The Widow Sabishane - Part V, Page 2

Mr. Klemmens cursed to himself, straining his eyes against the beating rain as he crept along the deck of the island-sized ship.  He had been skimming along the deck for some time, searching for an entrance that lead into the bowels of the ship but had not seen a single doorway or hatch since leaving the Widow.  Just as he was about to turn back, Mr. Klemmens' noticed the shadow of a small rectangular structure through the heavy downpour ahead.  Just a few yards away sat a small steel shelter with a heavy matching door.  Above the frame of the doorway pulsed a large red light.  Mr. Klemmens tilted his head sideways with curiosity before moving to investigate.   Suddenly, just as he reached out for the handle, there was a loud beep and the light at the top of the door flashed green.  Mr. Klemmens skittered across the deck on all fours and slammed himself against a stack of crates nearby, just barely out of sight.  The steel door swung open and two lank men stepped out of the dark entrance way.  He could see corrugated metal steps beneath their feet and a downward sloping handrail fastened to the wall.  "Bingo." said Mr. Klemmens, as the door was shut and the red light flickered back on.

The men were tall and rough looking.  One of them had a red bandanna with black paisleys tied around his head like a sweat band, his long, greasy black hair flowing out and over it like a fountain of crude oil; his face was a war-torn vista, full of pock marks the size of small craters and covered with dozens of thin little scars like a thick, fleshy, spiderweb.  The other man wore a pleated navy blue jacket with a green bandanna and white paisleys.  "Must be a uniform thing." joked the Somali cat.  He wore gold-rimmed spectacles and had a curly brown mustache with a devil's goatee.  Mr. Klemmens noticed that both of the  men were carrying weapons, the man in green carried a semi-automatic pistol tucked into a holster on his pants and the man in red had a variety of grenades attached to a gold colored scarf he wore as a belt with a short sword tucked into the back.  Mr. Klemmens carefully reached above him with both hands and silently unsheathed his scimitar from it's scabbard behind his head, bringing it down slowly and steadily until the blade floated in front of his face.

The men were talking in a language Mr. Klemmens could not understand as he sat behind the small stack of crates griping his sword, waiting patiently for an opportunity to strike.  After a few moments of idle chatter the man in red reached into his stain-spotted shirt and pulled out a flask.  As both men began to drink heavily from it, Mr. Klemmens climbed to the top of the crates, staying low as as possible while he watched the men carry on with one another.  After some time, when the flask was empty, the man in green mumbled drunkenly and walked to the side of the boat, leaning over the edge and groaning as he retched.  The man in red laughed loudly as he opened the door and leaned against it, keeping it ajar as he waited for his lackey to finish.  Mr. Klemmens saw his opportunity and took it.
 
Gripping the scimitar in both hands, the agile cat launched himself from the top of the crates at the man in red.  In a flash of fur and metal Mr. Klemmens flew through the air like a corkscrew, twisting his body and hissing loudly as he flew over the man in red.  The gaunt man's eyes bulged as time slowed to a halt.  Mr. Klemmens spun in the air above the man's head, bringing the scimitar down from above his right shoulder as the man fumbled with his keys, trying desperately to drop them in order to arm himself; but it was too late.  The man in red gaped as Mr. Klemmens  brought his sword down with with both paws, slicing through the man's upturned face and driving the blade down through his sputtering throat until the sharp blade bit deeply into his collar bone.  Mr. Klemmens landed softly behind him,  a spray of crimson blood speckled his face and stained his fur.  The man in the red bandanna's body stood with Mr. Klemmens still clutching the hilt of the scimitar buried deep within his neck.
 
The man in green wiped vomit from the corner of his mouth with a dirty sleeve as he turned back towards the entrance way.  Turning pale the instantly, the man retched again at the sight of his friend's body. Realizing what was about to happen the man began fumbling for his pistol drunkenly, his eyes still staring ahead in horror.  Mr. Klemmens steadied his grip on the scimitar and pushed the still-standing body of the dead man forward with his foot, unsheathing the sword it from it's fleshy scabbard and leaving the man's body to droop forward.  As he walked towards the man in green Mr. Klemmens unsheathed his second sword, the falchion, with his one free paw.  When it was loose he let both arms fall to his sides, the two sword blades dragging along the deck beside him while he walked.
 
The man in green's hands shook visibly as he fumbled with his gun, getting it stuck on the holster as he desperately tried to arm himself.  Mr. Klemmens brought the swords up high and crossed both blades in front of him like a large pair of scissors as he burst into a sprint.  Finally the man in green wrenched his gun with all his strength, pulling it loose.  But Mr. Klemmens had gotten close enough.  With a powerful thrust he leapt up into the air, flying like a guillotine towards the trembling man.  Lightening stuck, and as it ripped across the night sky Mr. Klemmens pushed the two sword handles towards each other, closing the blades around the man's neck.  The man in green's body wavered while a sickeningly  wet thud sounded at his feet.  A moment later, blood and rainwater swirled around and around as a brown-haired head with a curly mustache and a devil's goatee rolled across the deck.  Mr. Klemmens sheathed his swords without a word and set about gathering the bodies.