Mr Moustachio’s Multitude of Marvellous Multiversal Misadventures
Chapter 2: Train of Consequence – Part Two
A Tee Bone Man Multiverse Story
By Harrison Kopp
Continued from Train of Consequence – Part One
El Moustachio was in the middle of the most peculiar dream. He was being assailed by a large creature that appeared to be made of baked beans. It was too big to fight so he tried to turn and run, but he found he was having difficulty moving his legs.
Looking down he saw the reason. It seemed that his entire body was made of oatmeal. Uh oh he thought to himself, if only LeBacon was here to save my, well, bacon. The creature reached out to grab him, and it all went to black as Moustachio awoke with a startle.
What on earth was all that supposed to mean? He thought to himself. No immediate answers came so, as it was still night, he rolled over and tried to get back to sleep. The rest of the night passed without incident, that was, until Harriet woke him up at the crack of dawn.
Bang.
The tranquil of the early morning was broken by the sound of a gunshot as El Mousachio went through a series of target practise exercises. He was a little off the mark at distance but had retained most of his skill with firearms. A few more shots and the rest of the bottles were shattered.
“Looks like you’ve got a handle on it”, Harriet said. “Let’s go get some breakfast. I’m sure the others will be up by now.”
Moustachio was happy to oblige, following her inside. After a filling meal of bacon and eggs, the group set off to enact their parts of the plan.
Phase one of the plan went without a hitch. Break into the nearby train yard and commandeer the fastest locomotive around. Phase two was about to begin now- riding that locomotive right up against Crawford’s personal train and unleashing all hell onto it until it was no longer on the rails.
The train was flying along the tracks as fast as it would go. Michelle was getting every ounce of power possible out of the boiler and they were due to catch up to Crawford any second now.
The sound of Sandy’s biplane overhead came right on cue. The air support would be sure to come in handy during this operation.
Throughout the train, most of the Rovers were preparing themselves for the coming battle. Derryn and Tracy covered the rear, Jex took the central position and Moustachio and Harriet stood at the front.
And there it was. The Constitution. Crawford’s personal locomotive. One of the fastest trains on the tracks, the only reason the Rovers were able to catch it was the series of carriages it was hauling behind it.
Moustachio checked his revolver. Six shots, with another six in his jacket pocket. It would have to do. They didn’t have much to go around after the airship crash.
“Target sighted!”, Harriet cried from the front, and The Rovers immediately snapped to attention. Sure enough, another train could be seen ahead on the parallel rail line. As The Rover’s locomotive drew alongside, Harriet took the first shot, striking the metal nameplate with a metallic ping.
But it seemed Crawford had anticipated the chance of an attack, because his train was crawling in his own private militia of employees. Upon sighting the approaching train, they unleashed a volley of shots on it, striking a number of metal panels but thankfully none of the Rovers.
Harriet’s group returned fire, hitting a number of Crawford’s men. Moustachio landed two on a man with a bushy beard, and just missed one in a wide brim hat. But then things took a turn for the worse. There were still plenty of enemies on the train, and some of Crawford’s thugs had just uncovered a gatling gun mounted on one of the carriages.
“Get down!” Derryn yelled.
A cacophonous explosion of metal ricocheting filled their ears as bullets spewed forward in all directions. Shattered glass rained down on everyone as the windows blew out. Not much longer and the whole carriage would be riddled with bullets, and the pinned-down Rovers with it.
Up above Sandy could see the machine gun in action and knew she had to act quick. She lined up her flightpath with where the trains would be shortly and pointed the nose down. The plane descended as the trains got closer to Sandy’s crosshairs. A second before they reached it Sandy began to open fire, raining bullets down on the ground.
One second later, success. A number of direct hits on the train and its occupants. The men operating the gun were now in no state to do so anymore. But Sandy couldn’t celebrate just yet. First she had to get her plane back out of a collision course with the ground.
It was tight, but she managed to level the biplane and get it ascending again without skimming the treetops.
Deryn whooped with joy as Sandy’s plane flew over and took advantage of the scrambling militia on the other train, nailing one of them in the shoulder. He fell over the edge, his scream instantly being outdistanced by the speeding trains.
But then, as if summoned by the heroes’ success, Tiberius Crawford himself emerged from one of the carriages. He took aim with a large revolver and struck true. Tracy fell to the floor, clutching her shoulder as the businessman retreated back into his armoured office on wheels.
This didn’t stop Harriet from peppering Crawford’s last know position with every shot left in her gun, however. This display summoned Tiberius’s left and right hand men, who engaged The Rovers themselves in a shootout.
Moustachio, meanwhile, had taken a moment to reload his pistol, ducking down behind a thick sheet of side plating. Six more shots and that would be it. Then it’s mano y mano. He stood up and began to take aim again.
“Gangway!” came Harriet’s yell from behind him.
Moustachio turned to see Harriet running down the carriage with an RPG in hand.
“Woah, why didn’t we lead with that?”, he asked her.
“I wanted him to see my face first.”, Harriet replied. “Now cover me!”, she yelled as she grabbed the railing at the edge of the coal tender.
The two swung out, weapons in hand. Moustachio fired twice, striking Crawford’s left hand man in the midsection, which dislodged him from the train to fall to the ground below. The right hand, meanwhile, had been struck in the shoulder and dropped his gun. He quickly ducked behind cover.
Harriet took aim with the rocket launcher. She lined up the shot with the cabin of Crawford’s locomotive and began to pull the trigger. But the uneven ground and rocking of the train at that very moment would betray her.
Instead of striking the cabin of the train, the rocket hit the just under the smokestack, blowing a large hole in the front of the train. But it was not enough. The Constitution ploughed on, spewing black smoke out over the two trains. Harriet threw the launcher aside and ducked back inside, coughing.
Up above a low drone filled Sandy’s ears, and she realised she was not alone. Above her a huge flying wing blocked out the sun as two escort fighters spiralled down, raining shots at the biplane.
Sandy immediately dove out of the way and began furiously formulating a plan to survive.
Down below the Rovers were unaware of this development, struggling to see their opponents in the thick smoke. At least Crawford’s men seemed to be having the same trouble, as none of the bullets flying managed to hit any of Harriet’s team.
The tracks briefly drew closer together than ever, and Moustachio took the opportunity to jump across the gap before they split up again. He ducked into the carriage office to catch his breath.
It wasn’t the office Crawford was using as refuge currently, but it was definitely one of his workspaces. Moustachio’s eyes were drawn to a lightbox on one of the walls and the sketches and plans on it. A diagram of an elongated skull in particular caught his eye.
Oh no no no no no n-hang on…this might work actually.
In the skies above Sandy was fighting a losing battle. Crawford’s planes were just too fast and too manoeuvrable for her. Bullets whizzed past her face, most of them taking parts of her biplane with them.
But despite the two planes on her tail, she managed to make one final attack run on the flying wing, giving it everything she had. It worked. Black smoke began to erupt from the engines as the plane wobbled and started to lose altitude.
And that was the last thing Sandy saw, as her plane erupted into flames and fell from the sky.
Derryn saw the whole thing. She screwed her face up in despair. This would wreck Harriet.
But while the fate of Sandy was largely unbeknownst to The Rovers, the entire group saw the flying wing streak overhead trailing copious amounts of smoke- including Crawford- who swore loudly as the plane crashed a few kilometres ahead of the trains.
He and his remaining henchman had managed to pin Harriet and Jex behind a piece of metal and were unloading everything they had at anything that stuck itself out from behind the metal sheet.
This did afford Derryn, a little further down the train, an opportunity. One that she took gladly, nailing Crawford’s left-hand man straight between the eyes.
Realising they now had the advantage, Jex and Harriet made a push, forcing Crawford to run down the train for the cargo section. The businessman, running behind cover, got his jacket snagged on a piece of metal. Briefly immobilised, his eyes met Moustachio’s. The Australian was further down the train, but he had half a chance.
Moustachio lined up the shot. The rocking of the train made it hard to aim true. Crawford was obscured and the distance didn’t make it easy, but Moustachio still thought maybe a lucky shot could do it.
“Argh”, he grumbled. No bullets flew forward and he holstered his pistol. Crawford tore his jacket free and fully ensconced himself behind the cover.
But the priorities immediately shifted when he got a glimpse of the upcoming track: the two lines were about to merge into one.
“Oh shit.”, he mouthed.
“BRACE FOR IMPACT!” he yelled, hoping anyone could hear him. Mousachio then curled himself up into a ball and wedged himself into the space between a seat and a table. Seconds later the inevitable was upon the two trains.
Crawford’s got there a nanosecond earlier, and The Rover’s train ploughed right into it. The two locomotives derailed in a spectacular explosion of flying metal. Digging deep divots into the ground, they left a long trail of destruction before coming to rest not far from one another.
Moustachio was the first to emerge, aching all over. He ran over to the other train to find Derryn and Michelle lying on the ground. They were both bleeding and it looked like Derryn had broken her leg. Jex had begun dressing their wounds. Harriet was anxiously looking around.
“I have to get to the downed plane.” Moustachio spoke. “It was carrying what Crawford’s after. With that we can bring him where we want, and then we’ll have the upper hand. It’ll make all this worth it”
“I’m coming with you.”, Harriet said.
“No, you have to stay here and protect Michelle and Derryn. If Crawford runs past after me take the shot, otherwise stay hidden.”
“But-“
The drone of Crawford’s two planes above ended the discussion.
“Protect her”, Moustachio said, pointing to Derryn as he turned and ran.
Digging through the burning wreckage of the flying wing, Moustachio ignored the cuts and burns on his hands. He had to get the crystal skull if he wanted any chance of getting home.
Come on! It has to be here. It can’t have been destroyed.
And thankfully it wasn’t. A little sooty, but entirely intact. Moustachio grabbed it and cradled it under his arm. Wasting no time, he turned and sprinted up the stairs to the entrance to the temple, taking them two at a time.
Running through the rocky halls, he soon came across a large solid door with carvings and markings in it. He felt around the door, desperately looking for a lever or a catch or anything that would open it. He found nothing. Not even an indent for the skull he held in his hands.
Shit. This isn’t how the temple’s supposed to be. What the hell am I going to do now? Moustachio thought to himself. The answer, it turned out, was lurch forward into the door as the bullet that entered his back forced him up against the door, leaving a bloody stain.
“Arrgghh.”, he growled as he dropped the crystal skull and slid down the door a few inches. Clutching his shoulder, he turned around to see Tiberius Crawford standing there, holding a smoking stopwatch.
“I was saving that one for De Haviland, you bastard.”, he snarled.
“And I had this one saved for you!”, Moustachio said, grabbing his pistol and firing his one remaining bullet square into Crawford’s chest.
Crawford bent over in pain and fell to his knees sputtering. Moustachio gloatingly walked over to him.
“You weren’t counting them were ya?”, he sneered at his fallen foe.
But Moustachio’s overconfidence would turn out to be his weakness too. Because Moustachio had chosen to shoot Crawford right in the heart. Only the businessman didn’t have a heart anymore. Literally.
Unknown to the Rovers, Crawford had only just barely survived another attempt on his life many years ago, and that survival came at the cost of his heart. A solid metal plate now covered the clockwork machinery that pumped blood around the businessman’s body.
So while faking an injury down on the ground, Crawford has surreptitiously grabbed a handful of sand and gravel. When Moustchio got close enough the older man launched the handful right into Australian’s eyes.
The effect was immediate. Moustachio staggered backwards, clawing at his face in pain. Taking immediate advantage of this, Crawford grabbed a larger rock from the ground nearby and hurled it at Mousachio’s head.
The Australian, though unable to see 100% clearly, was still able to infer what Crawford was doing and raised his arm to block the incoming projectile. Problem was, he raised his right arm, and the bullet in his shoulder prevented him from lifting it very high.
The rock struck him on the temple, cutting his skin open. Warm blood streaked through his hair and down the right side of his face. Stunned, he tried to steady his footing while Crawford closed the distance between them.
Pulling a knife from the back of his belt, the businessman jammed it into Moustachio’s side. The Australian let out a yelp of pain but held firm. He launched his fist into the businessman’s neck and used the second of time that he was afforded to grab Crawford’s knife and bring it down towards the old man’s own neck.
But Crawford had recovered, and just managed to direct the blade down against his left shoulder, where it clattered against the metal plating. One knee to the guts later and Moustachio had dropped the knife and staggered backwards in pain.
Wiping the blood from his brow, the Australian gritted his teeth and continued to face down the evil businessman in front of him. Crawford was once again brandishing the knife and was advancing on him.
It was then that a frightening realisation struck Moustachio: he was losing this fight. Fear shot through his heart, and he began to assess his escape options. They all involved going through Crawford, who was between him and the temple entrance.
So be it, Moustachio thought dodging Crawford’s latest swipe and laying his foot right into the businessman’s stomach. As Crawford dropped the knife and stepped backwards, the Australian began to run forward, but it was this that sealed his fate.
Because, after stumbling backwards, Crawford was able to grab a candleholder from near the entrance to the room. Wasting no time he swung it straight at the head of the advancing Moustachio. The Australian wasn’t able to react in time and copped the metal bar right in his face.
El Mousachio tumbled, falling off the edge of a sinkhole and into the blackness of the pit.
Smugly satisfied, Crawford began limping over to the large door. When he got there, he pulled out a peculiar cylinder, which he put to the lips of the crystal skull and then blew into. A ghostly, high-pitched sound filled the room, and the temple began to react.
A rumbling sound joined the whistling as the door began to open before Crawford. Holding the skull tightly to his body, he advanced into the chamber beyond. A grand, ornate hall filled with crystal skeletons perched upon chairs. And one of them was missing its skull.
Crawford walked up to the headless statue and placed the crystal skull atop it. Much like in a certain movie in Moustachio’s home dimension, it jumped into place. Only this was entirely real.
A low hum filled the room as each of the statues came to life. Crawford couldn’t move anymore. To an observer it would seem as if time had stood still, but there was very much happening within that room.
The skeletons gazed forward upon Crawford, judging his worth.
The judgement was death.
An instant later Crawford was nothing but ash, and the rumbling grew louder.
Down in the depths below the temple, Moustachio was not dead yet. But he probably wasn’t going to stay that way for long. The entire thing was crumbling around him as he held on for dear life to an outcrop he had managed to grab hold of on his way down.
Moustachio struggled to lift his arm to reach the next piece of grippable rock and his hands were slick with blood. And even if he made it out of the pit, could he even get out of the temple before being crushed or bleeding to death?
Then, in an instant, Moustachio’s had a thought run through his head. It was not as articulate as an actual sentence the thought, instead being more of a dozen thoughts coalescing into a single, crystal-clear realisation.
He was, of course, referring to the V8 Interceptor replica he and Tee Bone had drove down the Highway to Hell to get to Hell in their first adventure together. Satan had sent them back home directly, so the Interceptor should still be sitting where they left it.
Well, there’s certainly one way to get there. He thought as he looked down at the black abyss below him. Express elevator to Hell. Good enough I suppose.
And so, after a moment of reflection, El Moustachio let go of the rocks and allowed gravity to take him down.
As he fell, time slowed, and the Australian began to have second thoughts. Because, of course, he had neglected to think this through properly (not that he had much of a choice regarding his options). For starters, didn’t you have to be a bad person to go to Hell?
A jolt of panic shot through him. Had he thrown away a perfectly good life helping a world advance here just for a 1 in a million shot at getting home. What if this was it. The end of his life. Buried in a pit in the middle nowhere while his soul went to realms beyond. What if there was no coming back? No going home?
Ah well, it’s not like Heaven’s a terrible place to spend the afterlife anyway. He thought to himself.
Then he hit the ground.
A few days later the surviving members of The Rovers stood at the grave they had created for Sandy. It had taken them a bit of time to find the wreckage of the plane in the jungle, but it had been worth it to give her a proper burial.
Harriet had decreed they wouldn’t make one for Harrison because she wanted to believe he had made it home.
“Did you see what flew out of the ruins of the temple?”, she asked Michelle.
Michelle, despite the occasion, could not contain her excitement.
“Oh yes, it was wondrous. Perhaps one day we can all travel like that.”
Harriet smiled.
“Sandy would have loved to.”
A moment of silence followed. In the end it was Tracy who broke the silence.
“The corporations that made up Crawford’s empire are fracturing and splintering amongst infighting. Looks like we’ll have plenty of work to do.”, she said.
“Then let’s not let Sandy’s sacrifice be in vain.” Harriet said. “We can operate out of the homestead for now until we find a suitable form of transport. Something Michelle can modify to fly.”
Michelle Lepaul, always the thinker, had an idea. An idea to mitigate the one weakness of a certain form of transport.
“How about a train?”
Many many many many miles away, in another universe completely, Tee Bone was inside Deke’s Palace trying to fight off despair. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something terrible had happened out there. But on this cold winter morning he had no leads on anything. He just had to sit here and wait.
He looked out a window at the grey sky.
Best to secure the palace windows. He thought to himself.
A storm was coming.
El Moustachio awoke in Hell with a splitting headache. His back was also pretty sore and he was aching all over.
Aware of his surroundings he reached for his gun, but it was missing. Ferryman must have taken it he thought to himself. At least he still had his jacket. Plus his gun was out of bullets anyway.
Getting to his feet he looked around. The place seemed a bit more empty than he remembered it. Something big must have been going down somewhere. Seems he picked a good time to die. He wouldn’t have much trouble getting to the V8 Interceptor replica.
And sure enough, there it was, still hidden where they had left it all those months ago. Keying the ignition, he paused for a second before revving across the planes of Hell and straight into the multiverse in a burnt umber explosion.
THE ADVENTURES OF TEE BONE MAN: PHASE ONE – THE SQUIRREL SAGA 
THE ADVENTURES OF TEE BONE MAN: PHASE TWO – THE MULTIVERSE SAGA
THE COMPLETE ADVENTURES OF EDIE VAN HEELIN’
THE WRITER’S ROOM
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