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The Road killers

by Clare Smith about a year ago in monster
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pothole kings

“Just relax and be yourself” said the sexy female voice from behind the lights, “Now….Action.”

The short grey-skinned creature with the pointed features and deep- set black eyes shifted nervously on the tall stool. He straightened his high-vis vest and looked into the circular all-seeing eye of the camera. “Erm….I’m Spry, as you see I am the supervisor of the Transport network on the B493”, he held the lapel of the vest out to the camera so the insignia was clearly visible. “It’s a dirty job but someone has to do it, eh?” he grinned, showing sharp dirty yellow teeth. “You see we are a very underrated and unappreciated workforce. Those guys that work on planes, causing all those crashes, well everyone wants to be one of them. But I tell you, in reality mostly their tampering doesn’t work. The mortals they have all these checks and servicing regularly now. But all you get to hear about is all the high yield work. Bloody snobs all of ‘em”,he coughed briefly and spat out a globbet of phlegm on the floor. He then blushed, his cheeks touched with a mild green colour, “Sorry Miss, we don’t see many ladies round here, ‘scuse the manners.”

“No problem, Spry. We’re here to meet the real workers, warts and all” she laughed softly. “So may we see your team at work?”

“Oh yeah…of course” Spry wriggled and lowered himself from the stool. He landed on his feet with an audible grunt. His pot belly jiggled with the impact and he frowned - worried about how it would look on camera. He led the way out of the small cave and out into the night. His nostrils were filled with the smell of damp earth and the sharp scent from the forest of grass fronds that surrounded the small group. “It’s lovely out here” Spry pointed with a long clawed finger to the sky above, “Look at that light show, them boys on the planes don’t get treats like that.” Above them a canopy of night was sprinkled with small diamond pricks of light. There was a faint sound of a whirring machine ahead, “That’ll be Bozza, he runs the cutter. He’s our designer and he is good at his job.”

The camera spied a tall thin creature, all points and angles in the vest, standing by a strange looking machine made up of pipes and wires. At one end the machine sparked, at the other a cloud of steam escaped with a snake like hissing noise. “Oy, Boz,get over here, come talk to these people about what you do.”

Bozza moved in a surprisingly smooth manner, despite his long gangly limbs. “Good evening, what can I do for you good people on this beautiful night”. His voice was soft and well-spoken - he obviously came from a cultured background.

Spry tutted and rolled his eyes, “What do you think they want, idiot? They want to see the cutter at work.”

Bozza bowed gracefully “Forgive me, when at work my mind does tend to wander”. He started to walk towards the unusual machine. “This is the transmatter-dissector, otherwise known as the cutter. With this I can slice out the original design, both depth and shape of the holes for our chuckers.” He lifted the awkward shape in his long arms with the ease and familiarity of long term use. The steam end was aimed over his shoulder with the sparking end to the floor and he stepped onto the shiny rain wet road. He frowned and the sparks formed into a blue white line of force. Bozza aimed the ray at the tarmac, there was a loud hissing noise as the ray burst through the hard crust. His face creased in concentration as he etched out a shape on the ground as the two lines met a shining grid burned itself into the ground, the squares of the grid varied in size.

“The squares, they tell the chuckers how deep to make it. A good ‘un is an art form” ,Spry added to the camera enthusiastically. He grinned, crinkling his sharp face into a rotten raisin. Bozza left the road, one hand on his head.

“Are you ok?” the female voice, sounded concerned.

“Just a small migraine”, Bozza breathed “The machine takes it out of me, thank you for your concern. I just require a couple of moments to recharge”.

“Now where the hell is Cob and Nut? That pair are always slacking off. COB!....NUT!”, Spry got more and more irate. A couple of seconds passed, Spry grew more and more angry. His eyes glinted red and his face became a mass of green bubbling boils. Then there was a loud grunt and the sound of metal against metal. “Finally”, Spry growled as two huge shapes came into view, clad in metal dragging a huge spade each. “Where the hell have you two been?” he yelled at the twins. One of them lowered his head in shame and remained silent, the other grunted in an animalistic fashion.

“Moke, needed more work”

“Oh bloody hell, trust him to come out of the bloody hedgerow. He is the ‘dresser’, he’s a bloody nuisance, interfering with an honest working guy. It’s all ‘need more stones there, a bit more standing water there….makes me bloody ill. Now you two, no more excuses get to work”

The two large spades were hefted to shoulders as the two giants slowly clanked their way towards the grid. The spades raised and dug into the ground together, almost a syncronised dance. The black crust and foundation was thrown into the air, spadeful at a time where it seemed to disappear into thin air. The spades bit through the tarmac like it was butter, the brothers flung the loads as if it weighed nothing. The hole grew quickly beneath their powers, they seemed to instinctively know the correct depth and cut of each stroke….

There was a shrill alarm and the brothers scrambled from the hole they had dug. Spry clapped with joy, “You are gonna see what all this is about now” he rubbed his hands with glee. At the sound of the alarm a sprinting green creature with gleaming eyes, ran to the roadside clutching a metallic funnel attached to a large canister. “That’s Droog, he’s our catcher” Spry explained, “He is the holder of the battery”. Sprys voice rose so he could be heard over the growling crescendo of the approaching monster on wheels. There was a thud as the wheels hit the hole they had created, and a whizzing noise as the canister lit up with light, and life energy.

“How much did we get Droog?” Spry shouted as the sound of the vehicle faded into the difference.

“Just six month, its not finished, not deep enough…need to get it finished, you know that” Droog answered, his eyes on the canister. His limbs twitched uncontrollably on occasion and his eyes gleamed eerily. Spry cut off his tirade with a wave of his hand,

“Just wanted the answer to a simple question” Spry shook his head, “See what I have to work with. Poor Droog, keeps getting shocks. Sometimes that energy is too much for that piece of crap battery, poor sod keeps getting feedback. Turned him a bit…” he mimed a spiral next to his pointed ear. “So…this is basically what we do” Spry slowly walked out into the middle of the black road, he turned and gestured at the hole. “We keep the home fires burning with our hard graft”.

The alarm sounded once again, Spry tensed and he started to sprint back to the verge. His breath wheezed, then splat, followed by a thud. Droog cackled loudly, “Twenty years from fattie, a year from the car, whoooo! Jackpot”.

The presenter gulped, “And now back to the studio…..”

Bozza strode up, “Don’t worry lovely lady, we won’t be alone for long. They’ll send us another supervisor soon enough”. He leaned down and kissed her hand, his eyes gleamed evilly.


About the author

Clare Smith

I have always written and read a lot since an early age. I was a member of a writers workshop at school and wrote loads of poetry. Now I concentrate more on short stories and my novel in progress.

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