Population Explosions and Mankind’s Undoing (Requiem)
The little fellow locked the doors and put his foot down before I could escape.
In an ingenious twist, I realised two more wolverines sat in the footwell pressing the accelerator, gears and clutch at the driver’s command — smart arses— which left the driver free to bite my nose off if he so wished. As a result, I chose my next words with care.
“****in’ wolverine scum, I’ll rip your hairy heads off! I’ll wring your scrawny necks! I’ll tear you a new…”
“Shut it,” he snarled.”
“So, I guess you’re wondering what I am?”
I was, but I didn’t want to admit it. He told me anyway.
“I’m a super-wolverine, a genetic abomination, an altered being. Altered by one of you,” he added. “My kind have had enough of being tested with cigarettes, injected with medicines, put in mazes with common old rats and so on and so forth, and you’re going to help us.”
“Or we could bite your head off.”
“I can see where you’re coming from,” I mused.
“Good. We thought you’d see it our way.”
I didn’t, but what could you do?
“You’re going to speak on our behalf, it’ll sound better coming from another human, and convince the leaders of the U.N to surrender sovereignty of this planet to us.”
“I see. And then?”
“Job done, we’ll gnaw your head off.”
I was with him up to then, but decided that instant I wanted no part of his hairy little scheme. So, in an act of bravery I should have had sonnets written about, I shoved my briefcase into the heads of the wolverines below, the car accelerating into the snow, then dragged hard on the steering wheel.
We hit a streetlight that sent the idiot driver, too small for a seatbelt, straight out the window and his buddies’ spines cracking around the foot pedals. They were dead, all dead, and I felt like a hero. Then I passed out.
When I came to in more pain than I thought I could bear, I realised being a hero wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, and only my ears seemed to work. The reassuring sirens of an ambulance were a balm to a dying man.
I hung on until the flashing lights arrived, the passenger door flung open, and heard a rather gruff voice for a medic shout, “This is the little twerp, lads, tuck-in!”
Thirty or more hairy faces appeared at every window some dressed like us, others naked as the day they were made, all vicious pointed teeth and froth-splattered hate.
Goddamn wolverines, I thought can’t even eat me without slathering. But by then I was gone and someone else would have to save mankind from its own undoing.