had noticed the board's special auxiliary pipes, and that odd lump of plastic over the rear fin. Now, though, looking at this customizing in the clear light of total panic, he realized that the "pipes" weren't pipes at all; they were sticks of dynamite wrapped in waterproof tape. And that lump around the fin looked an awful lot like plastic explosive. And why hadn't Roger noticed the wires before? One red, one black, they led from the plastic lump to a small digital clock taped between the board and the dynamite, a clock that read eleven fifty- seven-three minutes to twelve!

Roger had seen enough movies to know what happened at twelve. Doctor Dread and his cronies had prepared for every contingency. The thing he sat on top of wasn't a surfboard; it was a bomb. He had three minutes to live.

Roger realized that this must have been what the Plot-master was warning him about.

He looked up again. The Cowabunga-munga was not only huge, it was fast, and it was coming straight toward him.

Roger swallowed, the salty taste of sea spray on his tongue. Maybe he didn't have three minutes to live after all.

^ ^ 17 ^ ^

"CAPTAIN CRUSADER'S SECRET!".

Thoughts of Alina and Theresa filled Roger's head. Not to mention Phyllis and Sandra and Rebecca and- Roger stopped himself. He was acting like he was going to die. Well, he had been through a lot in the Cineverse- perhaps nothing quite as imposing as the Cowabunga-munga-but, still, he wasn't dead. Yet. And, now that he thought of it, he really didn't know if this was the incredibly horrible situation that the Plotmaster had meant to warn him about. The way things were going for Roger in the Cineverse lately, he had about four of these incredibly horrible situations in the average afternoon.

The wave-to-end-all-waves roared towards him.

Well, maybe this situation was marginally worse.

Still, he had gotten out of tough spots before by using his ring. And he had two rings now! True, one of them didn't work at all, unless it really did force people to tell the truth, especially whether or not they were Captain Crusader, as Dr. Dee Dee Davenport claimed. However, Roger didn't believe he could exact any worthwhile confessions from a rapidly approaching wall of water.

The other ring, now, did work, in a very limited way. It would send him to the surfing world. Where he already was. Which was also utterly useless. Unless, Roger remembered, you dropped the ring in exactly the right way-as Dee Dee had a couple of times to lead them to her world and the Inst.i.tute of Very Advanced Science. And Roger had managed to drop one of these rings once, and had landed back on Earth!

So he could escape. The ring would send him home, if he could handle it just so.

True, he had no particular desire to go back to Earth, but it was certainly better than death, wasn't it? Besides which, he would swear there was another Captain Crusader Decoder Ring somewhere in his mother's house, so it was possible-even if he managed to lose the gum-repaired ring in his escape-that he could still make it back to the Cineverse.

Now, the question was, could he remember how Dee Dee had saved them before?

Arid could he do it again? It had something to do with turning the dial and dropping the ring. As Roger recalled, saying "Oops!" might be a required part of the procedure as well.

He looked up at the ever-approaching wave. It was certainly worth a try. At this point, anything was worth a try.

He pulled the ring-and-chewing gum combination from his pocket. He twisted the dial, then tossed the ring into the air.

"Oops!" he shouted hopefully as he tried to catch it. The ring slipped between his fingers, bounced off the board, and fell into the sea.

There was no blue smoke. There was only the Cowa-bunga-munga, roaring his way, ton upon ton of relentless, churning destruction. And he had just lost his only chance of escape.

Roger thought of Valerie and Vickie and Vanessa- No! He still wasn't ready to accept death. There had to be some way out of here. The Plotmaster had suggested that knowledge was the key. At least that's what Roger thought the Plotmaster had suggested. He simply had to think like a movie-more specifically, a surfing movie! If there was one thing he should have learned during his sojourn in the Cineverse, it was that things were not fixed in the same way they were on Earth. Here, the plots were mutable to a certain extent, depending on anything from the appearance of a new character on the scene to the decision of somebody to sing a song.

Sing a song? That sort of thing really seemed to work around here. It had certainly gotten Roger out on a surfboard. And, still under that surfing spell, when he had sung a verse all on his own, he had found himself even further at sea. He had already used this rule of the surfing world. And he could use it again.

Roger grinned up at the rapidly approaching Cowabunga-munga. The solution was obvious once he thought of it. If you didn't like what was happening to you, sing about it!

Water stretched before him as far as he could see. The Cowabunga-munga was almost on top of him. If he was going to do something about it, he'd better sing it now.

Roger had to sing so loud, it was more like screaming: "The wave it thinks it's got me beat.

But this here surfer takes the heat!

He's gonna make this wave his own; The Cowabunga, he'll ride home."

Roger looked up at the wall of water. It was everywhere. The wave-to-end-all-waves rushed relentlessly forward, like Niagara Falls on wheels, leaving Roger small and pitiful before a curtain of water that was about to cover the world.

But wait! High up on that never-ending wave, did Roger see a patch of blue sky? Yes, the wave seemed to be breaking in half, the ramparts opening to allow Roger a chance to enter-to surf on in. And he was sure it was the song that had done it.

Now, though, how did he catch the wave and ride it? It only took him a second to decide-there was really no choice, after all-he would have to let the song do that as well. He stood on his board and screamed out another verse as the wave thundered to either side of him.

"Come on Roger, let's hear a shout, 'Cause he's one surfer that won't wipe out! Yeah, he's a fellow who'll be your fave, 'Cause here he goes to catch that wave!"

It wasn't great poetry, but it worked. He could feel the water swell underneath the board, lifting him up higher and higher on the face of the great wave.

He saw a flash of flesh color from the corner of his eye. Roger risked a glance behind.

It was the fellow they called the Mad Mumbler, balanced on his board, riding in Roger's wake-and he wasn't singing at all. Roger was impressed. That fellow could really surf!

Together, they reached the heights of the Cowabunga-munga. Roger broke through the spray and out of the great wave's shadow, into the sunlight high above the world.

Seagulls circled nearby, cheering him on with their cries. He was surfing with all the aplomb of Frankie Avalon! He couldn't believe it.

That's when one of his feet slipped. He fell to one knee.

Roger managed to crush the small seed that wanted to blossom into panic inside his chest. Panic was the very thing he could not do. He had had a moment of doubt, and it had almost broken the concentration he had built through song. He had to believe in what he was doing. It was crucial to his survival in the Cineverse!

Besides, he had other problems. He may have conquered the wave for the moment, but there was still the bomb. His other foot slipped ever so slightly as he thought about the red board beneath him, the one equipped with enough explosives to blow him up ten times over if he had too great an impact in the pounding surf, or-if he managed to stay alive that long-until the timer ran out! The villains had obviously considered everything-everything, that is, save Roger's penchant for song!

He glanced down at the timer, and saw there was only a minute left. This was it, then, his moment of musical truth. But he had to make sure no last-minute doubts crept in about his surfing. It wouldn't do him any good to defuse the bomb if he wiped out in the process. If he was to survive, that new verse would have to be a masterpiece of concentration and balance. He had to defuse the bomb while rea.s.serting his surfing prowess.

Slowly, but careful to maintain that all-important surfing beat, Roger began again: "Now, some folks think Roger's a fool, Want him to lose this surfing duel!

But the bomb's a dud, it just can't last; It's Roger who's a surfing blast!"

He risked a glance down at his surfboard. The clock stopped. The wires sprang free and spiraled off into the foam The watertight tape loosened, and the dynamite was instantly sodden with salt.w.a.ter. The plastic explosive slipped beneath the sea. The song had worked, and Roger's conveyance had gone from bomb to board.

He tossed in another verse for good measure:"Hey this guy is really neat; He rides the waves with both his feet.

No one beats him on his turf!

So come on Roger, surf surf surf!"

Yeah! Roger laughed. He was really moving now. Wind in his hair, spray in his face.

One man against the elements, surfing his way to glory. That was the way it was supposed to be! He heard faint cheers from the beach ahead. The Cowabunga-munga had brought him considerably closer to his hero-wors.h.i.+pping throng. The surfers on sh.o.r.e had been transformed from flyspecks to fairly good-sized ants. Roger even thought he could recognize some of them as they rightfully cheered him in his great deed. That tall blond woman in the s.h.i.+ning evening dress-that was Delores!

Delores?

Wait a minute. He was no surfer fighting against the elements. The only great deed he was involved in was staying alive. He was buying into this whole surfing world again-this time a victim of his own surfing songs! Roger had to be careful. The use of power in the Cineverse seemed to be a tricky thing. One way or another, the more you invested in a world, the more you became a part of that place's reality.

A wave washed across his feet. Roger almost fell off the surfboard. Now he wasn't being positive enough! The demon doubt had almost done him in again.

"Turf, surf, wave, fave!" Roger chanted, feeling stronger with every rhyme. Somehow he regained his balance. Just as Doc walked a thin line between helpless sobriety and incapacitated inebriation if he wished to act at all, so Roger had to believe exactly enough to beat the wave without getting sucked into the surfer mystique.

"Neat, feet, last, blast!" he chanted. Yeah, he was surfing now! But he was Roger, from Earth, who had spent most of his adult life in public relations, who just happened to be surfing atop the biggest killer groovy monster wave that had ever existed!

He caught a familiar flash of color out of that same eye-corner. The Mumbler was getting closer. A moment later, he didn't even have to turn his head to see his rival surfer. The Mumbler, hunched forward on his board, was pa.s.sing Roger by!

Roger told himself it didn't matter. He wasn't going to buy into this surfing duel stuff, anyway. So the Mumbler reached the beach first-so what?

"Beach, reach," Roger mumbled distractedly. "Duel, fool."

The Mumbler would reach the beach first? That would never do. It was only now that Roger realized how meaningless his life had been until this moment. Winning was everything! He would be the hero of the beach, his greatest triumph ever!

He had to keep up that surfing! And even more than before, he had to do it with music!

This time, when Roger started to sing, the wave seemed somehow quieter, as if out of respect.

"The Mad Mumbler better watch his skin, 'Cause this boy knows he's here to win.

Roger proves he ain't no faddy, He'll blow away this here ho-daddy!"

They could hear him on the beach! He could see them clapping along! He laughed as the Cowabunga-munga produced a special swell just beneath his board, propelling him swiftly past the leather-suited surfer. Without a song, the Mad Mumbler didn't have a chance!

Roger sang another verse to complete the musical justice: "Roger's really goin' for that ride; The Cowabunga-munga's on his side!

Now we know that revenge is sweet, And Roger, he wins by twenty feet!"

Roger's board glided onto the beach a goodly distance before the Mumbler as the Cowabunga-munga retreated out to sea.

The surfers converged on him as he stepped from his board. Bix Bale and the Belltones led with a furious surfing beat as the song went on forever: "Oh, Roger's proved that he's the best; He pa.s.sed the Cowabunga test; That guy can surf on anything; Yeah, he's now the surfer king!"

The surfers lifted Roger onto their shoulders and propelled him into the crowd. He saw the Mumbler surf safely into sh.o.r.e as he was raised aloft. Even the leather-suited challenger cheered Roger-in his usual indistinct fas.h.i.+on-as the celebration really began.

Roger looked down on the adoring ma.s.ses beneath him. He was king of the surfers.

Everyone was dancing. Roger's life was fulfilled.

Among those who danced by were people Roger recognized: Zabana, Prince of the Jungle; Officer O'Clanrahan; Dwight the Wonder Dog.

People who did more than surf.

There were other things to life besides surfing?

Roger felt himself distancing himself from those ever-present guitar chords as he shook off the surfing spell once more. The music could no longer hold him as he watched a conga line of Doctor Dread, Menge the Merciless, and Professor Peril.

Every one he recognized reminded him there was more at stake here than winning a surfing duel! He had to win the entire Cineverse!"Hey!" everybody shouted. Bif BOOM bif BOOM boom boom boom de boom, the drums replied.